I am the owner/impresario of a concrete factory.
Ever since I played in the sand pit at school with a matchbox toy of a concrete mixer, I have had this yearning to concrete everything over.
From buildings to bridges, from sandpits to schools, I made it my life's work to cover every living thing in immovable stone.
We used to have parks where wildlife would roam.
The little voice in my head said concrete it!
You see you know where you are with gravel and scree,
but I had a friend as a kid who did not agree.
He would walk around dressed as Tarzan and told everyone he lived in a tree.
One day I was looking down on the ground and upon my head he did pee.
I vowed that day I would concrete him over,
I would build a motorway from here to Dover.
He warned me in colourful language that the earth needed to breath,
the more he went on, the more I did seethe.
A hobby became a passion and one of those an obsession.
I got money from government who seemed to agree with me. They allowed me to build a concrete factory on the site of that big old tree.
I ended up with a cigar and a Roller or three
but on the darkest of nights I couldn't help but think of me old mate, the one whose Dad had a bright orange Ford Capri.
He'd warned me if I carried on with my course of action that I would be confronted by the 'Lot's wife faction'
These were environmental activists, tree huggers the buggers, dressed as human statues, all in greys and brown.
Wherever I went with my concrete mixer,
they would sprout up round the town.
They were like weeds, they were seeds who planted the revolutionary idea of rewilding.
So instead of concrete carbuncles there were wild boar and wolves running free.
It was fun to watch the traffic wardens scrambling up that big old tree.
As you get older you begin to see that not everything is meant for profit
and you hark back to the words of the old Cree
"Only when the last tree has been cut down, the last river poisoned, the last fish been caught, will we realise that we can't eat money"
So it is now I that is dressed like Tarzan climbing from tree to tree and me mate is driving on the concrete I built,
still in his Dad's old orange Ford Capri.
Further Reading
https://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.com/2018/02/three-men-and-concrete-mixer.html
https://sharkfishinginwales.blogspot.com/2017/12/re-welshing.html
.jfif)
No comments:
Post a Comment