I remember it clearly, on the day we first met,
You walked in the office, you hit me on the head!
As I turned towards you, your eyes indicated to me,
You were surprised, like me, and did not expect to see.
A bemused look on my face, a strangers glare,
My flushed cheeks as I swivelled around in the chair.
You apologised swiftly and made your excuse,
For your short sighted infringement, your baldist abuse.
I didn’t hold it against you, for I like to be fair,
I could see you had issues, by the look of your hair.
Your pressed black trousers, creased front and back,
Bright white non-iron shirt, three to a pack.
I learned of your name, and how you preferred Spike,
Your southern swagger and twang, nothing to like.
But as it turns out first impressions, they don’t always last,
And your baldist abuse can be left in the past.
Happy 50th mate, here’s to more birthdays and beers,
And a continuing friendship for many more years.
