Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

My little girl is unwell in hospital, and is having a really rough time. My fiancée is with her, and it’s hard for her to see our baby suffer. It’s hard for me being at home – I visit, but I worry about them both, and I just want our little one home.

If all of that wasn’t enough, last week my future Mother-In-Law got bitten by a bat.

I know!!

It’s true what they say: if it’s not one thing, it’s your mother!

So, because the best way for me to combat my stress and worry is to laugh and see the  lighter side of things, I have written the following poem about my Mother-In-Law’s adventure with a creature of the night.

I hope you like it.

 

Bat-Nan

Me Mother-In-Law was bit by a bat;

No – I couldn’t believe it either.

I was visiting my daughter in hospital when they told me

So I popped down to A&E just to see her.

 

At first when I entered the waiting room

I couldn’t see her in any of the chairs.

Then my eyesight was drawn to the ceiling

Following the line of all the other patient’s stares.

 

There she was, hanging upside-down from a strip light;

With her knickers on display to the place.

Well, I assumed that it was my Mother-In-Law

‘Cos her skirt was now covering her face.

 

God only knows how she got up there,

But we fetched her down so as not to offend.

And sure enough, it was my wife’s mother

(who I’ll now recognise from both ends)

 

I asked her what the hell she was doing,

And how the devil she got bit by a bat.

She said it happened in doing a good deed

By rescuing the thing from her cat.

 

She went on to say she saw it last evening

Sat quite calmly in front of the TV

With the cat close by in attendance

Watching “Cash in the Attic” it seems.

 

While she spoke, she showed very weird behaviour

She was fixated by a fly on the wall

Her head twitched and jerked rather oddly

And she wasn’t herself – not at all.

 

Expanding her tale, she continued

Telling how she feared for the little’s bats life.

So she wrapped it up carefully in a tea-towel

To release it back into the night.

 

Wrapped up, she moved gently but quickly

So that the trauma to the bat wouldn’t linger

But the bat couldn’t tell her intentions

And as released, bit her right on the finger.

 

Understandably this caused her some discomfort,

And although curses she does not usually utter

Her neighbours noted hearing in the darkness that night

Someone clearly saying “OW! You fucker!”

 

After not too long, she was seen by the doctor

Who thankfully said Rabies was ruled out.

However her hearing aid batteries had packed in by now

So several times the Doc had to shout.

 

It’s been three weeks now since she was bitten

She’s recovered well, I’m pleased to report.

But some aspects of her behaviour still concern me

Like her sleeping hanging down in her porch.

 

She’s been seen less often in the daytime

But has been flitting here and there in the night.

Being deaf, she doesn’t have much sonar

So she relies much more heavily on sight.

 

In the darkness of course this is a problem;

Her eyesight is 78 don’t you know.

She gave me a heart attack last Thursday night

When she smacked into my living room window.

 

But I guess we should be grateful for small mercies

We’ll get used to her as time goes by.

And having some bat traits are an advantage –

She keeps down the moth numbers at night!!

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

Like most people, I like receiving feedback – at work, after I’ve cooked a meal for a loved one, when I check my appearance in the mirror – because feedback is useful in helping us develop and grow. Even negative feedback can be useful; if some one gives you horrible feedback like, you know – you can’t sing, your dress sense is awful, it’s against the law to wedgie a vicar, that sort of thing you can still use it to your advantage.

I’m fortunate enough to receive a good quantity of feedback on my blog posts. Thank you to those of you who feel moved enough to comment. I do also receive a large quantity of Spam email which usually just frustrates and annoys me, but recently I received some which was wonderful in it’s absurdity – both because of the interesting way it was written, and the subject of the comment and the blog to which it (allegedly) referred.

I’d like to share with you, some of the gems that have graced my spam filter in recent months, for no other reason than to highlight their ridiculousness. Please note that I have not altered nor corrected any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. I feel that to do so would somehow mute the voice of the commentator.

In response to my post Glamourous It ‘Ain’t!  I received the following comment:

Yoᥙ rеcogbize what Paѕtor Johansson told us onn Sunday is
that God really likes worshiρ.DadԀу addеd.”

Solid advice from Daddy there (whose daddy?)..although as Sunday has been known for a while as a day of Worship, I’m not sure what effect the good Pastor was hoping for by emphasising that God REALLY likes worship on a Sunday – as if Monday to Saturday, God’s response to worship is “Meh.”

 

When I wrote the post about my Mum (titled ‘Mum‘), I received a comment from someone called  ig sdfsdf.netx jeremyhilder@gmail.com 104.144.209.60. That’s his name; I hope to God he doesn’t work in retail – his name badge will be wider than he is!. His comment was”

Hello, I desire to subscribe for this web site
to obtain hottest updates, thus where can i do it please assist.

