A Bit Late I Know…

But I just saw a video of a porcupine eating a pumpkin on Facebook that inspired a pome for National Poetry Day.

Hem hem…

You shouldn’t feed squash to a porcupineporcupine-clip-art-libertarian_porcupine_8-1969px
It fills them with noxious air
And when they fart
Their spiny darts
Fly every-bloody-where.

Thank you. That is all. Here’s a video of a porcupine eating a pumpkin. The resulting explosion is edited out.

When is a Charity Run not a Charity Run?

sunset runner header

just giving logoWhen it’s a NOT FOR CHARITY CHARITY RUN.
Which is what I will be doing on
Sunday 4th October (God willing*).

As regular readers will know, I can be quite vocal about people doing things they enjoy doing recreationally and/or for personal satisfaction and claiming they’re doing it for charity. I wrote a blog about it, in fact, which you can, if the fancy takes you, read HERE.

So, let’s be clear, then: I am NOT running for charity on October 4th I am running for pleasure, and I would almost certainly have been running for pleasure on that date even if The Bridge Trust hadn’t been looking for people to run and raise money on their behalf.

That said, I probably wouldn’t be running a half marathon, and  would probably elect to postpone my run should it be hissing down – an option not now available to me other than for the most severe meteorological anomaly prompting the cancellation of the entire event. And possibly an immediate and drama-filled evacuation of the area. So either way you will get your money’s worth.

'Pip'. Of whom I have Great Expectations

‘Pip’. Of whom I have Great Expectations

The Bridge Trust, BTW, is a charity that helps homeless people in Kent, and both myself and my pet Pingwing, Pip, support them as much and as often as our very meagre bank accounts will allow. If you bothered clicking that blog link I included above you will have seen that the treatment meted out to the homeless in Kent prompted that particular rant post too – so my endorsement of The Bridge Trust is not a casual one.

Anyhoo… It would be really REALLY lovely if you were to support me in my hypocrisy (remember, every pound you give is another ounce of powder in the petard I’ve chosen to hoist myself by!) by making a donation on my Just Giving page. I will be running the course anyway, and enjoying it in that perverse sort of way that runners enjoy knackering themselves out for pleasure, but if other people can benefit from that I’m more than happy to oblige them. Thank you for your (and I’m jumping the gun a bit here, I know) generosity, you lovely lovely people.vent not for charity

* I don’t like to tempt fate…

Up Yer Bum!

I read this, with complete disregard for the ten-minute time slot and just for shits and giggles, at an open mic last night instead of the usual poetry or a short story. It went down quite well. Be warned: from the outset it goes for the cheap lavatorial laugh and it is, both in blog and open mic terms, HUGE, with a word count a tad under 3k. So take it or leave it, and don’t say you weren’t warned:

Up Yer Bum (AKA The Fantastic Voyage)

A few weeks ago, having reached the age of eligibility, I received an RSVP from my local hospital regarding a screening event they were planning. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘I haven’t had a night out in ages.’ Sadly it turned out this wasn’t the star-studded cinematographic premiere I had hoped for at all, but an invitation for an examination to determine whether I might be at risk of developing bowel cancer. Additionally, rather than being an evening event worth digging my glad rags out for it proved to be an afternoon matinee. Still, beggars can’t be choosers and I have to take my fun where I can find it these days, so I put my X on the dotted line and signed up, figuring it was a sensible idea even if the main feature was unlikely to fizzle and pop with the kind of gung-ho, balls out, action and adventure I usually look for from my onscreen entertainment. stiff fingerI have, in relation to other conditions, had several doctors insert a stiff finger (appropriately gloved and lubed, of course) into my back passage over the past couple of years, and while it is not a sensation I particularly relish I have been reassured following these undignified probings to hear that my prostate feels pretty much how a prostate should feel rather than resembling a bag of variously sized marbles or a burst balloon. That said, the finger-up-the-bumhole examination is a cursory one at best, so the opportunity for a more in-depth study, seemed, in best belt and braces tradition, too good an opportunity to overlook. Continue reading

It’s Been a While…

… but here’s a blog. Sort of. It’s actually just a ‘focussed freewrite’ from the prompt Phobia I started as an example for my writing group, but it ended up being a bit longer than anticipated. So here it is. Warts and all:


When I was very small I had no fear of spiders. In fact, I seem to remember quite liking them. There was an old water trough in the playground of my primary school and when I wasn’t rolling marbles around in it I would sometimes race spiders cobwebin the bottom. I have vivid memories both of watching the races and collecting the participants from various hidey-holes around the school. I also recall collecting spiders and their cobwebs in traps I made from privet branches I would pull off the bushes around my front garden. I would strip the leaves from the branch and then bend it in a loop to form an oval. You could place this loop under a web and then lift the whole thing, including the spider who had woven it, free. I think this game was mostly played in autumn, because the webs were easier to find and more prolific on cold mornings and the frost trapped on the silk painted pictures with them.

Whatever my feelings regarding spiders, my brother Robert – four years my senior and the bane of my life – was terrified of them, so from time to time when he had really upset me I would go on the hunt and round up half a dozen or so of the ugly little buggers and pop them in his bed. This may seem mean, but by comparison it was small tatas – Robert would climb into my bed while I was sleeping and piss up my back rather than get up and go to the toilet. Continue reading