Thursday, 17 January 2008


I can feel a letter coming on. Dear Gordon Brown, it will begin authoritatively. Please petition the House of Parliament with a legislative proposal to... Okay, I haven't yet thought out the rest of the content, but I feel aggrieved. Even though I'm not sure what they are, I feel as though my statutory rights have been violated.

At lunchtime today, I flung open my food cupboard with all the bravado of a starving warrior and sighed melodramatically. At that moment, I knew how Old Mother Hubbard felt as she shrugged sheepishly at the hungry doggy waiting patiently for its bone. As my stomach grumbled like someone walking over fresh snow, I eyed the sorry state of my personal larder. Its contents revealed the lonely remnants of food that no one ever eats. A packet of pork flavoured pasta shapes that simply just need boiling water in order to allegedly transform them into a delicious treat; half a Rivita that lost its way some time ago; an oxo cube; a curiously empty bottle of TCP and a tin of sardines that I think I've had since university but don't ever throw out as I am immediately filled with a hideous guilt. I've tried binning it before. As I approach the dustbin lid, my mind's eye liberates a thousand images of a starving Ethiopian child looking distant and forlorn as a load of flies decide to have an orgy on the end of its nose.

At five pm, I switched off my PC terminal and groaned as the monitor faded to blackness. 'Enjoy your trip to the supermarket,' my colleague chirped happily. 'Yeeeahhh...' I chuntered, unconvincingly. at 5.30, I pulled up - inexplicably - outside Lidl in Stanmore. One word fogged my mind as I entered the premises: grim. The first drama played out as I realised that I needed a pound coin to secure a trolley. I fingered my change resentfully as I totalled it up in my head. Twenty three pence and a piece of red cotton. One trip to the cash machine later and I entered the bizarre world of economy shopping.

There seemed to be no plan to the layout of the store. A variety of fruit juices blended into fizzy drinks with questionable names presented in garish colours: Fizzo orange, Trezpo cola (diet and regular, no less) and Popcob pineapple. As I passed by them, by trolley remained empty, except for the pound coin leering sheepishly out of the handle. And then the strangeness started: opposite the fruit and veg was a random assortment of things that I didn't expect to see: there were luminous yellow workman's vests sitting next to a smorgasbord of 'yoga fleeces' (I mean, what the eff?), car batteries, sewing kits, a tasty variety of flavoured condoms (citrus johnnies - yum!) Next to the disputatious prophylactics was - obviously - dog baskets and neighbouring those were toilet roll holders. My trolley remained empty and continued this way as I got to the shower gels. A range of bright colours with - again - odd names tried to tempt their way into my trolley. I picked up Opang and smelt it: vomit. I had a whiff of Torrance. It smelt of bread. Pookonk smelt like a corpse and Driftkit reeked of an unclean old woman that had recently pissed herself.

I wearily continued on and finally reached the checkout. In my trolley was a one solitary jar of olives. I took in the length of the queue (that read of a who's who of Romania's Mafia) and deserted the olives, trolley and all.

Dear Gordon Brown, my letter will begin. Please petition the House of Parliament with a legislative proposal to... retrieve my pound from the trolley that I legged it from in Lidl...

Wednesday, 16 January 2008

You'll See

All by myself,
I don't need anyone at all.
I know I'll survive,
I know I'll stay alive.
I'll stand on my own,
I won't need anyone this time,
It will be mine,
No one can take from me,
You'll see...

Friday, 4 January 2008

Kylie Dream Time Visitation...

I keep having a recurring dream (ie. I've had it twice, but it's the first time a dream has replicated itself, so forgive my unrelenting excitement.) I know that most people's dreams are usually fist-eatingly dull to listen to, but mine features Princess of Pop, Kylie Minogue. So there. What happens (if you can be bothered to read on) is as follows...

I get on a plane and sat in the next aisle is everyone's bucktoothed, pocket-sized, yet fab Aussie pop tartlet, Kylie Minogue (my Mam used to call her Carly Minow, bless her cottons)... I start being political by singing some Madge tunes (Borderline and Vogue for those of you into your gay icons) and Kylie joins in - she's on backing vocals, naturally. We hit it off and the next thing you know we decide to get some sleep (it transpires that we're off to Melbourne in deepest, darkest Down Under) and we spoon each other. She wakes me up with her hideous snoring but I don't mind as am a kind, charitable angelic type person and so set about wiping the Kylie dribbble off my shoulder. When we get to Australia, she kisses me on the cheek, makes me promise to call her and then goes off to catch her bus. I meanwhile, walk about the terminal aimlessly, wondering why I've come to Australia. I am deeply puzzled and despite it looking a rather nice place, I am lost and no one will accept my Euros, which is a bummer as I'm hungry and am trying to secure a Big Mac in Ronald McDonald's finest eaterie with a ten Euro note. I try and call Kylie to get her to come and rescue me... and then I wake up feeling aggravated.

And that's it. Thrilling eh? Sorry...

Thursday, 3 January 2008

30th December...

What I wouldn't do,
What I wouldn't give
To have you here now...
There's not a day that goes by,
Or an hour that passes,
Where I don't think of you.

The small things always catch me off guard:
Gentle reminders when my defences are down
Cause my mind to play cruel tricks
That leave me breathless and bruised.
All at once I'm exposed and the rawness makes me bleed.

What I wouldn't do,
What I wouldn't give,
For this ache to be taken away.
One more smile, one more touch,
I'm bleeding right now.

One more conversation,
To say sorry for all that I'm not,
To promise to be all that I can.
I hope I've done you proud Mam,
Like you've done me.

Happy birthday Ma.
I'm lighting candles for you.

Cud xxx
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