Good Morning Britain, a soft-boiled egg. 

Piers is on Lorraine, shooting pains down my left leg. 

Holly & Phil’ll pay my energy bills,  

dead wasp on the windowsill, 

the last drops of Blossom Hill, 

hailstones on the bus up to Lidl. 

 

The booze-aisle is dark and wide, 

A cork upon it's ceaseless tide, 

Let the darkness roll inside. 

 

And I went to work for Dad  

in the jewellery shop. I wish I had 

gone onto higher education - 

but Tom was always the clever one. 

 

Cash In The Attic, A Place In The Sun, 

a very long-overdue phonecall from my son William, 

Deal Or No Deal Or No Deal Or No Deal Or No Deal - 

box number 17 is opened to reveal a wound that's never healed. 

 

TV drifting out of sight, 

A cup filled to the brim of night, 

Let the darkness roll inside. 

 

I don't want any more regrets, 

my dreams died like dolphins in a net. 

I never got to go to Venice 

and how many summers have I left? 

I still can't believe I'm a grandma. 

Jen just passed her driving test. 

I'm going to put a couple of thousand pounds 

towards a car 

and take her on holiday - 

'make memories' before it's all too late. 

There we are beneath the Rialto Bridge, 

huddled in a gondola.