An Afternoon with Michael Rosen

The school I tutor at had a visit from Michael Rosen today. Rosen, for the uninitiated, is a fantastic children's poet and novelist, the fifth Children's Laureate (2007-2009) with a wonderful sense of humour that everyone can relate to. He told us stories and recited poems based on his family relationships. The way he related things and the facial and vocal expressions he used had the kids in stitches for most of the hour-plus assembly. I went out to an ATM after school in order to have some cash to buy a few of his books.

This was my favourite poem of his.

Washing Up:

On Sundays,

my mom and dad said,

'Right, we've cooked the dinner,

you two can wash it up,'

and then they went off to the front room.

So then we began.

First there was a row about who

was to wash and who was to dry.

My brother said, 'You're too slow at washing,

I have to hang about waiting for you,'

so I said,

'You always wash, it's not fair.'

'Hard cheese,' he says,

'I'm doing it.'

So that was that.

'Whoever dries has to stack the dishes,'

he says,

so that's me stacking the dishes

while he's getting the water ready.

Now,

quite often we used to have mustard

with our Sunday dinner

and we didn't have it out of a tube,

one of us used to make it with the powder

in an eggcup

and there was nearly always

some left over.

Anyway,

my brother

he'd be washing up by now

and he's standing there at the sink

his hands in the water,

I'm drying up,

and suddenly he goes,

'Quick, quick quick

come over here

quick, you'll miss it

quick, you'll miss it.'

'What?' I say, 'What?'

'Quick, quick. In here,

in the water.'

I say,

'What? What?'

'Give us your hand,' he says

and he grabs my hand

then my finger,

'What?' I say,

'That,' he says,

and he pulls my finger under the water

and stuffs it into the eggcup

with left-over blobs of old mustard

stuck to the bottom.

It's all slimey.

'Oh Horrible.'

I was an idiot to have believed him.

So I go on drying up.

Suddenly

I feel a speck of water on my neck.

I look up at the ceiling.

Where did that come from?

I look at my brother

he's grinning all over his big face.

'Oy, cut that out,'

He grins again

sticks his finger under the water

in the bowl and

flicks.

Plip.

'Oy, that got me right on my face.'

'Did it? did it? did it?'

He's well pleased.

So now it's my turn

I've got the drying up cloth, haven't I?

And I've been practicing for ages

on the kitchen door handle.

Now he's got his back to me

washing up

and

out goes the cloth, like a whip, it goes

right on the--

'Ow--that hurt. I didn't hurt you.'

Now it's me grinning.

So he goes,

'All right, let's call it quits.'

'OK,' I say, 'one-all. Fairy squarey.'

So I go on drying up.

What I don't know is that

he's got the Fairy Liquid bottle under the

water

boop boop boop boop boop boop

It's filling up

with dirty soapy water

and next thing it's out of the water

and he's gone squeeesh

and squirted it right in my face.

'Got you in the mush,' he goes.

'Right, that's it,' I say,

'I've had enough.'

And I go upstairs and get

this old bicycle cape I've got,

one of those capes you can wear

when you ride a bicycle in the rain.

So I come down in that

and I say,

'OK, I'm ready for anything you've got now.

You can't get me now, can you?'

So next thing he's got the little

washing-up brush

and it's got little bits of meat fat

and squashed peas stuck in it

and he's come up to me

and he's in, up, under the cape with it

working it round and round

under my jumper, under my chin.

So that really makes me really wild

and I make a grab for anything that'll

hold water; dip it in the sink

and fling it at him.

What I don't know is that while I went upstairs to get the cape

he's got a secret weapon ready.

It's his bicycle pump,

he's loaded it with the dirty washing-up water

by sucking it all in.

He picks it up,

and it's squirt again.

All over my hair.

Suddenly the door opens.

'Have you finished the...?'

It's Mum AND Dad.

'Just look at this.

Look at the pair of them.'

And there's water all over the floor

all over the table

and all we've washed up is

two plates and the mustard pot.

My dad says,

'You can't be trusted to doanything you're asked,

can you.'

He always says that.

Mind you, the floor was pretty clean

after we had mopped it all up.