It's absolutely my favourite game:
A girlfriend's dad had hidden sweets
Along the hedge, among the roots
Of the beeches at the end of the garden.
What were they called? They were boiled sweets
With claggy centres, each one wrapped
In a paper with its particular fruit
Pictured on it in living colour.
Far too good to throw away-
I kept the papers as souvenirs.
Now I'm older it's coins I'm after.
Bus stops are a good place to look-
Anywhere that kids hang out.
Kids take a millionaire's pleasure in chucking
Their change from the sweet shop at one another.
It's pocket money to me. It adds to
My brave, New Labour, carer's income.
Look, I could mark you an X on the map
For every pound coin and fifty pence piece
I've found. My best was a twenty pound note-
Probably part of a drug gang's booty-
Just at the corner of Primrose Bank.
It's absolutely my favourite game.
My name is Alan Quartermain;
I and my friends are having to look
For a treasure city ruled by a Queen
In the burning heart of