Monthly Archives: November 2014

Auntie Bess

Auntie Bess

Sticking with the fish theme, this is a short song about riding fish to far away places. That’s pretty much it. Not much else to explain.

Auntie Bess

I rode a salmon to Germany
To Germany? Oh yes!
I rode a salmon to Germany
To see my Auntie Bess

I tickled it’s fin, which summoned a djiin
And flew me across the sea
All this to visit my Auntie Bess
Who lived in Germany

I rode a tuna to reach Baghdad
To reach Baghdad? Oh boy!
I rode a tuna to reach Baghdad
And see my Uncle Roy

I tickled it’s snout, and called it a trout
Which made it awfully mad
All this to visit my Uncle Roy
Who lived there in Baghdad

I rode a haddock to Uruguay
To Uruguay? Oh man!
I rode a haddock to Uruguay
To see my cousin Dan

I tickled it’s face, then rose into space
To watch it quiver and cry
All this to visit my cousin Dan
Who lived in Uruguay

This might get me to Northern Ireland at a push

This might get me to Northern Ireland at a push


I Caught A Fish

I Caught A Fish

A couple of months ago, I was sat in a park on the grass near a lake. Along the side of the lake were several men fishing. While nothing much was happening, it was strangely hypnotic to watch them. I remember very clearly thinking that it looked really peaceful and relaxing! But then it struck me that the fish would see it very differently.

What’s actually happening is that fish are being hunted and dragged from their home by a hook in their mouth. It’s fairly brutal when you look at it that way. This is a poem about the horrific reality of fishermen.

I Caught A Fish

I caught a fish with my own bare hands
Then threw him on the scorching sands
His brothers wept, his daughters fled
I served that fish with buttered bread

I caught a fish with a pointed stick
And struck it with a roundhouse kick
He tried to swim, it was no use
I served that fish with lemon juice

I caught a fish with a fishing rod
Then gave his teary wife a nod
For all his flops and flaps and flips
I served that fish with salted chips

I caught a fish with LSD
‘It’s over friend,’ he said to me
As tiny cherubs kissed his face
I served that fish with time and space

I caught this fish for £2.40 at the local chippy

I caught this fish for £2.40 at the local chippy

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

I wouldn’t call myself a royalist. Most of the royal family can bog off for all I care. I’m certainly not interested in the next royal baby. I do, however, like the Queen. I can’t really explain why I like the Queen so much. She just seems so nice and regal in a granny kind of way.

What you have to remember about the royal family though, is that they’re just normal people born into a very different life. Just like us, they wee and poo and occasionally puke. If that’s not enough to blow your mind then picture this, sometimes the Queen is naked. Actually, don’t picture that. But you get the point.

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

A gentle soul, by whom we’re blessed
But even she might be undressed
Beneath her cool, British exterior
Lies a wrinkly old posterior

Once a day she takes a shower
Her clothes come off for half an hour
She stands there bare, though none shall see
Just the way our Queen should be

God Save the Queen('s blushes)

God Save the Queen(‘s blushes)

The Face On Legs

The Face On Legs

There’s something about cellars that inspire terror in human hearts. Or at least, in my heart. They’re dark and damp and exceedingly creepy. Most children, at one point or another, will have let their imagine run a little too wild and pictured terrible creatures living down there. This poem is about one of those creatures.

The Face On Legs

The face on legs
Down in my cellar
Drank tea dregs
Til you could smell ‘er

Thing of no worth
You released
And now the Earth
Must face this beast

I suppose now wouldn't be a good time to mention the ears on arms in my loft?

I suppose now wouldn’t be a good time to mention the ears on arms in my loft?

Everybody Has A Bottom

Everybody Has A Bottom

Now, I’m not one for public nudity or flashing or whatever, but I think there’s too much stigma surrounding bottoms. I mean seriously, barring very rare deformities or amputations, EVERYBODY HAS ONE! Why are we so embarrassed by something that we all have?

I’m not saying you should all get your bums out. I’m certainly not going to get mine out. That being said, let’s not hide our bottoms. Carry it with pride, use it wisely, and never apologise for it.


Everybody Has A Bottom

Everybody has a bottom
But we keep them wrapped inside
Hidden for the vain and perverse
Preservation of our pride

Everybody has a bottom
And the silence takes it’s toll
For the keeping of this secret
Is a wound in every soul

Everybody has a bottom
But we never speak it’s name
So we live in constant terror
That the world will know our shame

Everybody has a bottom
And it now needs to be said
Sharing bottoms will not kill us
Not if we’re already dead

I guess I won't be needing these anymore

I guess I won’t be needing these anymore



I should probably explain why the banner on this post is a pooey bum and a roll of toilet paper gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes. Today’s two posts are about bottoms. There is no real reason for this except that I find it funny.

