Remember TV?

 

Image from: RawPixel

Remember TV?

Remember how TVs used to be -
When channels numbered only three,
When colour was a luxury
With adverts just on ITV?
 

Remember when you switched it on
Did you have this phenomenon
When static would encroach upon
The TV screen? Or was there none?

Remember that a dial was used -
a dozen digits were perused.
The relevance? You'll be bemused,
12-13, 9 or U? Confused.
 

Remember what the rest would show?
A range of different textured snow.
It was those three you had to know
to watch a broadcast TV show.
 

Remember when the image rolled
so much it had to be controlled
A range of knobs to be cajoled
And one of these was marked Vert. Hold.
 

Remember when, before the news
The kids did not have much to choose.
The Magic Roundabout? No clues
which drugs the writers used to use.
 

Remember when the only stream
was filled by critters of esteem?
"Tales of the Riverbank"; I deem
Hammy Hamster was supreme.
 

Remember when most of the day
the testcard was the sole display?
So not much was worth watching - hey!
Programmes are just the same today!

 

 

 

Winter Mornings

Something neither political or shanty related today. I don't know if it's a belated after effect of catching Covid-19 last year, but I note my eyes are a touch more light-sensitive when I awaken. Combine this with the resumption of a cold spate of weather and it took me a while to get out of bed. This inspired a short poem. 

The following day I noted frost on top of the cars parked in my street. This confirmed that I was right to turn my radiators on again - however briefly this period should be!

 

 

Winter Mornings

 

T'was far too bright for tired eyes.

From winter sun they hid.

I raised the duvet just a nick

and risked one peeper's lid.

I squinted at the clock display;

I thought that I should rise.

I let the cotton tunnel drop -

too bright for tired eyes.

 

The air's too cold for backs of arms.

The temp'rature's too low

I turned the radiators off

A couple-o' days ago.

The warmer spell was just a blip.

The bed still holds those charms.

I let the duvet drop again;

too cold for backs of arms.

 

Perhaps I should get out of bed

despite the light and cold.

Though forty minutes have passed by

it's not because I'm bold.

I'm not as young as once I was;

that's why I raise my head.

My bladder overrules my brain -

I should get out of bed.