Kevin was born in Doncaster in 1961, and wrote his first poem, Fred’s Little Problem over five decades later.
He crafts classic comic monologues in the style of Stanley Holloway, which he performs live at open mics and comedy evenings.
Many of his pieces are set in the fictional Yorkshire village of Grimstone Low.
Poems
Fred's Little Problem Driving Through Grimstone Low The Long Nosed Short Legged Terrier Cast Adrift and Starving The Rocky Horror Show All his Geese are Swans
Fred’s Little Problem
Fred had a little problem It started with an itch He’d worn through all his trousers By scratching like a bitch So he sloped off to the doctors Crestfallen, wracked with shame The cause of his embarrassment? His bum… it felt aflame. The quack said “stick your tongue out” “I’ll look into your mouth.” Fred said “to find the problem” “Start looking further south” The doctor checked his records He searched through all Fred’s files He said “How do you pay for treatments?” “With cash Sir, I’ve got piles” “Haemorrhoids” the doctor said “An easy diagnosis A suppository will clear them up” That was his prognosis “Put it in your back passage” Which was simple, except for that Fred didn’t have a back passage He lived in an upstairs flat He went home, in a state of confusion Not sure what to do Fred never had a back passage Nor even an outside loo At the back of his flat, he had a small room Just a bit of an old cubby hole With a vacuum cleaner, that just gathered dust And a second hand washing-up bowl He thought, I’ll stickt’ suppository in ‘ere It’s like a back passage I’m sure So he moved out the old vacuum cleaner And placed it ont’ cubby hole floor Well…. he left it there for three days But his arse grapes didn’t improve He’d always liked it, where he lived Now, he felt tempted to move Cos, although it was comfy and cosy And he’d called it his home for so long If you need to use a suppository The layout of this place was wrong And though he had a front hallway With a stand for his coat, and his hat Fred didn’t have a back passage He lived in an upstairs flat Now the flat just below Fred’s was empty Since Mrs Maloney had died And Fred kept a key, just for safety So he used it, and ventured inside Cos the layout of this flat was different With it being on the ground floor And just to the side of the kitchen Was a passage, up to the back door And that is where Fred placed his tablet A back passage, although not his own He inflated an old rubber swim-ring And he sat down, and waited, alone But his butt-nuggets didn’t improve none Though he sat by the back passage door If owt the old farmers just worsened He really could stand it, no more Despair and anxiety gripped him A fear of what was to come He thought for what good it’s done me I might as well of stuck it up me bum He had followed the doctor’s orders The only exception being that Fred didn’t have a back passage He lived in an upstairs flat <<<
Driving Through Grimstone Low
Ruth was a qualified driver She knew her highway code She never got distracted When driving down the road So when driving through a village She knew to decelerate Under thirty MPH Call it twenty eight That code is like a bible Compulsory – not a guide She knew it from cover to cover She’d read it from side to side There should be an extra chapter That Yorkshire folk should know Cos the rulebook goes out of the window When driving through Grimstone Low If you slow down in Grimstone Low You’re likely to lose your rims If you stop, they’ll have your engine out Your spoiler, wing mirrors and trims No. it’s different when driving through Grimstone You can’t live your life by a book You have to get your welly down Boot it. And go like…… muck. The youngsters in Grimstone are tough ‘uns Play tiddlywinks, with manhole lids They play catch with an axe, and tig with a knife And the adults are worse than the kids The dawn chorus in Grimstone Low Is when the birds have a cough and a chuff Cos the starlings all chew pit baccy And the spuggies take Grizzly Bear snuff The Slugshaws were taking there morning constitutional Well ten of them at least That’s Mam and Dad, and seven of their kids And a dog, they called the Beast There were fifteen Slugshaws in total And I’d often heard it said That while some of them, were out walking The others took turns in the bed There’s a sign on each lamppost in Grimstone Saying DOGS MUST BE KEPT ON A LEAD And I’m sure that, that sign would be heeded If the Beast had been taught how to read So with Ruth doing sixty and gaining And the Beast running loose in the street There’s an equal and opposite reaction Whenever two forces do meet Did she stun it, or scratch it, or maim it? Cos she didn’t half give it a clout But with all the Slugshaws just by her She weren’t sticking round to find out The book says that if you hit a dog You must stop, if it’s safe to do so Well it’s not safe to upset the Slugshaws And it’s not safe in Grimstone Low The cop shop was just round the corner So she sped there, with all haste With all of the Slugshaws in hot pursuit She didn’t have time to waste When Ruth arrived at the cop shop A copper was stood by the gate She came skidding in, burning rubber And got out in one hell of a state She said “I’ve just clipped a dog in the road” “But I don’t think I’ve hurt it too bad” “I still thought it’s best to report it” “Cos it upset the family a tad” The cop said “You did more than hurt him” “You killed the poor mongrel for sure” “The Beast will be meeting his maker” “The Slugshaws, dog owners, no more” “How can you, be so sure?” asked Ruth “It happened just seconds ago” “Does the bush telegraph here, have broadband? News travels quickly, in Grimstone Low” Well the copper, he was no detective But he did have two eyes in his head And stuck to the front of Ruth’s bumper Was a dog… that was obviously dead <<<
