My port, mine!


The ports on offer in the shop next door,
It’s Taylor’s Reserve, the one I adore.
As soon as it’s open I’m going down to that store
To fill up my basket with 10 bottles more.

Why’s it so cheap, I feel like I’m stealing,
It can’t be true, some dodgy dealing?
But after a bottle, won’t be guilt that I’m feeling
As I’ll be in town on my hands and knees squealing.

So come on Co-Op, you know it’s not fair,
Surely you’ve seen me, you must be aware.
Or maybe that’s why, I’m trapped in your snare
Take off this damn deal so I can stay in my lair.

It’s my day off and now half past two,
And I’m back once again shopping with you,
You sly little devil, I’m sure that you knew
I’m attached to Co-Op like I’m covered in glue.

So Co-Op take it away please,
Make a new deal on some Mexican cheese,
Or one of those meals you take home and freeze.
I’m begging you Co-Op, I’m down on my knees.


With you, falling in love, I am. Hmmm!


Oh Yoda, with your skin so green,
I’ve been in love with you, since I was a teen,
When I turned on TV and you enlightened my screen.
Say you love me, please don’t be mean.

You’re a little bit fat,
But I’m ok with that.

Your hairs are sparse and grey,
But with them each day I’ll play.

On each foot you’ve only three toes,
But, honestly Yoda, that’s the least of our woes.

You’re a little too into the force,
But I swear that’ll never be cause for divorce.

We’re two different creatures,
But I love all of your features.

Maybe they’ll all say that we’re just plain wrong,
That a love between us won’t last very long,
But I know the truth, we’ll be so strong,
And that, my little fat Yoda, is why I wrote this song.





Apparently, It’s considered impolite and unromantic to burp over the phone. So, in order to make amends I summoned up all of my GCSE D level English speaking ability, and wrote a poem…

‘Tiny, hairy, bag of bones

10,000 images of you, all on my phone.

Not one of them have I requested,

But all of which, I have detested.

My wife to be,  seems to keep,

Taking them, while you sleep.

Your snoring in cupboards or chest of drawers,

Your legs wide open, like Eastern European whores.

I’ll see you soon, in 2 weeks to come

Please sit still, try not to run,

Or climb on me, when I’m tired and broody,

And in return, I’ll be less moody.’

I think it’s fair to say my literary career begins now. 

The Machine of Unending Flower Production

The Machine of Unending Flower Producation

There was, of course, a time when I would have welcomed with open arms the ability to create, nurture and sustain all floral varieties. Florists were heroes to me, people to be worshiped and seek advice from. Nature was wonderful and life was simple.

But that was then. Those days of innocence have past and I am left with the intolerable skill of horticulture. It seems everything I touch thrives. These past few months have seen an influx of floral growth, I cannot approach something without it blooming and producing some form of colourful display of affection. Even the banana plant at work (not native to Cornwall) that I sit next to has sprouted a new sapling. Such ability has made me fear the future, does it stop? I fear the future in the same way I fear having to put my foot in a shoe I know is soaking wet. Or having to move past a rather large moth that has placed itself immorally on the door. I also fear the inevitable dick tv show in which retarded members of the public must create a bouquet/garden in which to impress a panel of dicks, which then moves on to having to impress a panel of even more retarded members of public who vote by pressing their fat Pringle greased fingers against their phones. The future may be full of blossom, but it aint pretty.

Or perhaps I have missed the signs? Perhaps the flowers adore me romantically? Their sudden colour is an attempt to seduce me, in the hope that I will pollinate them? Spreading their seed across the greenery of England? How could I have been so blind to their advances!!

Can I lose my green fingers? Does that happen? Or is it like the bike thing?



There will be oranges

There will be Oranges

I was going to write this incredibly intelligent bullshit about inbred Cornish people asking why I don’t live on the streets as they apparently do. But I’ve been at work all day and I genuinely cannot be arsed to type anymore than the sentence about to be written.

