This is my 805th post since I first began blogging! I’m taking a short break but shall be back soon.

If you are new to my blog, I especially recommend you to read, “Another Birthday”, “Coronation” and “Royal Protocol”.

You may have your own favourites. I would be very pleased to know which ones they are if you’d like to make a comment below.

Thank you for following my blog and for all your feedback.

I’m always pleased to receive your comments and likes.

See you again soon!

Best wishes, Andrea

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems



In my writers’ group we were challenged to write a poem on the theme of, “a big day out”.

This is what I wrote:

The outing that wasn’t

I’m going on a day trip

I’m driving very far

I have to get some petrol

And go fill up the car.

I’m on my way to Costco

Where petrol isn’t dear

I think I’m going to run out

Before I get too near.

I only had to think it

And now the car won’t go

I’m walking to the garage

It isn’t far you know.

The kids had planned a big day out

for all the family

A drive into the country

And somewhere nice for tea.

I managed to get the petrol

Someone gave me a ride

I was going to get the car filled up

But thieves have got inside!

They’ve gone and smashed the window

And got into my boot

They’ve stolen all my shopping

And my brand new suit.

The petrol tank was empty

So they didn’t take the car

It’s really quite ironic

They wouldn’t have got far!

And now my phone is ringing

The kids are wondering where I am

I won’t tell them what’s happened

Because I’m always in a jam.

My daughter’s phoned to tell me

That they can’t get away

None of the trains are running

Because there’s a strike today.

I need to get the window fixed

And get help on the phone

It looks as if my big day out

Will now be spent at home.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems



If it weren’t for the gates and the crowds it could be any London street. 

But Downing St is no ordinary street. And number 10 is no ordinary house. It vies with the White House as the most important political building anywhere in the world in modern times. For the past 275 years, many of the most important decisions affecting Britain have been taken behind its front door. And some of the most famous political figures of modern history have lived and worked at Number 10.

In addition to being the official residence of the British Prime Minister it’s also the PM’s office and the place where the Prime Minister entertains guests from British Royalty to presidents of the United States and other world leaders.

The façade is deceptive. When you see the front door on TV news you imagine a small town house but in reality it’s much larger than it appears.

In the early 18th century number 10 was joined to a more spacious and elegant building behind it. It’s also taken over much of number 12 which is reached by a corridor that runs through number 11- the official residence of the Chancellor of the Exchequer.

I actually experienced the inside of 10 Downing Street in 2015 when we were invited on a private tour. It was the summer vacation and number 10 was being cleaned.

We were shown all the public rooms, not the PM’s own rooms or his office but virtually everywhere else.

The public rooms, used for entertaining dignitaries, are the height of opulence. Chandeliers, fine art, porcelain, elegant furniture and the kind of carpets you might see in stately homes.

The walls of the spiral staircase are adorned with framed photographs of all the Prime Ministers down through the years. On the ground floor one can see group pictures of all the different PMs with their cabinets from the past to the present, complete with everyone’s autographs.

The highlight of our tour was seeing the cabinet room, its table covered with a green baize cloth. One chair was not pushed in but kept at an angle and that, we were told, is where the prime minister always sits. In another room, similar in size but grander, we saw the long table that’s used for ministerial banquets.

Afterwards, to our amusement, when we walked back down the street and out through the gates we were photographed by tourists who clearly thought we must have been special visitors. And for a while we had felt that we were.

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

© Photo – Andrea Neidle


This is a re-post of a blog I wrote in 2020 when Covid was rampant and Donald Trump was still in the White House.

My meeting with the President

Because Donald Trump is in quarantine in the White House with Covid-19 I was able to arrange to meet with him on Zoom.

The famous orange hair was now grey and suited him much better. His face was thinner and he looked more normal, if that is a word that could ever be applied to him. 

I noticed that his fingernails were bitten right down to the quick and that there was a food stain on his normally immaculate shirt front.

He sounded a lot less cocky than usual.

“Good to meet you Agatha. Where are you from?

Watford? What State is that in?”

I didn’t correct him on my name or his geography as I wanted to be able to continue our conversation.

“My aide tells me you like poetry,” he continued.  “I do too. Bigly. I know more poems that anyone else. You know this one? The boy stood on the burning deck, eating a threepenny Walls, a little bit fell down his neck and paralysed his ….  My English nanny taught me that one.

Don’t believe all that that stuff you read about me. It’s all fake news.  Like that stuff about Melania not living at the White House.

She wanted to paint the house pink but the aides said it couldn’t happen.  You can’t call it the Pink House, they said. So she had a bit of a huff. And that’s why she went away for all those months. But we’re very close. If we weren’t close how is it that she also got this Chinese flu? Tell me that!”

“What do you think of Boris?” I asked him.