He wants to subscribe to my website (I think he means blog) to obtain hottest updates –  yet he clearly failed to notice the two separate “Follow this blog” buttons / links which appear with every post I write.

 

But by far my most popular blog post for Spam comments was my Friday Poem about a Chameleon (my first poem – I have written two about chameleons) – Ode to a Liar. I’m not sure what it is about this poem, apart from the exceptional way it was written of course but just some of the weird and…..well, weird spam comments I got were:

Wіth the intеntion tο acһieve success with freelancing, іt is necessary to ƅe self-disciplined, mοtivated,
and organized. In сase you elect to tаkе the route of freelancing,
you will ԝanjt to have thе abilitry to search and acquire potentiaql
jobs, be very еffective iin schedսling your time, and have good math abiⅼities for
the aaim of billing and taxes.”

Lee and Lɑrry beloved theіr sixth birtһday party.
Regardⅼess that they were twins, Mommy and Daddy at all
times made sure they every had a particular time. And with their birthdays coming in December, Mommy and Daddy
аlsо all the time made sure their birthdays were special although Christmas was рroper aroound the corner. Ƭhe sociual gathering waѕ ѕo enjoyable with a clow and cake and songs aand fantastic
pгesents from their assoociates and grandoarents and uncle and aunts.
It went by sօ fast but earlier than thhey knew it, everybody had gⲟne residence andd it
wɑas time to clean up and get rsady for bed.”

 

I know!? Stated Larry. ?I guess he likes angels ɑs a result of he has
them round aⅼl of thee time. Possibly he and
the angеwls play famiⅼy video games like ᴡe doo
sometimes. Peraps they play Monopoly.? This made
Ⅿommy laugh realⅼy hard.”

and finally, bringing us back to the theme of the first spam comment I shared tonight:

Singing ѡοrship sоngs is nice but that?s not the only approacһ
to worship.? Daddy said, maybe to mke Larгy stop singing.
?There are many wzys to worship.”

I agree with the last one; Larzy should stop singing his worship – he has a terrible voice.

 

Spam – making blogging fun since idiots were given the chance to comment.

 

 

 

Hello, and welcome to my blog.

I’m not going to be able to write this the way it deserves to be written, because of the situation that my family is in at the moment. I apologise for this, but wanted to put my thoughts down.

My daughter is in hospital. She has been for roughly the past 7 days and is likely to be in for at least another 7 days, if not more. I will not go into detail, but fair to say she is having a rough time of it.

She is all I can think about. She – and my Fiancee (her mother) who has been by her side throughout this. They are at a hospital which is over an hours drive from where I am, so I am at home with our Son, trying to do home stuff (cleaning, cooking, being a dad), whilst also worrying about our daughter and her mother. They are my sole focus – and before anyone says it, writing this blog is a form of release for me for the stress. If you think I’m and therefore less focused than I should be, you can (in the words of Bender from Futurama), ‘Bite my shiny metal ass’.

Necessity has forced me to focus on my family and has made me remove all other triviality from my life.

So why can’t we do that when we have a goal or a dream that  we want to achieve or see realised? We fill our lives with such unimportant clutter – the pursuit of material things, wasting hours watching the nonsense on TV, general time-wasting. Why does it take something awful for us to focus? When a loved one dies, we all realise for a few days just how fragile life is. We all say to ourselves “life is so short” and then we go back to wasting it, just like before.

We all have dreams, things that we want to have happen in our lives. We also all do way too little about them.

Picture it as someone you love in a hospital bed, pale, quiet, weak – and a shadow of the person you love. Imagine the achievement of your goal the only way to get the imagined person well and back to you, and you will make it happen. Remove all other clutter from your life and focus on them.

 

Don’t let your dreams stay sick – make them better, and bring them home.

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog!!

This is another excerpt from the previous incarnation of my blog – Larry an every now and then blog. I originally wrote this back in 2011, when we were all a little bit younger, and possibly a little less self-assured.

Anyway, regardless of how you were then – or are now – I hope you enjoy this blog post.

 

The Hidden Danger of Shower Gel, and…….I’m Sorry, I can’t Hear You Over These Trousers

It’s hot. Very hot. And at this precise moment in time I am forced to keep all my windows closed and sweat like a fat kid at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

And why am I imprisoned in this furnished oven? Because my inconsiderate neighbours – the owners of the “Cafe Spice” Indian Restaurant (even though they are from Bangladesh) are having a bonfire and the wind direction is sending the often thick, black smoke over my garden and in through any opening. Which is why all my openings are closed.

As well as my windows.

But all is not soaked in sweat. I do have a couple of tools with which to combat the intolerable heat. The first is a few bottles of ice cold beer which are sitting in my fridge at my disposal. Talking of disposal, I have already had one, and have just opened my second. They are definitely helping to take the edge off.

