Ferry Inn is where I work,

Ferrying, don’t go to kirk,

Colin’s staying in my flat,

On Saturday, the party’s at…?

In August I’ll be at the Fringe,

Reviewing shows, so I can’t whinge,

Or so that may indeed be true,

If application does go through,

Then after that I’m to the land,

Whose tongue I strive to have to hand,

Alone – sole traveller with my backpack,

To salve the wounds of Brexit and fight back,

And when that’s done I’ll start anew,

Begin fresh studies and leave June,

What next year – academically – may bring,

Who can know until exams in Spring?

I hope I’ll find someone who shares my views,

In whom I can confide, that I can use,

But failing that, ‘tis I the priority,

I’ll take all comes my way and make utility

Of all those chances and experience,

And build a case to sell my person with,

Packed and packaged human fodder bale,

Making money, doing studies, shifting ale,

Ale or lager? Vodka coke or rum?

Make your mind before the order’s done,

Or make no mind or matter of at all,

Impassive nihilism is the call.