November 17th 2018


It could be a photo of a Rothko, it could be a pocket shot,

I may have used filters, I may have not,

I could let it pass,

It could be my arse.

A Saturday poem for you all amongst all the madness that is the UK at the moment. A friend of mine sent me a text today telling me he was going to see “Fantastic Breasts and Where to Find Them” today, I wonder if he did and weather he’ll keep the location a secret.

One the positive front, after my worry earlier on in the week that since reaching the grand old age of 30.17, I seem to have contracted a mild form of dementia, I have trouble remembering things and it worries me greatly. The brilliant news today, according to the Times, (I really only get it for the big crossword on Saturday),is that it is fine to forget things at my age, in fact it is normal and good for you. The brain is merely only remembering things that are important, so where your car keys are and why you’ve walked upstairs are not relevant to the job in hand and so we should all carry on regardless. If however you do find yourself forgetting where the car keys are, you should say out loud, “I am putting the car keys on the hook” to yourself when you put the car keys on the hook. This does lay itself open to abuse if you start telling yourself they are on the hook when you’ve put them on the window sill. Having a joke with yourself, twisting your own melons.

So as far as the Ministry Health pages go we are all ok, really we are.

The pub news from the New Inn is that the landlord and landlady are moving on, begging their old employers for their old jobs back, so far they have had a 50% success rate. Fingers crossed for the other half. And I hope to God we get a landlord who can make a go of it next. It seems that when a pub is brewery owned, and the landlord (tenant) does well and starts to bring home the bacon, the brewery put the rent up, thus stifling the landlord and negating all his/ her hard work. The rumour mill is running at full whack and apparently one of the landlord of Worcester’s top Gay bars wants to move out to the countryside, and the New Inn Β is on his list of good pubs to take over the lease.

This could be great news as it could, maybe bring some colour and vibrancy to the otherwise drab rural drinkers den. It may get rid of some of the Bigots, And we may end up with our own kind of Studio 54 type hedonistic local pub, which would be excellent!

Whatever the outcome and whoever takes the thing over I wish them well and selfishly perhaps want them to succeed as I want a good pub in my village.

Today I cut up a load of kindling and now have 4 dustbins full of the stuff, my chopped willow is seasoning under black plastic and we have a full log store ready for a cold winter, a frost is forecast for tonight. On Monday I am working from home and plan to sit in front of the fire, on the rug, with my tablet, keyboard and mouse, write some reports and chat to colleagues as my evil boss is on holiday for 2 weeks!!! Hooray!


Underated, but sublime

“I was a teenage stamp collector, I’d lay on my back and you’d stamp on my face”


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