The Long-Nosed Short-Legged Terrier
When Darrel Slugshaw’s dog was a puppy It was fluffy and cuddly and cute But he fed it up, on beef drippin’ and tripe So now it’s a monstrous brute It was an upper Don-Valley black puddin’ hound A local Yorkshire breed Bred for its guile and its cunning Agility, size, and its speed Ten stone of muscle and sinew With claws, and fangs, and incisors He went in for Mr Doggyverse And came out with several prizes It was as solid as Great Aunt Gert’s porridge With a chest was as broad as a barrel He lived up to his epithet….. Killer Which didn’t half please young Darrel When Darrel Slugshaw went out with their Killer It filled his heart with pride The joy of walking a big vicious dog Didn’t half put a spring in his stride And they alus got the park to themsen’s Because…. they’d become renowned For fighting wi’ owt that come in the park This lad and his big vicious hound ------------------------------------------------ Mark Gently was new to the village And knew nowt of Killer’s repute So he decided to take his own dog for a walk In the park that was ruled by the brute Tiddles was a long-nosed short-legged terrier He walked with an ungainly gait He was only twenty inches tall Do the maths… that’s just one foot eight What he lacked in height, his made up for in length If you counted his tail, and snout Think of a figure, and double it And you’ll not be too far out Tiddles loved it out in the park He went for a swim in the lake Then he went on the swings, and the roundabout Then the tearooms for coffee and cake Soon, folk got used to seeing ‘em And they’d look out for Tiddles and Mark Killer and Darrel were none too happy To see this lad and his dog in the park There was a bit of a curt confrontation For Darrel… it was hate at first sight And the adult way to settle the matter Was for Killer and Tiddles to fight Darrel sized up both dogs in a jiffy And was under the naïve allusion That, because of Killer’s size, and his strength The fight was a forgone conclusion Granny Slugshaw set up as a bookie And took bets on this three-round-thriller There was argy-bargy, hustle and bustle The smart money all going on Killer It was a pugilistic mismatch They were as different as chalk and cheese Killer towered over Tiddles Who just about came up to his knees Tiddles was as bald as an Alopecian coot This long-nosed, short-legged terrier Killer looked nothing like him Black puddin’ hounds are much hairier And that weren’t the only difference Killer was big, bold and strong Whereas Tiddles was only one foot eight high Though very very long Granny Slugshaw rang her bell To indicate the start of the fight Tiddles came out snapping And swallowed Killer whole… in one bite Well... Darrel was taken aback Cos Tiddles came out with such speed And he wondered what type of dog it was So he asked Mark… “what is its breed?” “It’s a long-nosed, short-legged terrier” Mark said with a cryptic smile “A green, long-nosed, short legged terrier What some call a… crocodile” <<<
Cast Adrift and Starving
When you’re cast adrift in a tiny boat You lose all track of time And hunger becomes starvation But cannibalism’s a crime There were three of them in that tiny boat Lost, and cast adrift Cos Obadiah had dropped their oars No wonder the others were miffed The fog, when it comes, is thicker than pea soup More like porridge, made by Great Aunty Girt It clogs up your lungs, and sticks to your hair And undoes the buttons of your shirt Colin took his jumper off To make a makeshift sail He tried to catch a bit of wind He tried to no avail They say that an ill wind will blow no good But it was dead calm on that foggy day Not a gust, nor a breeze, nor a zephyr or draught To waft them on their way Three hapless old salts from Grimstone Low A hackneyed, motley crew Cast adrift… without an oar And starvin’… through and through They’d bit their nails down to the quick For nourishment, and then They sucked their thumbs for sustenance And said their last amen It’s no chuffin’ good said Fred Who they thought of as a brother There’s no point all three of us starvin’ We ought to eat each other Cos when you’re cast adrift in a tiny boat And you’ve lost all track of time Hunger becomes starvation So is cannibalism a crime? They regarded each other with pork chop eyes This hackneyed, motley crew Cos one of ‘em was t’ be eaten But who’s to decide just who “Well… It can’t be me” Obadiah said “I’ve a wife and kids you see And mi ferret’s just had a brood