December Starts Tomorrow

November 30, 2015

December starts tomorrow

That’s crept up pretty fast

What happened to the eleven months

Now nestled in the past?

December starts tomorrow

Three hundred and something days have fled

Since New Year’s Day was rung in

While I lay snug in bed.

December starts tomorrow

This year has passed me by

So many hopes and dreams unfilled

So next year I must TRY.

December starts tomorrow

Christmas in just over three weeks

And relatives are plentiful

As grannies squeeze your cheeks.

December starts tomorrow

With the opening of advent doors

And the sound of many children

Spitting cheap chocolate on to floors.

December starts tomorrow

Where has this whole year gone?

Thirty one days will fly by soon

And we’ll begin another one…


Which Came First – The Sprout Or The Golf Ball

November 29, 2015

So it’s monster sprouts this Christmas. That’s the fun and quirky story the news is running with today. And sprouts are the original Marmite. You either love them or hate them.

Personally I bloody love them. LOVE them.

So I am thrilled that this year, thanks to warm weather at some important sprout growing time they are huge. The size of golf balls. Because whenever you need to compare and contrast sizes it’s best to go with something sporty.

Lengths in football pitches is always a good one.

How long is a football pitch? I don’t know. But I am still happy to read sentences telling me something is as long as three football pitches as though it is a universal unit of measurement.

And it’s the same with golf balls. Lots of things are the same size as golf balls – hailstones, sprouts and lumps, for example. All the size of a golf ball. And we’re expected to know and understand this as, again, a standard unit of measurement.

Sky News, as they are prone to doing, also went to the trouble of getting in an expert to explain that larger sprouts can be cut in half to aid with cooking and that they can also be boiled or roasted this festive season.

As opposed to other festive seasons when… no, they could be cooked in exactly the same way.

And not content with dumbing down that aspect of the sprout, Sky News also seems to doubt our ability to judge the size of the sprout. The words “as big as a golf ball” aren’t enough to sell it.

So the story is accompanied by a picture of a sprout and a golf ball side by side. And you know what, they are the same size. I mean, we’re having to take them at their word that it’s a golf ball sized sprout and not a sprout sized golf ball but after they’ve gone to the trouble of getting in a sprout expert they’re not going to dupe us with the size.

No mention of the flatulence though. I assume that will also be bigger.

Can’t wait.

p p p Perplex A Penguin

November 28, 2015

I don’t understand the British Gas adverts.

Why is a penguin checking out how warm various thibgs around the house are?

For starters, it’s a penguin. How much do penguins understand or appreciate the workings of gas central heating? This one seems to immediately grasp the concept of radiators and taps. Neither of which, I’m fairly sure, occur naturally in the wild.

I say fairly sure, but you and I both know if radiators lived in the wild you’d know someone who would insist on an entirely organic radiator for their downstairs clockroom. And that person would be a sick.

Anyway, penguins. Would a penguin actually appreciate a heated home. Particularly one wearing an artic explorer style jacket which it cannot remove because it only has flippers and can’t work with the zip and other fastenings due to its lack of opposable thumbs.

Not to mention the fact that, as anyone with a mother will tell you, said penguin will not feel the benefit of said jacket if it continues to wear it around that (already established) warm  house.

Someone explain the penguin.


Enough Is Enough

November 27, 2015

For once this week

If it’s not too much to ask

I’d like getting home

To be a simple task.

I’d love if the bus journey now

Had no issues and simply just flowed

Because I’ve spent too long this week

Crawling along every road.

Monday and Tuesday provided large jams

And Wednesday no work to be had

Then Thursday provided a crash later on

Getting home late makes me sad.

So Friday I ask just one thing of you

No pressure, but come through for me

Just let me get home before seven o’clock

For a reasonably civilised tea!



Busted Driver

November 26, 2015

I’m going through a period in which I have, for the most part, the same bus driver every night.

As a result of this he’s become quite chatty and sociable and wotnot. As you would with a “regular” in any job. He knows where I get on, he knows where I get off. He knows things.

And that’s kind of the problem.

On Tuesday I had a blinding headache. Or, I should say, a normally blinding headache. It was a migraine which normally manifests itself as an aura. Which is a posh way of saying you lose most of your vision but in a really pretty way. But on Tuesday I got the full on pain treatment and associated sick feeling.


