Thanks for the invitation.

It’s really very kind.

But there’s this thing I have to do

I hope that you don’t mind.

Of course, I’d love to do the thing,

That’s where I’d want to be.

It’s really so unfortunate

That I just can’t be free.


Thanks for the invitation.

I wish that I could go.

It’s just that I’ll be busy

So, it’s a solid “no”.

I’ve got to hem my curtains.

I have to wash my dog.

I’m pretty sure that that’s when I’m

Upholstering a log.


Thanks for the invitation.

I’ll see what I can do.

I absolutely really want

To spend some time with you.

I’ll definitely be there

If I can find my shoes

And if there’s nothing vital

That’s breaking on the news.


Thanks for the invitation.

I wish I had the time.

The second week in August

Is when I take up mime.

But please feel free to visit,

Just text me on the day.

In case by some coincidence.

I’ve had to go away.

Controlling the Weather

I’ve started controlling the weather.

I know that it sounds quite absurd,

But wait till you hear why I say this

And then you’ll believe every word.

Last weekend I made a decision

To work on the garden, you see,

As long as the weather was pleasant

As the forecasters said it would be.

I got out my gloves and my wellies,

My trowel, my rake and my hoe.

I dug out the key to the back door,

So, then I was ready to go.

As soon as I walked through the doorway,

I felt something land on my face.

The raindrops got bigger and colder

And rapidly picked up their pace.

I looked at the grass and the soil,

And faced a stark fact there and then;

There’d be no useful work I could do there

Until it was dry once again.

The very next day, there was sunshine.

Once more I collected my tools.

But right the way over my garden,

The rainfall had gathered in pools.

It needed a few hours longer,

Enough time to clear up and dry.

I honestly felt really hopeful

When I looked at the cloudless blue sky.

I busied myself somewhere inside

Till I felt that it must be okay,

Then picked up my bundle of goodies

To work through the rest of the day.

But as I set foot on the threshold,

I couldn’t believe what I saw.

The sky was now full of bad omens

And it soon began raining once more.

But now, I know how I can trick it

Into being the dry day I’d love.

I’m buying a brand new umbrella

And I’ll shout to the heavens above:

“Just look at my brand new umbrella.

To try it out would be so good.

It’s lucky for me that it’s raining,

So I can go out in the flood.”

I’m telling you now what will happen;

The rain will just dwindle and die,

The clouds will grow smaller, then vanish

Leaving nothing but blue in the sky.

You see, I’m controlling the weather

It’s quite an incredible knack.

So, I can get digging and mowing

And wishing the rain would come back.


I’ve got 99 problems and the fridge is one,

It won’t keep things cold because the motor’s gone.

I can’t buy myself my yoghurt in a family pack

Unless I’m going to eat the lot of them as soon as I get back.


I’ve got 99 problems and the cats are two,

As I’m sifting through the litter for a shovelful of poo.

There’s an ex-mouse in the kitchen that’s been scraped and squashed

And a hairball on a cushion that I’ve only just washed.


I’ve got 99 problems and my job is three,

‘Cause the boss needs a scapegoat and he’s looking at me.

A client sent instructions that don’t make any sense

And my wages for the week are twenty pounds and seven pence.


I’ve got 99 problems and this poem is one.

I started it five hours ago and still it isn’t done.

If it’s still like this by midnight, I’ll give up and go to bed.

I wish to God I’d tried to write a Limerick instead.

Before Twitter

Before Twitter

I didn’t lose hours each day.

Before Twitter

I could watch films with subtitles.

Before Twitter

My laundry pile was smaller.

Before Twitter

I’d hear what my kids would say.

Before Twitter

I sometimes saw the sun.

Before Twitter

I wrote more than short lines.

Before Twitter

I’d often read a book.

Before Twitter

I got my housework done.

Before Twitter

I drank tea that was hot.

Before Twitter

I sometimes stretched my legs.

Before Twitter

I think I went to work.

Before Twitter

I don’t remember what …

Before Twitter

I rarely shared a joke.

Before Twitter

I rarely wrote a poem.

Before Twitter

Nobody saw my cats.

Before Twitter

I shied from other folk.

Couch Potato

A tongue-in-cheek musing on moving less in middle age.


As I sit and watch the telly,

I’m distracted by my belly;

Crafted out of cake and chips,

Like my massive arse and hips.

I should shift them off the sofa,

Make myself get up and go for

Exercise: a swim, a walk,

The thought of which now makes me balk.

When I was younger I would go out

For a bike ride, not a blow out.

Now I rarely move a limb

It’s no surprise I can’t get slim.

But moving has become much harder

Due to visits to the larder.

Which is where I’m often found

And why I’m getting far more round.

As I sit and read the paper,

I see folks whose figures taper.

I’d just love to be like that

But tasty food has kept me fat.

Cat Owners

Cat owners can’t have lovely things.

