Tractor Boy

>Although I love writing, I would also like my books to sell. Then I can grant my wife her wishes and buy her a house by the sea. And if there is enough in the kitty one for me. I never miss a chance of free publicity. Last year our local BBC Radio Station, had an open day. I was raising funds in a small way for their charity of the year Suffolk Family Carers, So I was given a ticket by the nice lady on reception. Lots of local celebrities were there and me. Tractor Boy is football spokesman. Have you met tractor boy? I have and him perhaps did annoy. I criticised them men in blue. Well it's something, controversial to do. Was because I'm a writer see. Wanted some free publicity. But when him I did meet. He was sitting, not on his feet.. Was on a certain radio station open day. The name I'm not allowed to say. As when on their Facebook page did write. They struck me off, they did one night. Was only in a light-hearted way. I mentioned my Smarty dog's I say. Alright they spoke, both night and day. Usually agreeing with what I did say. But now my laptop's sick and away. At the menders now I say. So I don't worry night or day. About that page, where I have no say. I can get on with my Smarty book. But at my files, when I did look. I see I finished his latest book. Oh this poem was about Tractor Boy. I used his name, just as a ploy. Just so you would read, about Smarty. And his author, blinking me. I'll try a short poem. Having a tiring day. Come on hands, knees and toes. As upstairs I climb with those. When day ends and I retire. Where can I find new ones to hire? As when that final step I take. Make my weary way to bed. I wish it was a stairless house. A bungalow and not a house. I know I used the house word twice. Both the same reason, not poetically nice. But if a bungalow I had got. My hands, knees and toes, knackered, would be not. I know that last line, sounded not right. But was how I felt, is that alright? But as I climb those stairs each night. A bungalow, would serve me right.<