Spout, the bonus material

During the writing of Spout, I wrote far more than I needed to for the actual hour show. In fact I had several poems about tea left over which didn’t make the final show. I used one or two of these at various performances, but the definitive version of Spout did not contain any of the following poems.

So here, for your delectation, are the poems that didn’t quite make it in to the show for reasons of tone and narrative. Hope you like them!

Typical

I went for a date with a real fun guy
We got on well, didn’t have to try
But what he did just made me cry
He dunked a biscuit in his cuppa.

Typical.
Typical.
Just when I thought I’d
Found the perfect man,
He dunks a biscuit
In his cuppa.

I know you are a sexy hunk
But I was almost sick when I saw you dunk.
Your biscuit is now a sodden lump
When you dunked it in your cuppa.

Typical.
Typical.
Just when I thought I’d
Found the perfect man,
He dunks a biscuit
In his cuppa.

You might say I am very picky
But what you did just made me sicky
That’s the last time I’ll offer you a bickie
If you’ll dunk it in your cuppa.

Typical.
Typical.
Just when I thought I’d
Found the perfect man,
He dunks a biscuit
In his cuppa.

Oh my god
Oh my god
He just dunked a biscuit in his tea.
I drink mine out of the saucer.

A cup of tea with Darth Vader

A cup of tea with Darth Vader
Would have saved us all from
Three trilogies and especially
Those prequels.
A bright and breezy bed and breakfast, perhaps,
Our small table cluttered with cups,
Wobbling slightly but that’s ok,
He uses the Force, and points to the
Tea pot and says, doesn’t if
Look like R2D2?
Ha ha ha ha ha. (Breath intake).

We’d lean back in creaky wicker chairs.
And eat cookies.
Wookiee made cookies in creaky wicker chairs.
I’d check my reflection in his
Shiny plastic helmet.
Do you think the emperor really likes me?,
He’d ask,
And I’d say, don’t be daft, Darth.
More tea?
Is that too much milk?
I know you like it on the dark side.

There’s a crocus in a vase on the windowsill.
It’s so peaceful here.
It’s usually noisy where he works,
No wonder they call it the Deaf Star.
Have you ever actually met Yoda?, he asks.
He sounds just like Miss Piggy.
And then he laughs again.
Ha ha ha ha ha. (Breath intake).
And the couple at the next table look over
And smile,
Non judgementally.

Poem

I took each cherished friendship,
Chopped and diced,
Immersed in boiling liquid.

A fool might see such behaviour
As destructive,
Willingly subverting
Delicacy,
Ungrateful in the afternoon.

But when I drink,
Oh,
It perks me up.

Shall I reuse the tea leaves?

Shall I reuse the tea leaves
That is what he asked.
I know I should use some new ones,
I just can’t be arsed.
Shall I reuse the tea leaves
And pour on boiling water?
Shall I reuse the tea leaves
Or do you think I oughta
Clean the pot swill the pot
Start all over anew?
Or shall I reuse the tea leaves,
What am I to do?

To which I replied,
Reuse them, reuse them,
Oh, you dirty boy,
Oh yes!

The eternal workmans lament. Thirsty work this, love. Thirsty work this. Working on the plumbing in the Wild West saloon. Tut tut tut. You’ve had some cowboys in here.

It’s a tea drinker for me

I prefer a tea drinker.
Always have and always will.
Their steady nerve means
They won’t spill
That blessed drink on the
Windowsill
Or wherever else they’re drinking.
It’s always gets me thinking,
It’s a tea drinker for me.

I always like it hot
That they know their way
Around a pot.
Go ahead and drink the lot!
But you’ll probably need a wee.
It’s a tea drinker for me .

If you have the patience to wait
For a brew
Then I’d willingly spend my time
With you
I can read it in your lips
And in between the sips
My heart it leaps and skips
There’s a tingling in my hips
That I have found the perfect man
Who’s no stranger to PG Tips.
They’re buy one get one free.
It’s a tea drinker for me.

They bring me so much joy
The paraphernalia they employ
For a tea which we both enjoy
And when we’re done you deploy
A tone which is almost coy
As you ask, shall I reuse the same tea leaves?
And I say, you dirty boy!
Oh yes!
It’s a tea drinker for me .

I want a man who drinks a cuppa.
They always make a splendid lover!
In bed at night under the cover
Laying there after a late night supper
Lie back says he, and settle on
I’ll go and put the kettle on
A special brew for you and me
It’s a tea drinker for me

I get no kicks from champagne
But again and again
The same refrain
A man for me
Who knows how to strain
Do I really have to explain?
A beautiful brew inbiber,
A handsome consumer of cha,
No Rosie Lee poseur for me
No crafty kettle cacophony
But what I want I think you’ll see
Is a tea drinker for me

Thirsty work, this.

A monastery of monks in the middle of march,
A sandy haired handyman sanding the landing
A tickle a cough and his mouth somewhat parched.
My throat is so dry, oh, it really is.

The abbot in his habit fails to grab at the hint
Profers a prayer, pats his pocket for a mint
From the depths of his habit, a lozenge or Locket.
My throat is so dry, oh, it really is.

A service is rendered and the monks sing so splendid
And pray away the ailment of the day
And in sunbeams a-slant they grant him a chant
While he calls to the hall like a bad pagan fool,
My throat is so dry, oh, it really is.(a-heh)

In silence and solitude to show their deep gratitude
The veteran bretheren search for comprehension.
In calligraphy, an epiphany amid the handyman’s cacophony,
That a caretaker may care but who cares for the caretaker?
My throat is so dry, oh, it really is.(ah-heh, ah-heh)

Perhaps they could mention divine intervention
So proficient and omniscient and somewhat efficient
A miracle empirical from on high so invisible
A potion a lotion no need for emotion.
My throat is so dry, oh, it really is.

The monastery monks slip from their bunks
And say unto he, would you like a tea?
To which he doth smile, and gently reply,
Yeah, go on then, you twisted my arm.

Dolly tea time.

A porcelain play tea set
And a suburban patio,
My friend’s daughter
Plays dolly tea time,
Pours from a quartet size pot
Into tiny cups on tiny saucers,
Pretends to gossip.

Would you like a cup?

Do you know, I would!

She pours with practised care
And passes me a tiny cup which I hold
In one hand,
Pinky extended,
Saucer in the other.
Mmmm!
Though it’s only water,
This whole scenario is pretend.

Would you like a refill?, she asks.
Dolly is already on her second cup.
Go on, then. You twisted my arm.

Another dainty cup, how like her mother
Does she pour with absolute concentration,
And I sip like a good neighbour.

Because it’s only human to pretend,
Let go of the normality in us all,
Disengage with grown up concerns and find
Genuine pleasure in pretend tea time,
And so you know what?
It makes her feel good,
It make some feel great!

Mmmm!

And by the way, where did you
Get the water?, I ask.
And she replies,
From the toilet.

Author: Robert Garnham

Performance and spoken word artist.

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