. The Spoonerisms Man, or The Moonerisms Span His name was Mr. Spooner and he owned a service station. He kept our vehicles on the road, a noble occupation. So handy with the oily rag, the torque wrench and the socket, Who knew so well the mysteries of pulleys, gears and sprockets. But poor old Mr. Spooner had a notable affliction, He tangled and he mangled every aspect of his diction. “Your star, it will not cart,” he cried, “Your flattery is bat, You need a chattery barger, I can take good care of that.” It's then the old man gave a sneeze that covered me with spume, I thought my Covid days were done, I thought I was immune. But surely, he’d infected me, my words had turned around, I started speaking just like him, a most disturbing sound. The old mechanic stared at me, a flat cap on his head, I’d have to pay his hefty bill, my mind was full of dread. “I do not have a plaster man, my money is all gone, The rental on my shiny tack makes sure that I have none.” That night, I hurried home at speed, on foot, it proved a slog, To dine and shake a tower, take a nap and deed the fog. My driving days are over now, I travel nice and slow, Upon a well-boiled icicle, ‘tis such a blushing crow. . . Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.