I tidied up my poetry books –
but now they’re alphabetised,
Leonard Cohen and Wendy Cope
are snuggled side by side.
I’m not sure that I trust those two
together, after dark –
but who can slip between them?
Aha – John Cooper Clarke!
Yes, of course I’ll baby-sit all weekend.
No, it’s not a problem, not at all.
Two days and nights – the time will simply fly by!
Sure, the three of us will have a ball…
Yes, I’ll try to help you with your homework.
Yes, I’d love to help you draw a train.
I’ll check no spiders lurk behind the toilet,
then I’ll watch you play your Minecraft game.
No – it’s time to turn off the computer.
Yes, that is exactly what Mum said –
and now it’s time to put on your pyjamas.
Yes, I do know when you go to bed!
Why is it so hard to put on trousers?
Please, will you stop wriggling – for me?
No – don’t wave your bare bottom out the window!
No, the neighbours do not want to see!
Let’s go walking to the park this morning –
Mummy says you always like to go.
Yes, we’re going – you’ll love it when you get there…
Now you don’t want to leave? Told you so!
No – put down that massive water pistol!
Please, don’t push your brother off the tree –
I don’t want to have to tell your mother
we all had to visit A&E.
Yes, of course I’ll let you text your mummy
“I love you” (awww!) – you can use my phone.
(And when they’ve finished, I’ll text too. My message –
“Please, please, tell me – are you coming home?!”)
It’s like another land inside the telly!
So far, in every ad I’ve seen for booze,
there’s never been a man with a beer belly
and not a single one of them has moobs.
In Advertland, the roads are always empty.
Nobody in McDonald’s ads is fat,
and everyone in ads for Match is pretty –
in Facebook ads, nobody’s handicapped.
The women trying to lose weight all look healthy
(though some of them shave legs that have no hair)
and when it’s time for them to do their laundry
you’ll find no sign of dirty underwear.
In Advertland, the houses are enormous.
The bathrooms are all spotless (unlike mine) –
except for in the ads for cleaning products,
where women wipe away CGI grime.
Here, constipated ladies dance with yoghurt –
yet never do you see them near a loo!
A ghostly Audrey Hepburn’s eating chocolate,
in Advertland, where nothing shown is true.
There’s one like me in every home –
I’m the little sharp knife.
Compared to other cutlery,
I lead a thrilling life.
I’m not stuck in some old canteen,
I’m not part of a pair.
The dish ran away with the spoon –
but me? Free as the air!
I’ll often come in handy for
what DIY requires –
from acting as a screwdriver,
to stripping ends of wires.
I’ll cut wallpaper down to size
(and wrapping paper too).
I’ll be your letter opener,
prise pebbles from a shoe.
And when you throw me in the sink,
all sticky from my chores,
I’ll lurk below the waterline
pretending that I’m Jaws…
How to feed a vegan –
it needn’t cause a fuss!
It’s easy to remember –
think ‘vegetarian – plus’.
They simply don’t eat animals,
no, not of any sort.
It really isn’t difficult –
it just requires some thought.
Yes, that’s including chicken,
and fish of every kind,
and Quorn (’cause it’s got egg white) –
but soya is just fine.
No things that come from animals –
like eggs and milk and cheese,
or gelatine (that’s made from hoof!)
or honey (made by bees).
And don’t forget the insects
that can hide inside a meal
(for some are used as additives –
beetles in cochineal).
So now you know the basics
about this kind of diet.
It’s healthy, and low-calorie –
perhaps you’d like to try it?
When I shop at Ann Summers
I don’t slink in, all furtive.
No, I stroll in, nonchalant,
proceed to make my purchase.
But I’ve not been there in a while –
now their bags are less discreet,
and something in the new design
just sends men into heat.
So, don’t shop at Ann Summers
unless you’ve nerves of steel!
That little pink and purple bag
has instant man appeal.
It’s bound to draw attention
(whether you like it or not)
so don’t shop at Ann Summers
if you are easily shocked.
When one guy called “You go, girl!”
I thought “Does he mean me?”
But then another said “Yeah, nice”
and then came number three!
I’m sure I’m almost old enough
to be the young man’s mum –
but that was not deterring him
from checking out my bum!
So, if you shop at Ann Summers,
and you’ll be walking home,
prepare to run the gauntlet of
those high street Romeos.
They’ll think you’re feeling frisky
but – though that may be true –
boys, just because we’re up for it
does not mean it’s with you!
To make things yet more awkward
I was meeting Dad for tea,
and though he is the quiet type
he isn’t that naive.
I’m sure he knows this apple
isn’t from the Apple store –
and no girl likes her daddy
to think that she’s a whore!
So, don’t shop at Ann Summers
unless you’ve balls of brass,
because those constant catcalls
are a right pain in the arse.
No, don’t shop at Ann Summers
without a back-up plan –
a sturdy canvas carrier
to hide your prize from Man!
The past should always come to mind
when drinking fine champagne.
The light that ripened ancient grapes
will never shine again.
Each liquid sip can give a glimpse,
a taste, of time gone by –
a lot like archaeology
(but nothing like as dry).
I’ve got no time for Superdry
(that phoney Japanese!)
or brands of sportswear favoured by
the clinically obese.
When you choose some trendy labels
there’s just one guarantee –
that logo will increase the cost
but not the quality.
Hard-earned cash is handed over
by label-loving hordes,
then companies exploit them as
free advertising boards!
I don’t need ‘Juicy’ on my chest,
or ‘Bench’ across my butt,
for fashion’s fleeting – style endures!
Why be a label slut?
One afternoon, while I was watching Die Hard,
my cat began to act a tad peculiar.
She displayed no interest
in Bruce Willis in his vest –
no, only those scenes featuring Hans Gruber…
My pussy cat’s in love with Alan Rickman!
She watches him intently on the screen.
When he says “Mr Takagi”
it’s too much for my poor moggy
and she purrs like she’s the cat that got the cream.
Yes, my kitty’s got the hots for Alan Rickman –
to hear him speaking sends her quite ecstatic.
I’d love to ask that man
if he knows of feline fans,
for his voice acts as a form of aural catnip.
So, now I know my cat loves Alan Rickman,
we’ll have to watch more of his DVDs.
I’ll be careful which I choose –
heaven knows what she might do
if she ever got her paws on Prince of Thieves!
(with apologies to Gilbert & Sullivan)
At a desk with a laptop, a poor blogger sat
saying “Fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder…”
lamenting the terrible circumstance that
there’s no fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder.
“Lately no-one’s inspired me, or injured my pride,
and actual research is too hard – I’ve tried!
Oh, I’d write of my love life (if that hadn’t died)
for fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder.”
Sitting there at a desk in a state of despair
moaning “Fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder.”
Trying to pluck inspiration from out of thin air
crying “Fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder!”
Until sobbing and sighing becomes a routine,
then into the kitchen in search of caffeine –
while a hungry hum comes from the waiting machine
for fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder.
Now I feel just as sure as I’m sure that my name
isn’t fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder,
that thousands of bloggers have all felt the same
lack of fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder.
So if you remain flummoxed and desperate, I
suggest – turn on your TV (HBO or Sky),
and then watch Game of Thrones until somebody dies –
Yes! Fodder, blog fodder, blog fodder!