Happy New Year!

Welcome to the blank slate that is 2016.


Fifty consecutive days of 750+ words.

A huge shout out to 750words.

And, onwards….


Far be it from me to disparage
The cronies of Monseigneur Farage,
But when bills don’t add up
And with Fascists they sup,
Through the rules they drive both horse and carriage.

(A bit unkind, I think, inflicting UKIP on the poor old old limerick)


So spring is sprung and temp’rature’s riz:
I wonder where the cat furs is.
The kitty’s fluff is in the cat
Until it’s barfed up on the mat.

‘Nuff said. On with the rubber gloves, out with the floor cleaner.

At least the hens are laying again.

“Ad Astra”

A rambling rover on Mars
Considered the quest for the stars:
“For each small step by men
We bots can make ten.
The great leap’s undoubtedly ours.”

(There are days, many of them, when I question my seriousness.)

New year, new forms, new forums

I’ve recently been forming ideas that seem more fit for verse than prose. So I’ve signed up to Campus (http://campus.poetryschool.com) to see if joining a community of poets might spur me on.

We’ll see.


yes, I know, I ought to post here more often…

It’s veg. box day. I unpacked and started planning dinner based on the contents.

Pudding, I thought. Poached pears or stewed plums?

Why not poached plums? Are plums not entitled to a little alliteration, too? It’s not as if I’d be cooking the fruit in a different way. It’s a pan meet fruit plus water and sugar operation, for either of them. (Admittedly, I’d stick some vanilla in with the pears, and a tad more sugar with the plums).

It’s Bird’s Custard, in any case.