A summer poem, by Peter Appleby Although spring’s by far my favourite, summer’s gifts are truly great,Warm balmy evenings drinking wine until, suddenly it’s late,Sauvignon blanc or a fruity malbec they all suffer the same fate,As we banter with pals, we josh and laugh, in good natured booze filled debate. Manc messiah’s back home, Lukaku’sContinue reading “What summertime means to me”