(after Horace, Epode XI, Petti, nihil me)
It’s not as much fun as it used to be
shouting after the lasses in the street, Granny Mary,
but it’s what we do; lads like me,
it’s what every lad from around here has always done.
Three years since she turned me down and I still fret.
Nearly everybody in Thornaby knew how I felt.
I made a right fool of myself, Gran, didn’t I;
following her everywhere, hoping she’d smile?
I was like a lost puppy.
I felt so stupid. Is that what love’s like?
I used to moan and groan to you
when you sat me down on the opposite side of the fender,
stretched out your mottly legs and gave me tea,
made sure I was warm by the fire; do you remember?
I promised to try and forget all about her,
when you told me there were plenty more fish in the sea,
but I knew she was better than me,
because she was cleverer; she’d passed the scholarship.
I only pretended not to care, to shut you up.
When you sent me home, I used to stand outside her front door,
but no matter how long I stood, she never came.
Sometimes I stood there for hours on end.
I’m back in with the gang again,
because I can depend on them. Girls tease and mix my head up.
Yes, I’m definitely off romance,
and nothing will change my mind, Gran,
unless a really special girl comes along;
or I could knock about with that new lad from Britannia Street.