Andrex is the only brand of toilet paper I have ever written an Amazon review about. For the last two and a bit years, as a student I have made do with the cheapest own-brand toilet rolls I could find. After so long, I had forgotten how real toilet paper felt. Recently I decided to treat myself/my bottom and buy Andrex which claimed to be ‘famously soft’. Little did I know, a revolution was about to take place in my backside.


How can I tell you and make you believe me?
Just ask yourself, ‘why would this young man deceive me?’
I broke with the old, I abandoned the glum
Now cushiony clouds are caressing my bum

Andrex is the blessing, my bum is the bliss
My bum is the lover, Andrex is the kiss
Andrex is the tenner, my bum is the purse
My bum is the leper, Andrex is the nurse

How to explain such a wondrous sensation?
Why I delight in a damp defecation?
Toilet time tingles my tummy with glee
The dark days are over! My bum, it is free!

Andrex is the wimple, my bum is the nun
My bum is the butter, Andrex is the bun
Andrex is the sailor, my bum is the sea
My bum is the nectar, Andrex is the bee

Dear Andrex, no words could describe such delights
Your delicate dab, then my soul, it ignites!
Nature never provided a softness above you
Like wiping my bum with a whispered ‘I love you’

Andrex is the lily, my bum is the lake
My bum is the icing, Andrex is the cake
Andrex is the Ann, my bum is the King Kong
My bum is the singer, Andrex is the song

Glowing with heavenly light

Glowing with heavenly light

The Squidstrich

The Squidstrich

This poem was partly inspired by this advert in which the viewers are made to feel pity for a lamp, then told how silly that is. This got me thinking about how humans seem to have this ability to feel sympathy for absolutely anything, whether it’s real or not and regardless of how ridiculous it is.

I decided to come up with something ridiculous. An animal that was completely and utterly ludicrous. Having done this, I set out to make myself feel sorry for it. Here’s the thing, Squidstrich (Ostriches with squid legs) are completely fictional and look downright silly. Even knowing this, I was able to make myself pity them so much that I actually feel bad for having written this poem at all. Here it is: The Squidstrich

The Squidstrich

The squidstrich is an ostrich and a squid
You might not think this bird ever existed but it did
Before your great, great grandfather first blinked
The foul, ungainly squidstrich were completely made extinct

Remember the squidstrich, remember

They flopped around on squiddy tentacles
The squidstrich suffered terribly from stumbles and from falls
Their ostrich body bore an ostrich head
This head was fragile, if it hit the ground the bird was dead

Pity the squidstrich, pity them

One day a squidstrich ventured from it’s nest
What happened next would make a grown man thoroughly depressed
It’s legs could not support it’s body well
It tripped over itself and then the noble squidstrich fell

Careful young squidstrich, careful

But as it fell, the bird let out a cry
A cry the feeble squidstrich never utter til they die
And in that cry, it called out to it’s race
Imploring them to find it and to bear it from that place

Fly to me squidstrich, fly to me

The cry was heard by squidstrich far and wide
And when they heard it, every squidstrich whimpered and they cried
And flew forth from their nests to lend a hand
Never had such a squidstrich flock been seen in all the land

Race to him squidstrich, race to him

The squidstrich wept to hear their brother’s pain
They ran through scorching sun and then they ran through bitter rain
They couldn’t let him die alone, and so
They reached the icy mountains peaks and ran on through the snow

We’re coming young squidstrich, we’re coming

But on the ice, their suckers could not grip
They huddled close together but the flock began to sip
In desperation, squidstrich screamed in fear
They reached out for their loved ones, for the ones they held most dear

Always together, always

Then one by one, they fell and hit the ground
The local townsfolk cried out in their horror at the sound
But nothing was their cry to that which rose
Up from the sliding squidstrich swarm, writhing in deathly throes

The squidstrich are fading! The squidstrich!

Out on the distant slopes of crumbled stone
A squidstrich there became the only one to die alone
While here upon the barren icy plain
The other withered squidstrich bodies to this day are lain

Always together, forever

Birds begin to gather, dressed in black in memory of the squidstrich.

Birds begin to gather, dressed in black in memory of the squidstrich.