They wouldn’t stay lovely for long.

They’d end up in tatters and frayed.

I wish I could say I were wrong.


Cat owners can’t have a lie-in.

The miaowing begins around dawn.

A cat doesn’t care if you’re snoring

Or whether your curtains are drawn.


Cat owners can’t make a big fuss

About sifting and cleaning the litter.

Or the cats might start pooing elsewhere

And their owners would just become bitter.


Cat owners can’t be in control

Of how their cats choose to behave.

A cat will do just what it pleases

All the years from cradle to grave.


Cat owners lose meals to their cats

And they’ll use your best clothes as a bed.

It’s better to simply accept

That the cats own their owners instead.

Voter Fatigue

I’m sick to the back teeth of voting,

I’m really fed up with that cross.

Not least because most of my choices

Have been on the side of a loss.

I don’t want the Tories in power,

I don’t want to leave the EU.

I didn’t choose chocolate digestives

And I’m baffled they ever got through.

I’m dreading the team on my doorstep,

Insisting that they are the best,

That they will keep every promise

And not lie to me like the rest.

My TV’s already a nightmare.

My nerves are beginning to fray.

As it seems that, for no valid reason,

Farage has been on every day.

I’m sick to the back teeth of voting,

It’s all unbelievably bleak.

Especially now that it seems like

It’s happening every week.

Although it’s a bit of a nuisance,

There’s no way I’m going to abstain.

No matter who ends up in power,

I vote for my right to complain.

“Turn It Off” (To the tune of ‘Let It Go’)

With apologies to Disney. Please don’t sue me.

The kids are watching a film tonight,
Not a murmur to be heard.
They watched the same film twice today,
Now they’re going for a third.
I know the script as though I wrote the thing myself
Should have put it on a higher shelf.
Don’t want to know.  Don’t want to see
Another snowman dance in front of me.
The constant singing drives me mad.
It’s really bad!

Turn it off!  Turn it off!
Can’t stand this thing anymore!
Turn it off! Turn it off!
Like I asked you to before!
I don’t care
If it keeps you quiet
If you don’t stop soon,
I’ll hunt down the person who made me buy it!

It’s funny how my patience
Has almost worn away
Since the time you started watching this
A hundred times a day!
I try to change the DVD
You beg, you plead, you want to see
The stupid thing again.  But why?  I cry!

Turn it off! Turn it off!
And I’ll buy you all KFC!
Turn it off! Turn it off!
And watch Toy Story 3!

Here I stand
And here I’ll stay
If this thing stays on …!

I grab the DVD and throw it out the door
And now I’ll never have to hear that singing anymore
But then I realise the flaw within my plan
They’ll make me sit through High School Musical again!

Get it back! Get it back!
Just don’t make me sing along
Get it back, get it back
Though it’s such a catchy song

I give in
You can have your way.
Put the film back on,
I’ll just put my headphones on anyway!


I’m a whinging lefty libtard

Here I sit and cry all day.

I have to take my blue pill

So the truth will go away.

Because ‘alt-right isn’t Nazi’

And ‘to them belongs tomorrow’;

But we’re precious little snowflakes

Who are half submerged in sorrow.

I’m a rabid, raving feminist,

I’m hacking at men’s rights.

And when I’m not too busy

I break off to outlaw whites.

I’m always getting triggered

‘Cause I’m such a loony cuck.

I’m signalling my virtue

‘Cause I want the world to look.

It’s ethics in games journalism!

Pussy grabbing’s banter.

Don’t pay me any mind, I’m just

A safe-space-seeking ranter.

I’ve got rainbows on my earrings,

Want equality for all,

I’m the B in LGBTQ.

And don’t support Trump’s wall.

I think Breitbart is a Nazi rag,

Steve Bannon’s just a dick.

And I’d tell @PrisonPlanet

To go spin on a sharp stick.

I’ll still be a Remoaner

Through all my remoaning years

And I’d let the English Channel

Overflow with liberal tears.

Like some blue-haired Tumblrina

I prefer to mix with sheeple

‘Cause I love my echo chamber and

Avoid the normal people,

I’m a whinging lefty libtard,

I’m PC and proud of it.

But at least I’m not a red-pill pushing

Post-truth, alt-right shit.

It Doesn’t Feel Like Thursday

It doesn’t feel like Thursday,

It doesn’t have that air.

Most Thursdays have a lightness,

A sense of fading care.

For Thursday’s also Friday Eve,

And Friday signals pleasure:

The gateway to the weekend,

Two days of rest and leisure.

Apart from all the washing,

And any DIY,

The cleaning and the shopping,

That make the days fly by.

But still, we get to lie in bed

Until we gently wake,

Unless the kids and pets compete

At how much noise to make.

It doesn’t feel like Thursday,

As far as I can tell.

Perhaps because it’s Tuesday,

Which may be just as well.