Original Source Mint Shower Gel

The second tool I use is my “Original Source” Mint Shower Gel. Now this stuff is really good. You put it on, wash it off, and where you put it on feels noticeably cooler. If you’ve been out in the heat all day, or are just feeling really hot, have a shower (or a bath – it works just as well in the bath) with this, and it will cool you down.
However, what they don’t tell you is – don’t use it on delicate parts, because the cooling effect is magnified. I accidentally used some in a ‘sensitive’ area, and instantly regretted it. it was a real eye opener – if you get my meaning.

And when I say “sensitive area”, I don’t mean the border between North and South Korea!

It is so hot in my house at the moment that I have been forced to break the coolest pair of trousers I have:

The Chameleon’s Nightmare

These bad boys are my Festival trousers – purchased (yes, I paid money) about three years ago whilst at Larmer Tree festival. I am very aware of how horrendously awful they look – but I like them, and they are nice and airy so my legs stay cool. At least temperature wise. I wear this around the house only, as venturing outside in these would only offend people – even the blind.

It’s what I have to do in this heat to stay cool – drink beer, cool my bits with mint shower gel, and wear clothes that a clown wouldn’t be seen dead in.

Mind you – rather that than be too hot.

Phew!!

Good evening, and welcome to this week’s Friday Poem.

I like going camping.

But I don’t like the almost symbiotic stress that always comes with each and every camping trip my family go. Every time we set off in a happy, and excited mood which lasts roughly up to the point when we have to set the tent etc. up.

This poem is about one particular cause of stress, that we still haven’t managed to get right – in spite of having the same difficulties on concurrent camping weekends.

 

The Airbed

A new airbed we sought, and one for camping was bought

T’was a double – velour top and sumptuously deep.

With electric plug at one end, for compressed air to send

as itself it inflates – which is sweet.

 

Now, in tents it is true; plug sockets are few –

I suppose that is part of the charm.

But I’m no camping chump – I had purchased a pump;

Double-action – to save aches in our arms.

 

The bed was high-tech, and the air intake spec

was “Inflate” (obviously), “Lock”, or “Deflate”.

All set on a dial, so choice wouldn’t be a trial –

A dial, that I would soon come to hate.

 

One fine weekend last March, we at last had the chance

to take the air-bed on its first trial run.

The instructions were easy; setting up would be breezy

Which was bound to make camp sleeping fun.

 

We unpacked it with haste, for success we could taste

in anticipation of sumptuous reclining.

My family couldn’t wait, so as I pumped at a rate

They just stood there, mouth open, admiring.

 

As I pumped up and down, air was forced ‘cross the ground.

To the bed through a tube it was rushing.

But to my shock and surprise, the bed failed to rise

and the sight of its limpness was crushing.

 

“Patience” I said, “It’s a very large bed –

to inflate it will be time-consuming”

And with a confident grin, my pumping again did begin

But inside, I was secretly fuming.

 

With a fury I pumped, and my heart it did thump

as sweat poured in torrents down my face.

Every breath out was snorted, and my face was contorted

but the damn bed – it wouldn’t inflate.

 

Tired and exhausted, to help I resorted –

With my family, we pumped as a team.

My fingers were twisted, and my palms hot and blistered

Which is the first time since I was a teen.

 

I was hurt and perplexed – and in no little way vexed

as to the reasons our efforts weren’t fruitful.

The minutes ticked by, but the bed wouldn’t rise

And I was ready to give it a boot-full.

 

The bed lay there limp – though you could have inflated a blimp

With the amount of air pumping we had mustered.

I now held a grudge – though the bed wouldn’t budge

But just lay there flat, like a bastard.

 

I checked my equipment, offended – which at my age is recommended –

But found it to be working and true.

I could not understand, why the bed failed to expand

And I just didn’t know what to do.

 

Then, with a simple smile my son said, “the dial

Is only used for electric inflating.

And though your efforts were great, with the dial on ‘Inflate’

Air was just passing through and escaping.”

 

With that he turned the dial back to ‘Lock’, and with speed that did shock

Had the airbed inflated perfectly.

Trembling with rage and fatigue, I admit I did jealously seethe

At the bed now inflated correctly.

 

But in the wisdom of youth, I did learn a great truth:

impatience doth man’s best hopes hamper.

And as I look back now, I make this new vow;

Next time, I’m buying a Camper!

 

 

 

 

 

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

I bring you a dark tale tonight – a tale that I had all but erased from memory, until I stumbled upon it yesterday. The full horror of it came flooding back to me, like some kind of horrible, wet boomerang.

So I thought I would share it with you.

Enjoy!

 

666 – The Shoe Size of the Beast

 

Toe

One of my toes is adopted……

 

I have a mysterious ailment. No, not that one – I’ve been to the doctor  about that, and have got some cream.

