My pedigree shrunk and I hadn’t a bean
my light didn’t shine in the town’s social scene
work in the office was arid and flat
I sat home each night with hamster and cat.
Then the letter arrived, with gold leaf and all,
inviting me to the town concert-hall.
I had got on the guest-list fortuitously
they must have mistook me for some VIP.

I brushed off the mould from my threadbare old suit
and set off for town by circuitous route
parked the bike round the corner then walked with head high
trying to keep a cool look in my eye.
The company Chairman bowed warmly to me
I was shown to a seat on the balcony,
at the interval drank with the corporate throng
on vintage champagne, my night was on song.

I looked over my glass at the corporate guests
they all smiled a lot and had very sharp dress.
I had studied the programme to startling effect
my comments were taken with greatest respect,
fellow guests were impressed with my evident knowledge
assuming I’d studied at musical college.
As the last drinks were served I hopped on the bike
and cycled back home as cool as you like.

My name must have stayed on the corporate list
I can’t recollect the last concert I missed,
at all the big matches at golf or football
you’ll find me ensconced in the best seats of all.
I’ve learned the right buzz-words, they work like a dream,
I can tell of past matches and who runs the team,
and am viewed as an expert, a man of some fame,
while eating and drinking my way through the game.

At the races I meet with the suited and furred
they ask my opinion and hang on each word.
I make my predictions, though I’m often half-shot,
and they beg me to meet them next week at Ascot.
The result of all this is quite easy to see:
Mr. A thinks I’m known to his friend Mr.B,
Mrs.C thinks I’m known to her friend Mrs.D
and so with flawed logic they think they know me.

My advice to pretenders in this line is clear
get your name on the guest-list by foul means or fair.
Each concert performance your stock will increase
if you don’t ever clap till the end of the piece.
At the football remember to talk a good game
and be sure that you know all the players by name.
The corporate crowd are more crass than you think
they will turn up wherever there’s free food and drink.
You protest to me that you don’t know the score
and plead that your knowledge is sketchy and poor,
the secret is simple, I have to confess,
you’re surrounded by people who know even less.