It’s Hallowe’en again
Oh my goodness, what a lark.
That’s why I here in my house
Hiding in the dark.

Watching TV from under cover
Hiding the glow from the screen
Because there’s nothing worse tonight
Than finding out you’ve been seen.

An array of children come to the door
Dressed as witches, warlocks and ghosts
The same kids that, just days ago,
Smashed the fence so we’ve just got posts.

It’s not for me, this Hallowe’en lark
That’s why I’m quiet like a mouse
And most of the stuff I’m doing tonight
Is done at the back of the house.

The lights are off and nobody’s home
Please move on down the street.
Don’t come knocking at out door
With cries of trick or treat.

As the evening moves along
You glance up at the clock
It must be done now, lights back on
And then… the dreaded knock.


Crispy Crisps

Today I discovered what it is like to be a real life archaeologist, to uncover the remains of a lost civilisation, albeit in a very unlikely place.

On the way home I was really hankering for something special for tea. Something which brings such unbridled joy that it cannot be enjoyed every day for fear of the magic wearing off.

I wanted a crisp sandwich.

Because I’m 38, and screw you rules about tea.

So I visited the Tesco Express to purchase the two major components of this dish: crisps and bread. When it comes to the bread it has to be thick cut white sliced – something you can really Beryl (a word meaning to squash a sandwich flat, derived from the name of a character in The Liver Birds) around your crispy centre.

And when it comes to the crisps I usually go with Walkers, more often than not ready salted ones.

And that’s pretty perfect.

But I fancied something a bit swankier tonight, and was immediately drawn in by an offer on the Sensations range of crisps. They had a load of Baldamic Vinegar and Red Onion, and a load of Sweet Chilli. But I really wanted Chicken and Thyme.

Of which there were none.

But then I saw the unmistakable likeness of a chicken breast staring at me from a bag right at the back of the shelf. I was in luck!

I was not in luck.

For a variety of reasons, the packet caught me eye. It looked like it had been through a war. It was all crinkled, crumpled and you could see the outline of crisps where the bag had pressed against it.

So I looked closer.

These crisps had a Best Before daye of early August. They were nearly three months out of date. I couldn’t use them for a sandwich. Well, I could if I’d wanted to find out what that sandwich would feel like leaving my body in liquid form at an inopportune moment.

So I did what anyone would do in that situation, I moved the bag to the front of the shelf in the hopes that an undesirable will by them.

In the end, I had ready salted.

Breaking The First Rule Of Bus Stop Club

I made friends at the bus stop last night.

I didn’t set out to make friends because if I have one rule it’s that I should never, ever engage anyone else waiting for the bus in conversation. But it just kind of happened. I ended up in a little bit of a chat with two women who catch my bus home in the evening – we’re always there, come rain or shine, but we don’t talk to each other. It’s just not the done thing.

But yesterday there were just the three of us. There was me – waiting in the usual spot I wait, despite it once being the site of an incident involving a pigeon with the shits, and the two women who wait under the shelter. Just the three of us. I moved under the cover of the bus shelter because it started to rain – or, at least, I assume it was rain. You can really never tell anymore – once you’ve been dripped on by a leaky pigeon sphincter, it really changes your views on precipitation.

Anyway, there we were. Just the three of us waiting for the bus.

And then along came a group of lads who bypassed all three of us and established themselves as the head of the queue.

And that’s how we got chatting. We started to talk about the number of people who push in at that bus stop – who just rush to the front because they think that all the other people are maybe just standing around for the fun of it, rather than to catch the exact same bus.

And, inevitably, our conversation turned to the little woman with the gym bag who always barges her way to the front. I just mentioned her as a joke, saying that she was all we needed now and our evening would be complete. What I didn’t realise was that these two had massive amounts of hate for this little pusher-inner. I mean, she annoys me with her ducking and diving, but these two… wow.

Apparently, and this is something I’m going to keep an eye out for, they like to trip her up if she pushes in. “There’s nothing funnier,” says one of the women, “than seeing her stumble onto the bus when I’ve legged her up as she rushes past. I really enjoy that.” I mean, obviously, that’s so wrong. It is. It’s just wrong. But when you travel on public transport as much as me you know that, occasionally, people just need a gentle nudge in the right direction, just to remind them that there are other people who use the same mode of transport.

“I think there’s something wrong with her,” she continued. “Because when she sits down she kind of spreads out, and flings her bag about. So one day I just asked her… I just said to her, ‘do you have to be such an ignorant bitch?’ She doesn’t seem to do it as much anymore…”

Remind me never to push in for the bus…

Brand Loyalty

I’m a person who knows his own mind
So there’s one thing that I cannot stand
Wherever I turn or whatever I do
Give it a sec… Russell Brand.

He wants to start a revolution
By stopping the stuff that we hate.
For me it’s realky quite simple –
Russell, stop chuntering. That’s great!

The way to bring about change
And make the most of the lives we have left,
Is to not pay for things when you want them.
I might be wrong, but that’s theft.

Oh be the PM, people shout.
Like they do when Clarkson’s a twat.
But just take a minute and think it all through,
It’s a crappy idea is that.

But old Shagger Brand has a book out
And one that he’s keen to promote.
If we all took a copy and paid not a jot
That’d teach the self-rightous old scrote.


A nice quiet night at home
Just reading and watching TV
A noise erupts from the kitchen
And scares the shit out of me.

At first I don’t know what is is,
This noise that I have heard.
But as I look towards the kitchen
The destruction is quite absurd.

There goes the cat carrier
On the cupboards is where it should live.
But a black and white cat has fiddled about
And something’s decided to give.

Crashing to the floor, it bursts apart
The catches no longer quite catch
Between gravity and Peppa the cat
That cat box has now met its match.

Apparently, Peppa resents it.
After all, it equals the vets.
In her eyes the cat box is evil
And deserves everything that it gets.

But the destruction doesn’t stop there
As I leap from my chair quite alarmed
For the ironing board is now falling.
Peppa’s lucky she hasn’t been harmed.

At the too of the stairs she is sitting
An innocent look on her face.
How can you be cross with those lovely big eyes.
Yellow, with some blue – just a trace.

It wasn’t me, the face is saying.
You’ll have to show me some proof.
But uo until then, I’ll remain innocent,
Mysterious, sly and aloof.