Pyjama wearers unite and fight To preserve this basic human right. From Ely, from Canton, from Cyncoed, from Crwys In the town and the country, as far as Rhydlewis From Peacocks and from Primark, to Gap and to John Lewis Let’s have armies in their Jamies Flocking down the stairs Armies in their jamies, walking round in pairs Let’s make Cardiff the jimjam capital of the world!
(Given sufficient interest I shall be running a series of workshops later this year on the role of pyjamas in the history of poetry and creative writing in Wales)
Se Hm en u a bl Symptoms
On a crowded bus I could hear a little girl singing the nursery rhyme Polly Put the Kettle on. Whenever she’d reach the verse: we’ll all have tea, her mother would join in, and in my head, so would I. When the bus stopped a woman scrambled aboard with carrier bags stuffed with nappies. I could see the stretched handles cutting into her floury hands. Over her breasts hung a baby sling, but the upturned lapels of her mackintosh concealed what was inside. As she approached I stood to offer her my seat. When she sat down the scruffy head of a plastic doll popped out. About to take a peek and smile with admiration, instead, I blushed and turned away. With eyes fixed on the window, she watched herself; the yolky sleep fusing and breaking with each careful blink. We passed a few stops and I heard the bell ring. The bus slowed and the little girl came skipping down the aisle. She turned to the woman,
This is my baby, her name is Polly, she said, showing her doll to the woman. What’s your baby called? Ge
mma Jn o ll ue Hwe www.e mjnh gm aueowelcml.o 3
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