“Boris who? Your guy in the UK? I like him. He’s just like me don’t you think? Same hair and everything. I preferred Theresa May though. Did you see how I got her to hold my hand by pretending I needed support going down those stairs?” He sniggered. “I don’t suppose she’d want to hold my hand now!”

“So what about you Agatha? Tell me about yourself. Do you see my tweets?  I bet you’re thinking how does he get to tweet when he’s so ill? I have a team of course. Or as I call them my tweem.  Just like all those programmes you watch on TV – they all have teams of writers so of course I have a team.

That’s not to say I don’t write the odd tweet when I’m taking a dump in the middle of the night.

Did you watch the debate? I really kicked Biden’s ass. Did you see how he kept interrupting me all the time? I couldn’t get a word in. Stupid man with his stupid mask but not as bad as that nasty Clinton woman.

Hey Agatha I gotta go.  They want to take me to some hospital to make it look like this is a lot more serious than it is. Reckon it’s going to win me a lot of sympathy votes.

 It was good listening to all you had to say. And don’t forget to vote for me on 3 November. Bye now.” 

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

© Photo – Andrea Neidle



 It’s said that everyone remembers the birth of their first child. Ours is etched in my memory.

Janice had gone to bed early. There I was watching “The Great Escape” when there was a piercing scream from upstairs followed by a loud thump.

“Johnny!” I heard her yell. “I need you!” I leapt upstairs.

There was Janice, lying in a pool of water.

“My waters have broken.” She was sobbing.

“Phone Joan the midwife! Get her to come NOW!”

 I tried to calm her down.

“But you’re not due yet.”

“Please Johnny.”

So I did, only to be told that Joan was out and would get back to me. There were no mobile phones back then. We were stuck. And Janice was literally stuck on the bed. I tried to move the wet sheet from under her, but she just screamed at me.

“Johnny, I think the baby’s coming!”

I panicked then, I can tell you. I was desperately trying to remember what they’d said at the hospital. Something about keeping calm and not panicking!

“Keep calm,” I said, in my best soothing voice.

She screamed back at me, “I am calm!”

The phone rang. It was the midwife and I managed to gabble what had happened. “Stay calm,” she said.

“Aaarghhh!” yelled Janice.

“I’m not going to be able to get there. Have you seen outside?”

I glanced out of the window. Snow!

“Have you timed her contractions?”

“They’re coming frequently,” I replied, as Janice yelled again, this time with a supressed grunt.

“If it’s happening this fast, it’ll be fine.”

I don’t know who was breathing more rapidly, me or Janice. She had starting panting like a dog on a hot day.

“Aargh!” screamed Janice. “It’s coming!”

Between her legs I could see this pale lump. The baby’s head!  

Joan was reassuring. “No need to do anything. Just support the head with your hands as it comes out.”

There was a wounded animal cry from Janice as more of the baby’s head appeared.

“Pant!” urged the midwife.

“Pant!” I shouted.

Janice panted. And then in a moment, it was all over. Our son slid out between Janice’s legs.

“Now lift baby onto your wife’s tummy.”

Janice reached down to touch our son. Was he alive?

Then the magic moment when he cried. We were crying too.

“You’re amazing,” I told her. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t touch the cord.” The midwife was still there on the phone. “Cover your wife and child. An ambulance is on its way.”

Janice had put our boy to her breast. His little toes were curled up in ecstasy.

“Hello son,” she whispered, “I’ve been wanting to meet you for a long time.”

And do you know, he opened his eyes and looked right at her.

There was a ring at the door.

“Congratulations!” The ambulance man beamed. “What’s his name?”

“Noah.” We both said it together.

“Ah,” smiled the ambulance guy, surveying the soaking wet bed.

“I can see why!”

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems



This evening – Wednesday 5th April – will be the beginning of Passover, when Jewish families all over the world will be sitting down to the Passover Seder. 

Every year, the Passover story is told.   How we, the Jewish people, were once slaves in Egypt and are now free.

Jesus, who of course was Jewish – as were his disciples – was celebrating the Passover meal (Seder) at The Last Supper.


When you’re celebrating Easter,

it’s Passover for me,

no bread or cake or biscuits,

just matzos for our tea!

We have to eat unleavened bread

that’s matzo don’t you know,

they’re rather tasty crackers

but for eight days it’s a blow.

We cannot bake with flour

so use substitutes instead,

coconut and ground almonds

because there isn’t any bread.

It’s the festival of freedom

when we fled Egypt long ago

but just as relevant today

with what’s going on you know!

If you would like to know about Passover, here’s an excellent link from the British Library: https://www.bl.uk/learning/cult/inside/goldhaggadahstories/goldenhagg.html

© Andrea Neidle, My Life in Poems

© Photo by Andrea Neidle