Diary of a Poet. And Some Other Old Kak…

On Tuesday night the Tunbridge Wells Writers (sort of) held a reading night at a local cafe. I was the light relief 😉 / headliner, depending on which way you want to look at it, volunteering to go up last so that others got to do their stuff either a) before the audience got bored and left, or b) got too pissed and lairy to sit and listen without heckling or throwing bottles. Fortunately neither of those things happened, and a good time, it seems, was had by all. Mind you, I was very very drunk…

All in all a wonderful evening, and hopefully the first of what will become a semi regular event for both readers and listeners alike. I opened with a sweary, low rent four-line piece of doggerel about the physical attributes of the octopus, working on the theory that if I set the bar nice and low at the outset the only way left to go would be up. It worked, butoctopus poet whether I can pull it off again remains to be seen. Thankfully, the poems that were meant to get laughs did get laughs and the ones that weren’t didn’t. At least I think they didn’t – did I mention I was very, very drunk?

Anyhoo, enough new shit, but I did want to give my fellow readers – stars all, TW Writers and ‘guests’ alike – a heads up and say thank you for being part of such an enjoyable evening. That goes equally for all of those lovely supportive people who came along just to listen. XOXO *gak*

Now, as mentioned last time I’m in the process of porting all my OLD Moonfruit blogs over to WordPress for ease of reference. More astute readers will realise this also saves me from writing new content for a while, but I assure you that is just a coincidental added bonus rather than a reflection on my inherent laziness. Anyhoo. Without further ado, here are a few posts from late Feb / early March 2011…


Saw on David Attenborough’s ‘Madagascar’ last night a rather sneaky female parrot who mates with all the male parrots in the area, then lays a clutch of eggs. As none of the males know which (if any) of the eggs/chicks are carrying their genes forward, all of them bend over backwards to keep the female well fed and watered while the chicks are growing up. Now there’s no getting away from it, it’s all clever stuff, but having said that some of the sixteen year old pram-faced slappers living on my estate seem to have come up with a very similar strategy…

Taking it one stage further, it was also worthy of note that the female parrot loses her feathers and develops an ugly coloured baldy head during the mating season, so she actually looks at her worst while taking on all comers. This is also mirrored in the actions of the pram-faced sixteen year olds, who are among the most aesthetically challenged but most accommodating of the local lasses generally, but who seem to go the ‘extra-mile’ in making themselves even more unattractive during the mating ritual by getting pissed out of their brains on alcopops and snakebite…

slag parrot

Ain’t nature wonderful 🙂



Hmmm… That curry Saturday night was excellent. Usually I make them from scratch, but I found a packet in that strange little foreign foods section they have now in Tesco’s for a Bombay Byriani Mix made by a company called Shan. It comes in a little box like a packet of stuffing mix rather than a jar or packet and looks very low-rent/authentic iykwim. I didn’t do it exactly as it said on the packet, but close enough to thoroughly recommend the product to any curry lovers out there. ‘Tis quite spicy, so hang fire (no pun intended) with the extra chillies until you’ve had a taste…

So. Fer fer fer fer fer Firth’s a ker ker ker ker ker King’s Speech winner at the Oscars then? Good on him, and everyone else involved, but I couldn’t help thinking of Kate Winslett in ‘Extras’ saying you’re a shoo-in if you play a holocaust victim or a ‘disabled’. And that in turn got me thinking that unlike the real world of DLA benefits or Carer’s Allowance etc the eligibility criteria in cinematic terms is getting easier to fulfil every year.

Not that long ago, Daniel Day Lewis portrayed Christy Brown – a profoundly disabled man with cerebral palsy who overcame massive communication and physical handicaps as well as extreme poverty to tell his story to the world. Tom Cruise got his Oscar for Born on the Fourth of July, depicting a man torn apart physically and emotionally by the ravages of war. Sean Penn and Dustin Hoffmann may have set back understanding regarding autism by years with their stereotypical portrayals of autistic adults, but at least the storylines of those films tried to address the realities of disability for disabled people by exploring issues like social stigma, value judgements and long-term institutionalisation…

But the Kings Speech? A film about one of the richest, most privileged men on the planet, with access to the most up-to-the minute professional Speech and Language input from the most highly regarded practitioners available… Am I missing something here?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not suggesting for a moment that a severe speech impediment doesn’t have a potentially devastating impact on the life and opportunities of an individual, or overlooking the additional pressures implied by status, position and public duty, but I can’t help thinking that any disadvantages were probably more than compensated for by having access to all that MONEY.

So what for next year’s Oscars? Bill Gate’s ongoing struggle to overcome Athlete’s Foot? Warren Buffett’s dramatic fight against verruca infection and his eventual rehabilitation via duct tape and a rubber swim sock? The Queen’s Cold Sore?

For anyone going to the cinema to see The King’s Speech, I hope you enjoy it. For anyonequeen's cold sore losing their DLA benefits in the latest round of cuts, I hope you can still afford the price of admission.



Did you watch ‘The Spice Trail’ with Kate Hamster last night? Bless her beady little black eyes! They were looking at Saffron and Vanilla (I thought they were the other two in Destiny’s Child, but apparently not), and very interesting it was too. They showed a man pollinating vanilla blossoms – very daring before the watershed. My grandfather was a saffron trader in the 1920’s but he jacked it in. There was such a stigma attached to it…

I donned my pinny and rubber gloves earlier and switched the head on my extendable duster to clean up in readiness for the w/e (What did you think I was going to say? Swingers party at the rugby club?). Listened to both Grinderman CD’s and then took a trip down memory lane by sticking on David Bowie’s ‘Lodger’. Been so long since I’d listened to it that when it got to the fade on ‘Red Sails’ I started walking into the front room ready to turn over and put on side 2! Ahhhh… vinyl. Still miss it, but really haven’t the room these days.

I was singing along heartily to ‘Yassassin’ when I discovered I’ve developed a natural vibrato on the ‘siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin’ part. Never had that before, is it a sign of old age? Perhaps it was wind? Who said you can’t teach an old fart new tricks?


Here endeth the second instalment of old kak…


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