Poem – Snubbed

Arthur performing at Vinyl Tap, Preston – photo by Kelsey

You are not even offered the most basic social greeting

As you arrive at the party, the reunion event or the meeting.

They haven’t seen you in months, but don’t ask how you are.

No interest in what your journey was like though they know you travelled far.

A forced polite smile is about the best you can hope to receive

No one says hello as you arrive or goodbye as you or they leave

You wonder what you said or did that was wrong

There was a time when you felt you felt like you did belong

In the company of the elite that seems to be closing ranks

Even if you pass someone their drink you’re lucky if you get so much as a ‘thanks’.

They know you had cancer, and your Mum is dying

That even if you don’t show it, inside you are crying

They chat to each other  around you as if you were a ghost

Distancing themselves from you when you need them the most

You try to join in an ongoing conversation but you might as well simply not be there

Sometimes they look at you in consternation, and sometimes they practically stare

While you end up with a table all to yourself

The last puppy on the pet shop shelf.

Arthur performing at Vinyl Tap, Preston – photo by Kelsey

Everyone hates

DisabilityBilly-No-Mates.

Your efforts to initiate conversation

Evaporate like heatwave condensation

Gaining grunts, tuts and excuses to move away

You are left feeling like the bad player not chosen to play

On the team, and no one has the courtesy to even try

Offering you any explanation or reason why

You are suddenly persona non-grata, someone to shun

Not giving a toss that you don’t seem to be having all that much fun

You show signs of despair, mental illness and depression.

Maybe they avoid eye contact with you for fear you’ll give expression

To how you really feel  with dementia eating away at your mum

You stoma bag burden, not quite being cancer free, anxieties leaving you numb

Inside, in need of hugs, and some degree of inclusion

Not being made to feel being present at all is an unwelcome intrusion

For which chairs will be turned to face away

And friends ignoring most of what you try to say.

I’ve had family stealing my property

Cowardly narcissists scoring pointless points off of me

A cult stole my mind for nearly five years.

Is it an wonder some level of neurosis rears

It’s head after my run in with cancer?

In what way is a wall of social silence any kind of answer?

You look as if you are struggling to recover from some kind of attack

So the lack of support is just a way some people have of piling on the back.

Someday you might crash and burn out a bit too.

When and if you do somehow everything to do with you

Becomes forbidden, verboten, no-go, taboo.

That you had a new book published fails to impress

If anything your achievements makes some so called  ‘friends’ merely quite jealous.

Though somehow you found yourself invited to some social event

Some of those present seem to regret and resent

You turning up there.

There was a time when they seemed to  genuinely care

But something went wrong, so you are made to feel alienated

You used to feel wanted and loved but now you just feel unjustly berated and hated.

I hope such social distancing is not something I ever do

Even to someone stressed out, unwell, or smelling like poo.

A group of friends should not start behaving like some exclusive elite

Sending someone to Coventry is a way to bully, intimidate and mistreat

In a way that only rapists, paedos and killers probably deserve

It is not something any of should ever serve

On someone for being merely a little out on the edge of their tether

Looking unhappy, or feeling a touch under the weather.

When you know full well a friend has been or still goes through serious shit

You shouldn’t need it spelling out to you in the slightest bit

That you should show you still care and that they are still welcome by your side

Turning your back on them will only tear them apart even more inside.

If you’ve ever left me or anyone else feeling left on the shelf

You really ought to be fucking ashamed of yourself!

Arthur Chappell

Out For New Year 2022 – The Friargate Tap Room

Given the ongoing, and apparently escalating Covid Omicron virus epidemic crisis, I was seriously considering not going out for New Year’s Eve, and in the days leading to it, I feared the government might close public socializing too, but fortunately that never happened.

There was no New Year 2021 celebrating for me, due to still being in hospital recovering from my life saving bowel cancer surgeries (December 2nd and 6th 2020) and I wasn’t released back into the wild until January 18 2021, after which my only possible travels involved visiting clinics and surgeries (when district nurses didn’t tend to me at home) until May 2021. 

After that I returned to going out properly, making up for lost time, taking long mostly urban walks with my cameras, taking shots of pubs and their signs, and visiting several bars too, in Preston and further afield, Buxton, Dumfries, llandudno, York,  and my city of birth, Manchester among them.  Some of my captures may feature in future books and poems. Watch this space.

Frontage to the Friargate Tap Room, Preston, taken by me

A favourite bar in Preston is the relatively new Friargate Tap Room, a real ale utopia where staff and customers actually talk to one another. Shortly before Christmas I went in to check they were open for New Year’s Eve. They were.

Living alone and detached from my Mancunian roots, I was out alone in a World surrounded by people out with friends, family and their partners, but in many ways I actually like being detached, apart, etc. I did want to get out from total solitary confinement though. Friends did pop by and treat me to a night out the weekend before Xmas (with a meal in The Green Man at Inglewhite), and I met up with friends in Manchester for an early evening beer or two at The Bank Inn after calling on my Mum, but Xmas, and the week leading up to New Year were just me, books, the internet and the Telly. New Year’s Eve was not going to see me being a total Howard Hughes/Billy-No-Mates. I put my Covid fears aside and headed to the city centre. 

Pub window – to the Friargate Tap Room, Preston, taken by me

The Friargate Tap Room was quite busy when I arrived, but many drinkers moved on to other bars, and it got more relaxed, then filled up again, then relaxed again.  As midnight and the change of year loomed, the staff handed out party poppers, and we triggered them dead on time.  The usual hugging, and hand shaking followed. 

I got a drink on the house and a customer treated me to a whisky just as he was leaving too.  

The Friargate Tap owner putting up a sign that still seems apt with 51 weeks to go to Christmas – taken by me.

One charming lady wanted to dance with me and if the music had been slower I might well have joined in. Alas my stoma means I am officially disabled, so I can’t be too energetic. Dancing to a fast number by The Pogues might have been disastrous for me.   (Not sure which track it was but it had this kind of pace – The Pogues – Fiesta https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pYI9t-I6qo

I stayed at the bar until the relaxed closing way gone 1 am, grabbed a kebab and then a taxi home, after a truly lovely night.  Big thanks and lots of love to all at The Friargate Tap Room.  

Arthur Chappell