Well, after a trawl through the blog I came across this post I wrote a while ago.
On a fairly regular basis I find that the things I rely on conspire against me and rather than bemoaning the fact that yet again something has broken, blown up or (for no explicable reason) just stopped working I try to find a way to laugh and move on ...
After the HUGE success of my Bingo Boobs poem I thought I'd give a couple of others a bit of a re-run while I wait for the muse to strike.
These are for you Joe and Holly (and anyone else who happens along).
You may think it's odd that both of these poems centre around housework and/or my ineptitude ....
Actually, if you know me at all you wont find it in the slightest bit odd ...
So, here they are:
A Shitty Ditty
The wheels fell off my Vax today
It's really the last fecking straw
I kicked it's blue arse out of the way
And for good measure slammed the door
My washing machine exploded you know
With a great big fecking BOOM!
You should have heard my wail of woe
As the stench of burning filled the room
My dishwasher made a chirruping sound
But nothing seemed really awry
Until something flew out (it was small and round)
And almost took out my eye!
My steamer's bust (although there's still steam)
It's just nothings ever cooked
It's like my appliances are on the same team
As they laugh at me - 'YOU'RE FOOKED'!
The Ten Minute Tidy
Now I have theory
and I think its pretty sound
so listen up here deary
you may find it quite profound
I'm no domestic diva
my life is somewhat manic
but I don't get in a fever
and I do try not to panic
I really like surprises
and impromptu visits out
if one of those arises
you'll rarely see me pout
but if you knock upon my door
without a little warning
(Id like an hour and sometimes four
or preferably the previous morning!)
I may not want to let you in
(although I probably will)
I doubt I will have emptied the bin
which I ALWAYS overfill
there may be dishes the sink
the bath might need a clean
I may look like the missing link
my kitchen may not gleam
The hallway might just be a mess
I might just close some doors
but let's be honest, now please confess
Is there a reason we aren't at yours???
And a bonus poem for those of you who are dying to read Bingo Boobs ...
Bingo Boobs (a trueish story)
I thought I saw her bingo book
Lurking under there,
I didn't really like to look
It seemed so rude to stare.
Her chest was like a giant pillow
With room for several heads,
Across the table it seemed to billow
Enough for at LEAST two beds.
Where was her book? It was a farce
I felt I ought to say,
I just thank god it wasn't under her arse
Or we'd have been there half the day!
I'd umm'd and ahh'd (and gestured too!)
And pointed at her bits,
Then I shouted out (what else could I do?)
" IT'S UNDERNEATH YOUR TITS!!"