I’ve had a bit of time to think about rockabilly. I’ve listened to plenty of punkabilly and shared in shockabilly. I remain partial to a double bass if it’s weilded well. I had kind of gone off handwriting poetry and songs, which is strange since it was the other way round for many years. Then this burst which was written on the train.

The Windfarm Commissioner

I’m the windfarm commissioner

I blow hot and cold

I’m the windfarm commissioner

and I do what I’m told

I don’t dig mines I’m not that kind

Won’t drill for oil Turn up on foreign soil

I’m the pointless product  of a compromised position

Something of an ether/ORE proposition

But I knew when they drew up my comission

(CHORUS)

I’m not your hydro hero have no geothermal cooling

Sent to rescind the wind ah who am I fooling?

Tilting at windmills like one Don Quixote

Freezing out free air you don’t say

All the turbines combined aligned against me

(CHORUS)

Where the four winds blow it’s my business to know

While Grandpa’s gone fission, his rod starts to glow

There’s a Middle East crisis

a self-corrupting Isis

Meanwhile my timing’s priceless

I’m the windfarm commissioner

I blow hot and cold

I’m the windfarm commissioner

and I’m worth my waiting gold