Here’s the sentence….

It’s me being attacked by moths whilst holding up Zeus with my magical fruity palms as he takes a well deserved break in the pool.

Done, I’m going to bed.

Oh, and my face has returned to it’s normal rotund shape, as opposed to the drug addict wolf thing in the last post.

If I could fish slap you, I probably would.

I’ve had a really really bad week, lost my passport, not travelled, been arsed about by the post office, I keep dropping things and my dog keeps pooing on the kitchen floor. So, I decided to do this post, it may get a bit tedious toward the end but you can always stop reading. I’m not a hateful person (that’s a lie) it’s very hard to annoy me (that’s not the truth) and I never moan about anything (still lying) but if I had a really big sweaty stinky fish that I could slap 9 things with, then these are those fish slapable things……

1. Luke Skywalker: Mr Skywalker is a bastard. Bad things happen to people around him. His non descript uncle and aunt died, that green little thing disappeared in his bed after talking to Luke, his aeroplane buddy died,  Obi Wan got smashed apart by Luke’s robotic dad and his friends got chased across an entire galaxy by some old perverts storm trooper people. Oh, and he also built the two most annoying things in the entire history of cinema, C3P0 and R2D2, then he wanted to nail his sister. He has the haircut of a 4 year old child and his voice is far too whiny for me to actually understand the things he says – like some mutant bat human hybrid thing. I hate you Luke Skywalker, you squawky bastard.

2. Belgians:  For not being symmetrical.

3. Masterchef/People who take food seriously: It’s not something luxurious, I don’t want it presented to me in the shape of 5 bunny rabbits building a thatch roofed house. I want it cooked quickly with no dramatic music in the background, I want it put in front of me, and I want to eat in peace. If some arsehole critics the food I’m eating then I get angry, leave me be.  It only gets churned up and pooed out anyway. Let me style my poo in front of these judges.

4. Moths: Maybe somewhere in time my ancestors where part moth, or bred with moths or had some vague connection to these angry hairy little birds of shit. They fly near me, land on my face when they don’t have a light to fly into, they make me vomit far too often. They aren’t needed on the planet, remove them for me please because I’m not touching them.

5. Passports: They are the most horrible colour in the rainbow. The photos always look terrible.  They are too small. They get lost too easily. Stupid people in the post office don’t know how to do the ‘check and send’ service properly. They are too expensive. They take too long to be delivered. They are bad.

6.  Justin Bieber: This one includes every single celebrity that is more famous than talented, and any moron who does that stupid sign with their hands when they are being photographed. But back to Bieber, I hate his stupid shiny corn head, his duckling beak mouth, his silly slug eyebrows and his generally persona. Why’s his face so smooth? I want to slap him around and give him some colouring. Justin, go and sit in the rain and rot, then buy a cave and never leave it. Thank you. (my advisor said I should be a bit nicer in this one. I guess his music isn’t so bad? I mean, I only wanted to hang myself for 20 of the 22 seconds I listened to it)

7. Cornwall: Everyone is a farmer. Everyone is illiterate. Everyman over the age of 30 calls me ‘my love’. There’s more cows than people. The roads aren’t straight or flat. It stinks of manure. Nobody understands the concept of a schedule. They trade in potatoes instead of money. Burn it.

8. People who stand in my way when I’m walking: There should be two lanes on pavements, one for people who know where they want to go, and one for the fools who left their house for no reason. Not sure why your outside? Go back home and sit in the dark please.

9. Gimli son of Gloin and his lover Legolas: This includes C3P0 and R2D2 and just about every disney character.  Don’t make jokes in potentially epic situations. That rainy fight in lord of the rings was amazing, except for the constant one liners from a certain homosexual dwarf. Well done Legolas, you killed a really big elephant thing, but don’t slide down it like your surfing and you probably said something when you reached the ground. C3P0’s constant penis insertion references. R2D2’s bleeping. Stop it!!!