And, as is becoming more common, I spent fricking ages sitting in traffic. With a banging head and a churning stomach.

Carole, being the loving soul she is, offered to get me from Dewsbury. Which is not where I normally get off the bus.

Uh oh!

When I got off the driver asked me if I was going forward. I said “not tonight” but I can only assume the driver thought I said “I’m going to dance on the bodies of freshly killed kittens” because he made a face of sadness one would only normally make when faced with a dead kitten dance party. Certainly not the face you would pull when someone unexpectedly gets off a bus.

I got the bus tonight and it’s the same driver. And he seems incredibly pleased I’m going all the way home tonight. Which does also mean I am entirely committed to this regardless of traffic flow (or lack thereof).

But even worse than that is the fact that I have prepared a cover story in case he asks why I got off. For some reason, I don’t think the truth is good enough. So I have a story prepared about going to the Asda in Dewsbury to look at Christmas Food and meeting my girlfriend there.

Which, when you consider we live a five minute drive from a comparable sized Asda just sounds like complete bullshit.

Let’s just hope he doesn’t ask…


Stan Dan Deliver

November 25, 2015

I sat in waiting for a delivery today.

I say that like it’s some kind of disruption my my normal Wednesday routine, but all it really meant was that I didn’t dare go upstairs for more than two minutes at a time (because you know if I didn’t make it to the door in time I’d be stuck with a could not deliver card and a whole heap of misery) and paid more attention to every van that entered the street.

So, I think that our street has more deliveries per person than anywhere else. There was an almost steady stream of branded and non-branded delivery vehicle throughout the day.

None of them came to me. Each one held a tantalising glimmer of hope that was rapidly extinguished as it stopped somewhere else or drove out of the street. I didn’t get a visit from the slightly-weird-but-probably-thoroughly-lovely delivery guy who always brings something for next door (see what I mean about the deliveries) but she’s never in.

Do you know how disheartening it is to watch other people get deliveries when you’re expecting one? Or, more correctly, two.

Yeah two deliveries from two different places and I couldn’t even get one of them to turn up, while everyone else on the street is swimming in boxes of stuff.

As each van pulled up to whichever house, I’d find myself saying “I hope they’re not in” in what could be interpreted as a really spiteful way.

And they were bloody in.

I was in, too, but my window of in-ness was rapidly closing. If they didn’t come today, then I’m reliant on a neighbour or the lottery of a rearranged delivery – especially when they’d not make the actual first arranged delivery.

As it happens, they both arrived within minutes of each other, in two seperate vans.

At half past five.

I’m glad I’d not sat in all day waiting…

Send In Zee Clones

November 24, 2015

According to the news China are planning on opening a giant animal cloning lab.

Just take a moment to think about that – a lab in China dedicated to cloning giant animals. Massive dogs, enormous mice – Enormice, natch – and over-sized owls.

Why would anyone want to make giant animals, or copies of giant animals, in the first place? I mean, that sort of thing has super villain written all over it.

And what if they start cloning giant versions of already giant animals.

An elephant that could recreate Hannibal’s crossing of the Alps in a single step.

A blue whale so large that releasing it in the sea raises sea levels far more than global warming and melting ice caps could ever hope for. The people of, I don’t know, Hull and other coastal towns washed away or forced to live out their days in floating versions of their homes.

Thanks a lot, China.

But if they were hoping to keep this nefarious over-sized animal replication thing a secret then Sky News has blown it wide open, accompanying the story with a picture of what we assume are two normal-sized dogs. But then, Clifford the big red dog could look like a normal dog as well – assuming you could see past the fact he was red – it’s all a matter of perspective.

I imagine the world’s governments are ready to step in and stop this now that Sky News have run with the story. Forces amassing to stop this before it even gets off the ground (assuming they clone birds too). It could lead to all out war, and China would have all the big animals like a crazy, life-threatening Pokémon battle.

China plans giant animal cloning lab.

It’s a massive story. We need to do something about it….

… Oh… wait…

…. maybe it just means a large lab in which the would clone animals.

Oh Sky News, what have you done?