I’ve learnt a lot from y’all, you know,
Tha took me to ‘ell, and made me watch ‘show,
I watched that poor lad, up on the stage,
Realized it were me, all in a rage.
Ma work ripped to sheds, I scream let me be,
You says stay right there, open y’eyes and see,
Tha’s got fire in ‘boots, we know how you suffer,
But realize right now lad, tha’s nowt burra duffa.
I’ll feckin’ show ya, tha bloody know it alls,
Sat on yer ass, down there in the stalls,
I rebel ‘gaist all this, I rebel ‘’gaist all that,
I’ll rebel ‘gaist y’all, including yer cat.
Ya laugh and ya snigger, I can still ‘ear up ‘ere,
But tha’ll get wots comin’ so tha berra start ‘fear,
Ya laughs even more, I ‘ear “kick bugger out”,
So’s I shuts up me gob, an’ stops wi me shouts.
I’m out now, escaped when the moon was full, slipping past the werewolves and – no, the vampires and zombies had been banned, so I didn’t have to worry about them.
I reach home, only one thought on my mind… destroy. Must destroy that foul beast, the owl mug. I need to sneak.. slowly and carefully. It is still night – and because it’s only a mug, it will be asleep. It will not hear the soft tread of my feet on the kitchen floor. Mu-ha-ha-ha, soon the monster will live no more.
I close in, where it lives. Silent, like a Ninja, yes – all in black I am clothed. So also “She who must be obeyed” does not stir.
Shock! Horror! It is gone. But to where? The washing bowl? Empty.
Then I realise… my heart misses a beat. All is lost. My careful plans, dashed to pieces. Plans that had been crafted over many moons. All now, to no avail.
Damn you blog, and damn you again! “She” must have read – “The Owl” post – on here. Oh, how cunning is “She” – for she has thus hidden the mug, the beast, the owl.
I sit on the kitchen floor and cry, and wait for the men in white clothes……..
I get people follow me
It Makes me feel good
… but I still can’t find out how to follow others!
My brain is misunderstood…
Any ideas anyone?? lol….
Life. Okay, pee’d off with no water for 6 days. For your amusement, I wrote a short poem
I turn on the tap and there’s nothing there,
Outside pipes are frozen, not sure where,
And then when it thaws, a split floods the road,
So nice Welsh Water turn off our water load.
Then say good luck, it’s your bloody pipe,
Even though it’s outside our land, so theirs by right,
I can’t get a plumber, weekends they don’t do,
And meanwhile our toilet fills up with great poo.
So Sunday pm, all hell it breaks loose,
Huge mains burst in the town, all heads in a noose,
And poor old me, left to rot in our poo,
Melts snow bit by bit to flush down the loo.
Monday of course, not a plumber in sight,
Whole town in emergency and all in a fright,
I ring and I ring, messages left on their phones,
And does anyone ring back? Haha they’re all gone.
I get through to one, four or five days at least,
And mild mannered Jack turns into a beast,
But lo and behold a plumber I find,
He’s coming round tonight at a quarter past nine.
Photo: Rebecca Wear Robinson