Howard Webb

Booed and threatened ex-cop ref.
Even had a song made just for him. Lyrics not kind. Mostly about how dead some footie fans wish he was.


Reasons for lusting...

Imagining him telling me to 'SHUT UP'.


Out of 10 for 'I would' ?
A thousand million:)

Post Match Analysis with Glo

England 1 The Others 1

I'm not upset.
Because I've been here before.
We've been here before.
Green's clumsy hands costing us the game.
But he did serve up a corker of a save so I sort of forgive him.


To bed now in my red and white cap, where I will think about next Friday when we meet Les Algériens.

I can't bear this John:(

Poet/Cook

It's beastly out there today.
Happy blue skies have been solemnly replaced by grim grey, but we poets/cooks carry on.
Last night, after a pizza, I wrote the following poem, it nigh on suffocated me, that's the poem not the pizza...And yet as my fingers swept across the keyboard all I felt was relief. Relief at being able to write. Being able to effortlessly lay down words has always thrilled me. And I was thrilled last night.
I hope you like it.

Now to my other life as a cook.
I'm making a Roman Cobbler for dinner and for pud Scotch pancakes with ice cream and butterscotch sauce. Italy meets Scotland. Sounds like a footie match to me.


Venus.

We saw Venus
as the ancient sea kicked in fury
her blazing light incredible
as the waves came home to beach

I saw You
as a young man on the road
your blistering ideas abundant
as we rushed inside to sleep

I saw Venus
as we lay luxuriant, fertile
our schemes unfailing, impressive
as all good dreams should be

I saw Us
as the clock pinged 6
locked lovely in complex love knots
and we sat silent as the waves stood still.


Angela Norris

David and Jelly

First of all thanks to the Duchess for her heartfelt comment on last night's poem. Her sweet words were just what I needed first thing this morning. My night time poems send me off to sleep better than anything, and I hope they do the same for my readers.
Now back to reality.

England v Croatia
World Cup Qualifier
8pm
Maksimir Stadium, Zagreb

England are playing Croatia today just in case you skipped the first bit, and as usual I'm in a tizz. And I can't bear to think what will occur if we lose to the Croats. I know what I'll do, I'll still wear my cheap England shirt and drool over Beckham's legs, after all he may not be as nifty as he once was, but he still looks quite nice. And he wears nice scarves, just like me...
Forgive me for indulging in a girly moment, it'll soon blow over because I'm off to Sainsbury's and traipsing around Sainsbury's doesn't make me feel girly AT ALL!
I feel more like a violent old cleaner who has ants in her pants. I see a post coming up about what makes me feel 'girly'...

So on the agenda today:
Football because I love it
Trolley pushing because I have to
Willing England to victory and glory because I can't help it
Tea and crumpets because it's very English
Vacuuming Monty's head because he's a disgrace
Spaghetti Bolognaise but not piled up like a hill, that's just greedy
Blackcurrant Jelly because I like to smack it

Thank you.

Poor Old Girl

I simply MUST have a word.
With all that's occurring in the Horsehound house at the moment it will come as no surprise to you that I am feeling a wee bit overwrought. Indeed I felt so brittle this a.m. that I had to venture into the garden and talk to the birds. They of course dissed me as any sensible bird would, but to be laughed at by one's very own cat was just too much to bear. Yes, on re-entering the house that no good tyke Monty, ignored me plaintive cries and stuck his bonce into a plate of Sardines."Monty my son" I said "Mummy's all alone and in dire need of a cuddle". "Shut up loser" he said "Or I'll scratch your varicose veins".
He loves me really.

On a more upbeat note I do have something to look forward to this week, that being, watching my beloved England taking on the U.S.A on Wednesday. Course it's only a friendly, but I'll still put me footie shirt on and throw missiles at the telly.
I will, as with all England games, lob swear words around me front room, shoot to me size fours any time we come within half a mile of scoring and I'll definitely scream blue murder if we lose. But it makes me happy and keeps me out of the kitchen for ninety minutes.

On my rain splattered agenda today, cooking, doing industrial type things with hammers and putting petroleum jelly under me eyes on account of the rings which are present on account of late nights and early mornings.
I soldier on.

If I get the time I'll be posting some Audio. It's me reading the second part of Clive Stiffjont. I do sound terribly drunk.

What else?
Oh yes, I'm thinking, just thinking mind you, of joining a poetry club either here in Essex or in the bowels of the Smoke so as I can read out loud some of the great poems what I write.
It might be fruitful and it might even make me laugh.
Now that WOULD be worth the train fare...