COPD doth pith me off,

Just when you think it's calm.

It fares up yet again

And sets off the alarm.

You take your abs and steroids

Which you've kept by your side,

You think that they will kill the bugs

But no, they only hide.

Cos when all the pills are gone

Your chest is still bunged full

Of mucus, very sticky stuff,

Which out you need to pull.

So this is where my self-help starts

With breathing, huff and puff,

The steamer and the salt pipe

Till you cough up nasty stuff.

And finally when the last has gone

You start to feel just fine.

But make sure you get a prescription in

For when b*gger strikes next time.

(That's Filey BTW)

12 Replies

Lovely photo Don and great poetry as always. Well done and stay well if you can. Xxxx

Much impressed, Don. Wm. Shakespeare aint got nothing on you. You wrote that with deep feeling. Echoes my feelings exactly. xx

Thanks Pergola. Keep battling on, eh? There's some new antibiotics on the way to keep us going. :-)

That is good news, Don. It looks as if I will be on rescue packs, apart from the azithromycin 3 times a week. I have been worried that if the rescue packs dont do the trick .... but at my age. Do you have details??

Heard it on the news whilst having breakfast. No details, just that it would be many many times stronger than those currently available. :-)

I was a Butlins Bluecoat at the holiday camp at Filey about half a century ago. And we may go there in July for a rehearsal of my new play to get an authentic seaside feel. Bluecoats did admin type things, I was on reception. Redcoats did the "Jolly Camper" stuff.

Love the poem. As always.

K x

Well fancy that! My wife used to help out at Pontins Holiday Camp, Reception, Southport, on 'all change day'. I loved the atmosphere there and still watch my Hi-De-Hi! DVDs now and then. One of the few benefits of memory loss, I enjoy them every time round. :-)

Total nightmare. It would be stiflingly hot, Saturday afternoon, families queueing up. The paterfamilias at the front, he would put his hand in the back pocket of his trousers and pull out a huge wad of greasy notes and count them out. Very, very few people paid by cheque. I was amazed. Could not imagine carrying around that much cash. We had to carry in our boxes of money at intervals to the poor sweating, (literally, the room stank to high heaven), boys who did the accounting. On one occasion my box was £100 short. Absolute panic stations. We are talking fifty years ago. £100 was a serious fortune. I had the most horrendous vision of me being stuck in Butlins for the rest of my life. Just forever in my blue blazer, miniskirt and white socks. Never being able to escape this circle of hell. The camp was ringed around with huge metal fences and the security to get in or out was severe. Dogs and all. It felt like ages as the poor lad counted again and again. And finally he found it, and it wasn't my mistake, it was his error. What a blessed relief.

Strewth! It was nothing like that at Pontins, they were all pre-booked and paid for. T'was a really happy place for staff and holiday makers. :-o

What a lovely photo, great poetry.

Great photo and fantastic poetry, Hope you are keeping well , I've got another chest infection the 5th this year, Oh well we keep plodding on.

Love it

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