of kits And they all depend on me” “No… it can’t be me” Obadiah said As he eyed the other two “So mek yur minds up… I’m getting’ ‘ungry” It’ll ‘ave to be one of you Now Colin was one o’ them competitive types Who couldn’t stand t’ be beaten And now they were playing for the highest of stakes Cos the loser was going to get eaten “It can’t be me, I’m t’navigator And I’ve a compass t’ prove it” he said “You can’t eat me… nor Obadiah” So all eyes fell upon Fred Poor Fred, his idea had backfired on him Cos now it was him to be ate And he lacked the eloquence to defend his case So he resigned himsen to his fate Cos when you’re cast adrift in a tiny boat And you’ve lost all track of time Hunger becomes starvation Though cannibalism’s a crime Just then the fog began to clear And it brought light to Fred’s heart because He caught a glimpse of St Rigobert’s clock tower And realised just what time it was He said.. “I know we’d lost all track of time But it’s been just an hour, No more And it’s only two foot deep from here So we can just walk back to the shore” “In fact” he said, I can now see the chippy We can get some scran there perhaps And there’s now no need for me t’ be eaten We can all have some chips and some scraps So things aren’t always as they seem And it seemed that he’d saved the day But they’d forgotten to bring any cash with ‘em …So they ate him anyway <<<
The Rocky Horror Show
It was the Rocky Horror show Where blokes dress up in drag Audience participation Is not really my bag But I liked the thought of dressing up So I thought I’d give it a go There’s no excuses needed, At The Rocky Horror Show I searched the house for feminine garb Like fishnets, basques, suspenders Or anything to blur the lines And reunite both genders Mi Granny kept her lingerie In a box under her bed She doesn’t need em anymore Seeing as how she’s dead You wouldn’t believe the stuff in that box Mi grandad din’t know he was born There was masks and whips and handcuffs And mi grandad’s collection of porn I found this funny item Which baffled me because When picked up it started buzzing I din’t have a clue what that was Eureka! I found ‘em! Her dressing up togs! Under her whips and her masks There were stockings and bras and suspenders And a sexy selection of basques I squeezed mi sen into mi dead granny’s basque And taped back mi dangly bits Then I found a pair of oranges To improvise as tits It’s ironical that I used fruit To get the right effect I usually wear a rubber jumpsuit With a banana down mi kecks I admired mi sen in the mirror And practiced mi pelvic thrust I could time-warp with the best of em And bounce my citrus bust Mi mother looked at me, and said “You’re not going out dressed like that! Tha’ll catch thi bloody death o’ cold Mek sure you tek an ‘at” I got the next bus into town In my sexy silk adornment And proudly walked the High Street To the front doors the Gaumont Knuckles Hardman was the usher A grizzly mean old git Who eyed me… in mi lingerie With oranges for tits He turned the air quite blue I’d never heard such swearing It was effin this and effin that And what the eff are you wearing I explained how it was normal As everyone should know And that’s what folk are wearing For The Rocky Horror Show He said “It’s not Rocky Horror Show It’s Rocky, you daft twat A boxing film, with Sly Stallone Tha can’t come in ‘ere dressed like that” Then he looked me up and down, and said “Tha looks a proper berk But I finish mi shift in half an hour … Can I meet you after work” <<<
All his Geese are Swans
All his geese are swans, I said All his geese are swans If I’ve been to Tenerife He’s been to Eleven - erife And don’t even mention La Mans 'Cos all his geese are swans If I give it large He’ll give it one bigger Said his wife was a film-star She looks like one…. Trigger She wears Tiffany Earrings And yellow zircons But won’t bother with paste 'Cos her geese are all swans And she’s no time to waste 'Cos her geese are all swans I’ll have a faggot for tea If I’m down on my luck But when he eats the same It’s a savoury duck He buys Betty’s Fat Rascals Instead of plain scones Just to feed to the birds 'Cos his geese are all swans And he’s not short of words 'Cos his geese are all swans A voice like a bell With a solid gold clacker Raconteurial genius Or just a wisecracker If I had a black dog He’d have one - But blacker A podium finish He won’t settle for bronze He’s going for gold 'Cos his geese are all swans Tall tales will be told 'Cos his geese are all swans I’ve got a super-duper thingamabob I bought it from Robson and Robson It slices and dices, then takes out the trash He’s got one too… But with knobs on Whatever I’ve got He’s got one - but better He’ll get to the top He’s a real go-getter He’s reached the high ranks Of the top echelons He won’t bother with riff-raff His geese are all swans Just listen to his laugh His geese are all swans When I had a headache He had one too But his was a migraine His cold was a flu When I felt I was dying It was all in my head But he did one better It has to be said His geese were all swans He was on his deathbed His geese were all swans Now the poor bugger’s dead <<<