Gerrard, Sir Gerrard – are you sure that it’s so,

Your title, your label, or are you having a go,

At me, your poor servant, a man dearthly low?

Gerrard, Sir Gerrard, pray tell me, with haste,

How you got it, your title, your rank and your place?

Cos I want it, really want it, so I can lift up my face.

I got it, my title, after years of hard slog,

Writing stories for children; my mind was agog.

I was tired, so tired, when I knelt down before,

The Queen, then she tapped me and I fell to the floor,  asleep.

Crazier things have happened to me,

I am the Crazymad Writer, you see,

In the meantime, while you are here,

Take care that you don’t get too near,

My title, my award, for being so fine,

After years in the wilderness now is my time!