23. The Collector

This is a true story, and the last line must be spoken with feeling! Philip is the dear friend in question and he has just been awarded the Order of Australia for his community work, so I'm not his only admirer. This poem is a token of my regard. If one wants to wear ones heart on one's sleeve, a Blog is the ideal place.

THE COLLECTOR

There are folk who save memorabilia.
Some collections just couldn't be sillier.
There are feathers and stones
And old dinosaur bones
And some other things not so familiar.
There are some who collect antique toasters,
Or various whiskey-stained coasters.
Some collect plaster pigs
Or glass thingummyjigs,
Or tattered theatrical posters!
But Philip collects vintage fans.
Not brooches or catamarans.
His fans are electric;
His choices eclectic,
And they loom very large in his plans.
Some are silver, some blue and some red
And he stores his fans out in the shed.
They are frequently dusted
Although some have rusted,
And they're neatly lined-up overhead.
The collection continues to grow
And he's happy to put it on show.
For he once felt a breeze
From old fans such as these
And that was a long time ago!

The Revelair's one he's desiring

And a Brinsmead he's often admiring,

He thrills to the blow

Of a lovely Airflow,

And an Elcom would stop him perspiring.
He would like an American Eck,
And he doesn't care if it's a wreck.
He puts out his feelers
To buy Crocker-Wheelers
Although he must write a large cheque!
Now Philip, you know we agree
You're as dishy as one man can be.
So increase your collection.
I'm here for inspection!
I'm a fan of yours! Please collect ME!