Monday, September 23, 2019

Poetry Time


If is a crazy word
Or an unhealthy turd
If only I had done this
Or that
Thrown away the key
And just been me

If only I had said no
And fought my foe
If only I had done this
Or that
Instead I stuck it out
And now I want to shout

If only I could be free
Sing from the tops of trees
If only I could do this
Or that
But the vice is still tight
And I'm prepared for a fight

If only women were not subjugated
Or flagellated
If only they could do this
Or that
If only women had one voice
Then we would rejoice

If is a crazy word
As fragile as a baby bird
If only I could do this
Or that
If may define my past
But I refuse to be typecast

If is a word of possibilities
Freedom from responsibilities
If only I could do this
Or that
And I will
Because I shall not standstill

Friday, January 25, 2019

Me and Brexit

So there are enough people coming back here to prompt me to crawl from under my bed to write to a post and thank you all for taking the time to visit my somewhat stagnant blog.

So, I am still alive. I have a slightly bigger arse than I had a year ago due to consumption of Maltesers to relieve stress. However, I have yet to throw myself under a bus or drive into a brick wall ...not that I haven't thought about the enticing prospect of a collision with a brick wall but given the size of my arse I'd probably rebound and just end up wheelchair-bound rather than hanging out with St Peter.

Besides, someone's got to look after the kids, cats and chickens. So I've nominated myself as chief carer, breadwinner, loo cleaner, cook and general dogsbody. Which is not a lot different from what I did before, except from the bread-winning. And I've done a lot of it last year sometimes working 14 hours days with 2 hours of commuting on a zero hours contract. My record is 19 days work without a day off. Not bad for a 53 year old with a weight problem.

If only I was Kim Kardadshian (still can't spell that name and I've no intention of learning) and the only thing I had to worry about was which flimsy g-string I had to squash my arse into!

Ah first world problems, don't you just love'em?!

So what else shall we talk out?

How about Brexit?

So it's looking like on March 29th we will leave the European Union without a deal in place. Still, I think that's better than a worthless piece paper like the one Neville Chamberlin brought home in 1939. However, I have sent a selection of loo rolls by courier to Mrs May just in case there a last minute deal and she needs some paper she can later flush away easily. I sent a packet of 9 rolls, rather than a singular roll, because you know whatever clauses the French and Germans dream up there will be a lot of shit in them.

I also sent Mrs May a bugging device that she can plant in Mrs Merkel's office so she can listen in on  German plans to take over Britain with audit rolls and small print.

You've got to give the Germans credit for trying. They couldn't defeat us with Heinkels and Stukas so they're adopting a more subtle approach which, according to my secret sources, has be named after Mrs Merkel's foreign policy and code-named "The Vaginal Solution."

Which basically means Mrs Merkel wants to **** us over and then move onto the rest of Europe. The French are already in her pocket. (They'll get in anyone's for a packet of cigarettes and a string of onions). The Spanish, the Greeks and the Italians would cave in at the sight of Merkel's thermal bloomers so basically it up to us Brits to lead the way and save the world from another German balls up.

Well I think that sums up Brexit nicely. What topic shall I tackle next?  Answers on a piece of loo roll.....