Friday, April 30, 2010

The Question We Must All Be Brave Enough To Ask Ourselves

Now that our very elbows are pulsing with desire and our penguins have adopted the stance of semi-bewildered Nasturtium Diversity Outreach Co-Ordinators faced with a rather intractable semi-unmatriculated hamster dancing the tango with a chiropodist, I feel we can all easily understand the dilemma we now face.


So the question we must all be brave enough to ask ourselves during such a crisis is: do we dare switch to ITV and risk the danger of some celebrity we have never heard of doing something that doesn’t interest us for no other reason other than the fact that it gets that celebrity the holy justification of a TV appearance?

However, if not shall we go now the evening is spread out against the sky like a big spready-out sky thing and do that thing we like to do to each other’s genitalia with the spoons and the lime jelly?

Then, though, we will have to ask ourselves that big unanswerable philosophical question about Argentinean goat herders and cheeseburgers and whether ether really do look as good as we hope wearing only stockings and suspenders? Or should we, instead, go shopping for cardboard imitation bedsteads down by the trout stream next Thursday, as usual?

Answer me that, my little steak knife.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

All-Nude Crazy Golf

It is almost the season for sustainable goat tickling sticks to be on sale in fashionable organic hat shops once again. That is providing you are a fully accredited Olympic standard Strip Ludo player with all your own head gaskets.


Now it is not often said, especially by professional mime artists, that a young man in possession of a shopping trolley of his own, needs to be married to the lady who buys his underwear, but – nevertheless - I think not all of us will look askance at the figures for his last tadpole audit without wanting to by not entirely un-French, whatever the wind direction.

Despite the threat of climate change, I am sure too – that those are your own knees, and not specially hired for this purpose in order to fool the VAT inspector.

However, should you wish to play all-nude crazy golf in the potting shed of your own choosing with a bevy of Scandinavian teenage wax polishers, then I am sure that is entirely your own business. Therefore any photographs or videos taken of the proceedings will be used purely for educational purposes, or even educating porpoises, if that I – as they say – the bag you are into, but I cannot help wondering just why you need this many tins of sardines in tomato sauce.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

The Daily Re-Custardisation Of Your Elk

Anyway, now that you have attached the smaller 13 of the necessary devices to the Community Outreach Assistant Diversity Awareness Co-Ordinator, it is time to check when our favourite TV programmes will be repeated for the umpteenth time as we go about our daily re-custardisation of your elk.


Now, it is not often acknowledged by those who have the correct form for making sure that all the EU regulations regarding the correct use of socks in a multicultural society are enacted, that sometimes the goat is not entirely up to it, especially if not fully adjusted for British Summer Time. This is, of course, one of those problems that can easily be corrected by the subtle use of the hammer provided.

Still, as they say, you can’t invade small foreign countries, without first establishing some sort of pretext, no matter how flimsy or dubious, or – indeed – how easy it will be to whitewash in the inevitable enquiry, when it is established to point blame elsewhere through many months of tedious obfuscation and nit-picking procedural blind alley wandering.

Now you may ask what has all this got to do with making sure that the cheese is arranged in, at least, a semi-beguiling manner in readiness for the impending visit by a hamster from the royal household?

However, once you have signed the Official Secrets Act and put this map of Belgium carefully engraved upon a watermelon seed into you trouser pocket, all will become clear.

Need I say more?

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Tuesday Poem: In The Time Of Cabbages


In The Time Of Cabbages

Now it is The Time of Cabbages
And we stand like fishmongers
Feeling the icy tentacles of Doom
Crawling over the counter toward us.

Now, do not be a salesman
In my immediate vicinity,
And I will not engage
In base mathematical practices
With the person who habitually stands
Next to you at parties.

Can a man who wears underpants
Ever be really and truly great?
Shall we ever be able to forget string vests
And how such a great tragedy
Was ever allowed to happen?

Go now, and forget that these
Were ever your tiddlywinks.
Memory is hard, while forgetting
Is like the chip shop
In the middle of the council estate.

We sat on the wall
And ate our chips.
Back then, that was romance.
We could have had candles and wine
And it would not have made
Any real difference.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Uses Of The Offside Trap In An Inter-Village Orgy

Even if not all your stoats are quite as fully-charged as they ought to be, if they are wired up in parallel, rather than series, then it takes a matter of only a few more moments for the librarian to become fully aroused. By then she will be fully prepared to show you the secrets of her catalogue index and to stamp your eagerly proffered ticket.


Now, providing you have a firm grip on your weasel racquet, then there should be little necessity for you to make a move towards the sex spatulas at this early stage of the game. This is especially true if the other side are preparing their underwear for the offside trap, which will leave your centre fondler over-exposed as he tries to enter the goalkeeper’s box on the blind side of the opposition’s long man, before the umpire is blown for a scrimmage.

Friday, April 9, 2010

The Electro-Parsnips of Disinterested Fate

Now, it just so happens that the large round motion-sensing chip-butty is ready to be utilised in our pursuit of the Electro-Parsnips of Disinterested Fate. So, let us go then you and I, now the stockbroker is spread out against the sky and look for some batteries for it.


