Peter Gentle – a eulogy

And so, pained of belly
and more or less broken down

I lift my head and leave this dismal isle

England – our lonely planet

Of Bo-Jo and Cameron, of Gary Bushell
of The Sun and of egregious Littlejohn
of Ronnie Corbett, who from Shirley hails
and a host of others you knew so well
of reckless evenings in Soho
and of smoke-fogged pool halls
where you learned to sharpen your cue

(you were always so nonchalant and cool)
Elegant musician, mimic, comedian
you were Croydon’s Marlon Brando
a nocturnal, blue-eyed chameleon
as elusive as a wisp of smoke
even to those who knew you

You were a suburban sophisticate
an autodidact, a habitué of Herne Hill|
a fixture of steamy Streatham cabarets
a West Norwood Casanova
an existentialist of the South Bank

You were a runner, smoke was in your veins
and concrete and puddles and lampposts
a hunter gatherer, the South Circular was your Amazon

You were a mod, a rude boy
in Crombie and Parka
a historian of popular culture
charting that of which you were made
a radio commentator, a true friend
on a night out, charged with chaos and humour
or, even, a night in

You brought sparkle, laughter
and hope. It was fun to know you

I’ll miss you, mate, and I will drink
my next pint of amber nectar for you