Mary Berry's Recipe for Friendship (Plus a Collection of Poems)


As I sit aboard my desk the temptation to spin in my chair arises, it does rotate after all, but there’s a hazard, a cable running from me into the machine. At best, some enthusiastic rotations would lead to a slightly uncomfortable couple of seconds as I untangle myself, at worst, DEATH. As luck would have it, I have a poem from this month (May ‘19) about death, sort of, and let’s knock that out now.

A gardener dug up the whole garden.
Things got a bit out of hand after concerns the six foot flower bed looked suspicious.

I know a gardener. Well, to say I know them would be a slight exaggeration, my neighbour has a garden and I’ve seen him out there, doing whatever it is gardeners do to their gardens. Buying bodies or something I suppose. You have to be suspicious of anyone who owns a garden these days. You don’t come into that sort of money by chance in the big city, let me tell you.

Tonight he felt extra posh.
The tinned fruit salad was emptied into a bowl.
He ate with stainless steel.

A little display of the kind of thing wealth can get you, there. If I recall correctly, I was well into tinned peaches during this period of my life. It was a brief but exciting time. Juicy fruit with none of the effort. Unless you can't unfurl the tin with a can opener, then those things take quite a lot of effort to get into. I own the correct tool for the job though, so it wasn't a big deal.

Mary Berry's glowing white teeth
Scrape against her spoon
They look very realistic
Her wrinkled lips unfurl with a smile
She chomps through the cutlery
The sponge cake is delicious

Would you Adam and also perhaps believe it, more cutlery in a poem. I remember the day like it was yesterday, the day I saw Mary Berry and she was holding a spoon. That’s the extent of my knowledge on Mary Berry to be honest with you. I’m sure Mary Berry has hundreds of fantastic recipes though, and a vast array of wonderful television appearances on the BBC and other such broadcasters. According to Wikipedia, she’s also known as Mary, Queen of Cakes, but I don’t think that’s an official title. Mary Berry uses a KitchenAid mixer.

A girthy person switched their scales to a unit they didn't understand.
They felt much better about themselves.

I wish May had a poem about a KitchenAid mixer, but it doesn’t. This is the closest I could find. It’s a piece of homeware, I think. I don’t really know what homeware is. Scales could be classified as a tool, which might preclude them from the homeware category, but again, I'm not sure how it works. This seems like the thing Mary Berry would know. Please get in touch, Mary. Apols for the previous poem.

He applied toothpaste to his brush before bed.
He was really starting to optimise his life.

Mary Berry and I would make for a fantastic friendship. I honestly believe that. I can imagine her right now, splayed across the chaise longue, one of those multitiered cake stands filled with Kiplings resting upon a doily on a small table beside her, flicking through my poetry. She's loving it. Mary Berry says I'm her favourite poet. I'm not the only poet she enjoys, obviously, she's a cultured woman, but I’m her favourite, I can see it in her eyes.

Wind blows
Leaf falls

I once wrote a haiku (see The February Batch for more details), upon its completion I felt the format was too loose. As a result I spent months working on a format of my own, which I called 'Twos'. As you can see, it’s two lines, two syllables per line. It’s the perfect format for poetry. That’s the kind of innovative thinking Mary Berry would love me for. I got bored with it after a month or so.

He tried to stay hopeful.
Maybe cooling the toast would give him what he wanted.
He remained unconvinced.

I have no idea whether or not Mary Berry has a toaster in her kitchen, Wikipedia doesn’t mention it. Asking google whether Mary Berry owns a toaster doesn’t do much to help either. What I can tell you is that Mary Berry enjoys Marmite on toast. That’s good quality research.

The babysitter sat on the baby.
It was clear there had been some misunderstandings.
This new job had gone wrong almost immediately.

I’m running out of ideas for tenuous links to Mary Berry. She probably knows more about babysitting than I do though. I’ve never had a babysitter, and I’ve never been one.

A daredevil swung his window wide.
The interior light was on.
It was night time.
It was thrilling.

Right, let’s rattle through these last ones. For some reason there’s more than my usual 10. I probably intended to delete one, but hey, who doesn’t love a bonus poem?

Terry spent the day in hiding.
Tomorrow he’d try to convince everyone he time travelled.

A little bit of time travel. Or hiding. Some people are absolutely brilliant at hiding, the problem is they usually go into hiding after committing some evil deed, and that's the kind of person you'd least want to be good at this game.

I shove stones in my pockets as quickly as possible
Leave my pockets alone
I can't carry your phone
My pockets are filled with stones!

This piece captures the plight of wearing pocketed clothing when those you are with have none. It’s a difficult time for all involved, but boundaries simply MUST be established. And it rhymes, so that’s good if you wanted a rhyme this month.

And that’s it for May 2019. As per, you can find more poems if you go back and take a look for yourself, I just picked 10 (11) for this collection. Thank you Mary Berry. Mary Berry’s Cook Books are available from all good bookshops and also Amazon If you really have to. I’ve never read one, I have no idea what they’re like. I’d imagine they contain recipes and such like.

Comments