November 12, 2018

 

 

Tune in to Tony’s Time Machine

at Noon  on Tuesday 13th November 2018

for an hour of  great music & chat.

 

This weeks Show includes….

Remembrance  – 100 years.

 

Tribute to Stan Lee/Marvel Comics….Theme Tunes.

 

Tribute to Hugh McDowell…of ELO and Wizzard fame.

including the poem.. ‘For The Love Of Wizzard’

written by Harriet Blackbury.

 

Together Again One More Time…

Tavares/Four Tops/Temptations.

 

Stevie Wonder songs

and the poem  ‘For The Love Of Names – Part 1’

written by Harriet Blackbury

 

 

March 12, 2018

 

 

His first Top Ten came in 1960

spending 18 weeks in the chart.

With ‘Love Is Like A Violin’

this singer/comedian won every heart.

 

In 61, followed ‘Once In Every Lifetime’,

and in 62, ‘Pianissimo’ continued to thrill.

and changing from Decca to Columbia,

in 63, his next hit was ‘Still’.

 

‘Happiness’ and ‘So Deep’Is The Night’ –

two more hits coming in 64,

and in 65 his first No.1, ‘Tears’

sold 1.5 million copies  and more.

 

‘The River (Le Colline Sono In Fioro)’ –

his last hit of 65, reached No.3.

And as his popularity soared,

this Liverpudlian filled us with glee.

 

With ‘Promises’ – his Top Ten of 66,

and ‘More Than Love’,  a Top Twenty.

His final hit of this year –

‘It’s Love’,  made a Top 40 entry.

 

‘Let Me Cry On Your Shoulder’

in 67 reached No.11,

and ‘Tears Won’t Wash Away These Heartaches’,

in 69, another ballard,  fans thought just heaven!

 

‘Broken Hearted’  came next in 70 –

our love for him going on and on.

‘When Love Comes Round Again (L’arca Di Noe)’ –

his next Top Twenty in 71.

 

‘Just Out Of Reach (Of My Two Empty Arms)’,

his only chart hit of 72.

And in 75  – ‘(Think Of Me) Wherever You Are’ –

so apt today – as we surely will do.

 

His final chart entry in 81

also fittingly was  ‘Hold My Hand’.

Thank You Ken Dodd for the love and laughter –

the best Act ever, a stage, to command.

 

written by

Harriet Blackbury 

 

September 13, 2016

 

 

Survival of the fittest,

so just be wary-

This king of Grouse,

so bloomin’ lairy,

 

and only satisfied

when his harem claimed.

When pants on fire –

no male is shamed.

 

August 31, 2016

 

 

To me it was so obvious,

too obvious maybe.

Long sightedness no obstacle,

but my nose too near to me.

 

To me it was so unsettling,

too unsettling maybe.

They’d urge and scout around it,

my antennae up, so I would flee.

 

To me it was so natural,

too natural maybe.

No value could I put upon it,

my Achilles heal – giving for free.

 

To me it was so unreal,

too unreal maybe.

Something never to get over,

that shipwreck lost at sea.

 

To me it was so reminiscent.

too reminiscent maybe.

The past I had moved on from,

let’s not go there, fiddle-de-dee.

 

To me it was so ‘old hat’,

too ‘old hat’ maybe.

Talk of the past depressing,

though still ingrained in me.

 

To me it was so powerful,

too powerful maybe.

It overtook my senses,

setting my spirit free.

 

To me it was so shocking,

too shocking maybe.

No cattle prod ever needed,

as many would agree.

 

To me it was so meaningless,

too meaningless maybe.

Hell bent on self destruction,

a chink of nuttiness, you see.

 

To me it was so explosive,

too explosive maybe.

But fireworks never started,

whilst I held tight the key.

 

To me it was so long ago,

too long ago maybe.

How convenient when dementia,

takes a hold of me.

 

To me it was so menacing,

too menacing maybe.

No fruit to bear was visible,

on that forgotten tree.

 

To me it was so indigestible,

too indigestible maybe.

Some called it – I B S,

poo-poohed of course by me.

 

To me it was so ongoing,

too ongoing maybe.

I knew I should have left alone,

that bread and old French brie.

 

To me it was so comforting,

too comforting maybe.

An armour plated outer shell,

in ‘tortoise’ mode found me.

 

To me it was so sensitive,

too sensitive maybe.

‘You’re thinking off the scale’,

with arms up, they would plea.

 

To me it was so indulgent,

too indulgent maybe.

All my imaginary friends,

around since I was three.

 

To me it was so normal,

too normal maybe.

This ‘only child’ syndrome,

encouraging a life of fantasy.

 

To me it was so tempting,

too tempting maybe.

The humanitarian inside,

daring me to just break free.

 

To me it was so heartbreaking,

too heartbreaking maybe.

The drawbridge firmly shut,

for all eternity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I know your charms,

I’ve read your palms.

I’ve seen it all

in my crystal ball.

 

I know your future,

and poorer you’ll be,

When you walk away,

after paying my fee.

 

 

 

 

 

A fringe or not –

a fringe be damned.

Twelve months of madness,

now growth programmed.

 

 

August 16, 2016

 

 

The mail that landed on my mat

was no surprise at all.

The contents ever familiar,

the colour black, ready to install.

 

The ‘undoing’ not worth the effort;

the parcel sellotaped for dear life.

I cut my finger opening it,

with the very sharpest knife.

 

The length not to my liking,

the material, cheap as could be.

No future funerals will see it

on the back of me.

 

No room inside my wardrobe;

the hangers full of sable black.

With clothes for every occasion,

most heading for a charity sack.

 

Some too good to throw out;

others of sentimental appeal.

But most just friendly neighbours,

living in a tomb of dark – unreal !

 

The mail that landed on my mat;

a nightmare to my ears.

I knew it would be joining a queue

of ‘perhaps’,  ‘maybe’ and ‘no fear’s’.

 

The unpicking not worth the effort,

as once tampered with, the end in sight.

And the ‘will I’ – ‘won’t I’, keep it’ option

gone out the window, taking flight.

 

The pattern not to my liking;

the ordering, a habit to flee.

No future purchase will I make.

I can promise this to thee.

 

No room inside my wardrobe.

The hangers go on the attack,

with clothes so heavily loaded,

heading for another charity sack.

 

All too good to throw out,

and with ‘Retro’ back in it’s heyday,

A car-boot sale the answer,

but will I part with them? – No Way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

March 29, 2016

 

 

Celery beckons

with peppered cheese.

In a minute

there’ll be a sneeze.

 

Celery beckons

with guacamole,

as the tongue

does a roly-poly.

 

Celery beckons

before a cup of tea.

In a minute

there’ll be a wee.

 

 

October 6, 2015

 

 

Users of imagination,

forever swing on tall ship’s sails.

And talk of thrills and fascination,

with truth as clear as Manx cat’s tails.

 

 

 

 

 

For some reason which escapes me,

he drove us both to the railway station,

and as he opened the driver’s door,

it fell off and clattered to the ground. 

 

 

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