I’m talking about the appearance of a Black nail on my second toe on my left foot (just in case you thought the picture above was of my right foot – and thought it was horribly deformed). The blackness of the nail is caused by bleeding beneath the nail. The black “stuff” is just blood that has congealed. However, one question springs immediately to mind:

Why am I bothering you with this?

Okay, two questions spring to mind. The one above, and this one: how did I get this black nail? From looking at it, I would expect that bleeding of that degree – enough to discolour my nail – would have been accompanied by some degree of pain, but I have no memory of doing anything to that toe that could cause such an injury to occur. In fact I can’t remember having any foot injury involving my toes at all. I have suffered with blisters on my heel on this foot, but that is right at the other end of my foot.

My nail has been like this for about a week now, and I have no clue as to how I got it. As I said above, if I had dropped something on it, stubbed it on something, tripped over something or done something similar, I think I would have remembered. But, like the method with which to undo a lady’s bra, it remains a mystery to me.

So in the words of Sherlock Holmes, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains – no matter how improbable – must be truth.

I have suffered no trauma to the toe in question, or indeed to the foot to which it is connected. It is not a form of fungal infection, for it would have spread to the neighbouring toes by now. And I haven’t been cleaning my toe nails with a fork again – inadvertently jabbing the prongs under my nail when surprised by a sudden knock at the door. So there can only be one possible answer:

 

My toe has turned evil.

 

For some reason, known only to itself, the second toe on my left foot has turned from the light and has embraced the dark teachings of Satan’s Chiropodist himself. I’m not sure how this has happened – perhaps it was tempted by those really expensive trainers I looked at last weekend, or maybe the pedicure set I have originally belonged to a jackal. Whatever happened, it’s not good.

I woke up this morning to find a tiny pentagram drawn on the bed sheet, and a small pen nestled between my big toe and second toe. My big toe was a white as a sheet, and had clearly been coerced into helping by my second toe with promises of ruling all the feet on earth with it. If I’m not careful, it will be trying to sacrifice virgins next.

I try not to think about it during the day. I wear the thickest socks I have – but every night when I get home from work, that toe has burnt a hole right through the sock.

Clearly, I need to act fast before all the other toes are converted to evil by my second toe and all turn against me. They’ll make my feet run me into things until I knock myself out, and then will drag me unconscious behind them as they go about their evil ways.

Luckily, Scholl have brought out an exorcism foot cream – made with holy water mixed with fragments of the actual odour eaters worn by Moses. And 45% moisturising lotion. All I have to do is apply it every day for a week, signing “All things bright and beautiful” and it should do the trick. Of course that’s if the toe lets me – which it won’t. It will most probably try to kick the cream out of my hand, or kick me to death. Or do both.

I may have to break my own ankle.

Good evening, and welcome to my blog.

This week’s offering is a poem that I wrote for a work colleague who is off to new adventures after many years doing amazing work in the NHS. I’ve only known him a short time, but it has been an absolutely pleasure.

I asked the rest of his colleagues to give their thoughts and memories of working with this person, and I was happy to put them together into this poem, along with some other bits of info I had about his rough plans for the future.

So, this is what I came up with.

I hope you like it.

Simon

Dear Simon did you really think
That you could just up and go?
Without those of us who are left behind
Openly letting you know
About the impact that you have made on us
And the organisation for which we work?
To do so is rather naïve of you
You loveable silly berk!

You are, and always have been
Far too humble when it comes to praise.
But many of the standards we work to
Are the standards that you have raised.
You were in at the very deep end
With the CSR from the start
Sticking with it every inch of the way
And truly playing your part.

Your methods have sometimes been unique
(I guess with your knowledge, that is your pleasure)
Rumour has it that to highlight the futility of the NHS
You once brought in a Pig Measure?
You were a McKinsey convert –
What you converted them to I cannot say.
But with your love of Combine Harvesting
You could have baled them up like hay!

But, if I can be serious for a moment
(And I know that is something new)
I’d like to tell you some of the words
That people have said to describe you.
You’ve been a Role model, a sounding board
A rock, and a shoulder on which to cry.
You are a fountain of knowledge and insight
And a 100% genuine guy.

You are focused, and dedicated, and true to your word
With always a laugh and a smile.
You always have time for everybody
And no request is ever a trial.
There will never be anyone else like you –
You truly are one of a kind.
And though we all wish you well,
In this team you can tell
There’s one hell of a hole left behind.

We went out for a meal just last Friday
Just a small group, but we sure did have fun.
Though we did have to stare, when you started to swear
As for most of us, that was a new one.
A few times you asked yourself a question
“What am I doing”? you were heard to have said.
But please don’t have any regret,
Because the best is to come yet
As you follow your heart AND your head.

So go to Scotland – go have an adventure
Climb a mountain, and go reach high above.
And don’t worry – we’ll all still be with you
Because you carry our thanks, and our love.

 

Good luck in the future Simon, and thank you for everything.