The man whose soft Liverpool voice has long become synonymous with wiping your bottom, or your Labrador puppy’s bottom, has decided on an unlikey new venture. He’s started to write poems.
“It suddenly came to me. Poetry was the answer. All this time I’d been earning thousands from bottom-wiping. I needed another outlet. I tried advertising a posh supermarket chain. The money was good. But there you go. Chain. It seems I couldn’t get out of the toilet. ”
Our voice over knew the first rule of writing was to write what you know and his first poem is already proving popular. He recites it for us:
“Pull the chain. Wipe your bum. Wait for a big cheque to come.
Wipe your bum. Pull the chain. Here’s a big fat cheque, again.”
Perhaps it’s the soft, somehow wistful Merseyside tone that makes this prosaic snapshot of human life so moving. Perhaps it’s the accuracy with which it sums up the futility of one man’s attempt to break free of the chains that bind him. Our arse-wipey-fellah turned poet has a wry sense of humour.
“Man is born free, but everywhere he has to pull the chain,” he muses, paraphrasing Rousseau, then scrabbling for a notebook. “That’s not bad. But not all my poems are lavatorial. My next collection moves into fresh new territory. It’s called “Now wash your hands please.”
Hat tip to Stan Laurel