You will have already noticed that - for the purposes of battery-hunting - I have adopted the stance of a flustered supply geography teacher. In readiness for our excursion, I would - most humbly - request that you, my little bicycle-shed, adopt a similar approach and take up the stance of a recently-qualified Clinical Services Technician, especially while you sellotape the snack items specially selected for the impending journey to the back of the transportation weasel.

So, time for the final checklist.

  • We both have our expedition uniforms of sequined bra, cor-blimey trousers, day-glo woollen novelty socks and high-heeled flip-flops?


  • We both have our expeditionary pith helmets?


No, my little bicycle-shed, I said pith. PITH. P… I… T… H…. No, don't worry; we can wash it off later.

Anyway, it is now time to mount our beasts of burden. Then, after that, and a quick bath, it will be time for us to set off.

We will be away for the whole of next week. So, (un-)fortunately there will be no more posts here until on or around Monday, 19th April.

See you then!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

Thursday Poem: The naked unicyclist of fate


The naked unicyclist of fate

The naked unicyclist of fate
Is travelling from door to door
Of your hopes and memories
Soliciting funds to finance
The building of a sculpture
Representing all your failed dreams
Of a better life than this.

Meanwhile the small furry rodents of time
Are deserting all the sinking ships
That were to take you across the seas
Of years into a future land
You will now never see. Never will you
Even once feel the sands
Of its beaches under your bare feet.

Still, though, the mornings appear
One after the other like the final demands
For a life you never got around to using,
Leaving it with its windows curtained
And its doors shut and bolted
With all the future possibilities left
Piled under dust covers that you know
You will never dare to lift again.

On the other hand, though,
There are thousands upon thousands
Of web pages out there, so…
What the hell, eh?

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

The Penguins Mock Our Unfashionable Footwear

The velocipede donkeys of our dreams haunt the very centres of our potting shed souls as we venture out into the shopping malls of all our nightmares once again. We have held the TV schedules of all we could ever desire close to our palpitating hearts as we dreamed of naked encounters with the celebrities and movie stars of our deepest desires. But still the penguins mock our unfashionable footwear ‘ere we go down to the municipal swimming pool on a Tuesday night.


However - and this is rather a large one, I hope you like it – our pogo sticks are still poised, ready for the journey we will take deep into the darkest heart of the car parks of our souls. We go there to seek the social workers of our dreams who will take the diversity outreach co-ordinators of our desires by the hand and teach them all there is to know about how to make kangaroos into stock control assistants in the warehouses of our exotic fantasies.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

The Pencil Sharpener, The Paperclips And That Zebra Finch

Now just because you eggcups are ordered in parallel and not in series, does not necessarily mean that you will have the wining entry in this year’s Eurovision Sexy Okapi Contest, even though you have already taken the precaution of filming each of the judges in a compromising situation with a member of the clergy and a radish.


Therefore, and this is an important point, so fondle it carefully, you will not have complete and unsupervised access to all the graph paper in the stationery cupboard ever again. Not now we have evidence of what you did with the shavings from the pencil sharpener, the paperclips and that zebra finch.

So, until you can once more demonstrate some dexterity with the ukulele and the ironing board to a suitably chosen audience of supermarket trainee managers from Droitwitch. Then play a selection of Val Doonican tunes to them without sniggering at their choice of fashionable trouserings. Also without comparing them unfavourably to the offspring that resulted from the unlikely pairing of an MP and a pre-moistened length of string, we will have little alternative but to remove the batteries from your device until you have learnt the error of your ways.

So, think on.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Around The Back Of The Tool Shed


Our most holy spanners are once more within our grasp as the social worker places the pickled onions on the outskirts of Droitwich for the first time this year. Now, some of you gathered here in your bespoke fetish gear, waders and perversion hats may be somewhat askance, but I’m sure either you, or a close friend, will be able to remedy that with a few small taps using one of the mallets provided.

However, please make sure the taps are turned off as we don’t want the vestibule of the village hall flooded again. Although, after the last time Old Feebletrousers did solemnly swear that in future he wouldn’t drink so much at a lunchtime again, then the postmistress released her grasp somewhat and the colour came back to his cheeks once more, although – to be honest – he is still walking with a limp these twelve months later.

Now, providing your mandolins are properly buttered once more, we can see whether the badgers will need another dose of mollification, or weather Molly can have the afternoon off to go about her business around the back of the tool shed. Those of you who wish Molly to take a hold of their tools around the back of the tool shed are asked to form an orderly queue widdershins of the tool shed and have their tool out and in hand when Molly’s assistant calls out their number.

Once your number is called you should then proceed smartly to the rear of the tool shed with your tool already in hand and await instruction as to just where Molly would like to have your tool so she can utilise it to its utmost functionality. Once you are both satisfied that your tool has functioned to both your and Molly’s satisfaction we would request that you remove yourself to a safe distance before packing your tool away, so that the next member in the queue can be eagerly accommodated by Molly.