While travelling back to North Wales from London by tube and then Train I overheard a whiny little boy who quite clearly was fed up with waiting around in Euston train station. I wrote the words he spoke: “I don’t like it here, not one wee bit” in my notes folder. Back at the home where we were staying I picked up a guitar forgetting I had tuned it DADGAD. I grabbed what I thought was a D chord but in this tuning was a D7. The next chord (Bb) was just where the song went…almost like it was dictated to me. The words rushed out in a torrent as I channeled my own experiences of discomfort and imagining those of children with Autism who I have known. As I was writing it all down I was aware that I actually DID like it there. It was a beautiful experience to travel in my ancestral homeland.

Everything is noisy, no-one’s sitting still

I won’t drink the poison, I won’t swallow that pill

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

my clothes are feeling itchy, I need to take a shower

feeling itchy, snitchy, bitchy,  minutes seem like  hours

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

everyone looks worried and no-one looks around

scurry hurry worry, people driven underground 

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

we all know time is fleeting, time to beat the clock

time to miss more meetings, time to take a nature walk

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

(today) all the trains are running, but nothing runs on time

pacing, racing, chasing, I have no peace of mind

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

I tend to glorify the past I want time to stand still

but nothing ever lasts and nothing ever will

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

I feel ill at ease, like I don’t fit my skin

I need to be released, my patience is running thin

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

cooped up, locked, up locked down, locked out,

look out, look up black out, fed up

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit

I don’t like it here, not one wee bit