Miss Twye was soaping her breasts in the bath When she heard behind her a meaning laugh And to her amazement she discovered A wicked man in the bathr… - Gavin Ewart

The back streets of Fulham, Yorkshiremen in pub gardens, a laboratory rabbit, office friendships, a cutting, a quotation – anything can start him off, and when he brings us back from the outing we are usually either shaken or stirred, and sometimes both, reflecting that there is really nothing, however surreal, extravagant, improper or mundane, that Ewart could not write a poem about.

Everything was twice repeated,
Sometimes more than twice repeated,
As they worked through the agenda
(It seemed elastic, that agenda,
Becoming longer, never shorter),
Their utterances grew long, not shorter,
It was just like spreading butter.

My life may be much happier to-morrow
Hunger and love that press against the body,
The two eternal needs we recognise,
Desires that so relentlessly pursue one,
May get me down or raise me to the skies
And make me a Don Bradman or Don Juan.