Poem

Pet Love

Love is a selfish vicious pet, who doesn’t give a damn about you.
Not really.

It is nothing unless It’s being spiteful and painting you with sweetheart bruises.
It’s being untrue to Itself if It’s not scratching your eyes out.
It isn’t doing Its job unless you’re in pain.
It is not a flowery fluffy creature.
Love doesn’t care.

It’s wild and vitriolic.
Love is a beast.
It is spoilt and demanding It is a vomit making creature that turns Mummies and Daddies into Princesses and Pimps.
Love chuckles as another drunken head hits the floor.
It goes beserk with joy as the bullet rests bloodily comfortably in your silly sad head.
It jumps up and down with joy as the angry little girl hurtles down towards her concrete heaven. How love loves that.

Love didn’t go to any kind of school, It’s an imbecile.
All love knows is what It wants.
Love knows no manners, being brought up by pigs.
It steals, wallows in filth and It expects you to clean it up.
Love is a bad pet.

It acts without thinking because It just has to have you.
It cares little for etiquette or rules because you are the world to It.
It doesn’t waste time with niceties It just wants to do you.
It’s inflamed, swollen with blood and has to pump you because you are so beautiful.
And It’s jealous of anyone who comes near.
And It’s true.
And try as you might, you can’t ignore It can you?

This dirty intruder has you pinned against all walls.
It’s broken the glass and is tiptoeing Its nasty way to your special secret places, your damaged heart and frantic mind.
We see the big monster cat coming and we know Its intentions, even in the dark.
Its aim is to ruin us, It jumps us and we’re enjoying every bloody wicked moment.
We’re being taken.

We don’t kick and lash out as we should.
We open wide for the little fucker and enjoy being taken for the best ride of our life.
Ever.
Because we want It really.

I Love The Theatre!

*Brown v Cameron yesterday? I think C. came off best, might be because he resorted to bad language in the house. The speaker Mr Martin gently reminded him to stick to asking questions. Hearing the leader of Her Majesty's Opposition use the word 'crap' was refreshing, especially when used in relation to what Brown was spewing out. So my jimjams come off to Mr C.

*I saw snippets of Mayor Johnson's press conference and he shone like a man getting is own way. His plan to put police officers on buses to deter rowdy behaviour is a great idea but how will it work in practice. Will the number 36, which my elderly parents use, be able to squeeze one more soul on board an already jam packed bus? He or she might be able to sit on Dad's knee if it gets chock-a-block. I think policemen and women on public transport is a wonderful idea I just hope there are enough coppers to go round. But well done Boris. By the way, he's standing down as M.P. for Henley, another By-Election on the cards. No probs for the Conservatives though, because Henley-on-Thames is bluer than the blue cheese.

*Going back to David Cameron for a moment, his hair looked a bit funny yesterday, he had an unusual parting which made him look like a fellow in a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta.

*Lib dem leader Nick Clegg always seems in a temper to me. He got jeered yesterday when he went off at a tangent the speaker had to grab him by his coiffure and remind him to behave.

*The House of Commons at midday on Wednesday is theatre at it's very best, there are a few dullards of course, but when I see a good performer like the Tory's Stephen Pound (see picture above)and Labour's Beast of Bolsover, Dennis Skinner, it's worth letting me omelettte get cold.

On my agenda this afternoon is the erecting of a shelf type apparatus to house some plants. Bricks will be stolen and with the addition of a couple of lengths of dodgy white melamine, I hope to make a nice little place for my tomatoes. I hope.

Just popping in to wish you goodnight.
I hope Morpheus looks down on me kindly tonight, because I want to sleep, preferably forever.

Simple Pleasures

*Leapt for joy when the metal skewer went clean through an old Tupperware cake box because now I could plant on a couple of tomato plants. I'd been pushing stuff out of the way in my disgraceful garage in order to find some plant pots, found a few, but not nearly enough, so not being one to give up easily I left the garage and headed to the kitchen. Nothing in there but an old tupperware box.

*Stood stock still when a strange tabby cat leapt over my already damaged garden gate. We eyed each other. He was unsure and so was I, so we stared at each other, our eyes fixed, mine on his beautiful head, his on my appalling outfit. He legged it. I said 'cheerio pussy' and lifted my soiled hands to my shorn head and thanked the gardening gods for this sweet moment.

*I found a shoot of a long dead Clematis straining to keep erect, being a romantic fool I looked at it wistfully and thought Mother Natures a determined old girl, but I'll lend her a hand to so I got a tie-back and er....tied it back to the drainpipe. I'll be watching it.

*By this time I'd had two cups of tea.
*Monty growled at a pigeon on the ariel.
*He then got on my lap and I ran my fingers through his long black and grey hair. I wanted to eat him. But that would be cruel. So I let him smell my scent and dig his claws into my thighs. Happy puss.
*I've been thinking about things today and not all domestic.
*Am listening to music as I write this and feel like standing on the chair and whooshing my skirt about.
*Monty is asleep.
*Here's something I wrote for lady gardeners everywhere

Gather your skirt into simple folds
and tuck them between your aching knees
swish a soiled hand around your face
feel the falling dirt land upon your nose
taste it as it lays upon your lips
And do not resist the urge to remove your clothes and run in and out of the bushes
Give in to the desire to dance around the Japanese Maple
feeling the weight of your wonderful unbound breasts
you'll stretch with secateurs
hop with the how
and laugh as you wield your lopper
Enjoy your work...

Earthworm

Sliding into the slimmest of cracks
the fattest earth worms slithers
Admiring its dexterity
and empathising with its need to slip away
I try to do the same.
But pounds and pounds of human flesh
and feet and feet of bone
deny me.
So here I sit cross legged on the stone
lip bitten in cold rage.

Comment ça va?

Ed Balls wants us to change our drinking culture.
He wants us to adopt the French way whereby beautiful families sit around the dining table sipping wine discussing Jacques Derrida. He also wants to see and end to mullered teenagers laying on park benches guzzling cheap supermarket lager. Methinks he's going to wait a long time, because not many working class families even share a meal together yet alone share the joy of good wine and conversation.
The middle classes however might allow Tristram a glass of a decent Chardonnay whilst talking about his violin lessons. He wants sober, well-reasoned parents to instill into their offspring the right and true way to guzzle beer.
The disinterested parents won't be listening to the government, and consequently will have nothing to say to their children.
The only chance of saving our bright youngsters from liver damage is to lock them up forever.
Ed Balls and this utterly incompetent government is drifting, is ambling about grabbing onto anything which makes them look a bit capable and caring.
They are failing.

Smiler and Grumpy

England v Trinidad and Tobago
BBC1
Tonight 10:20 p.m.
It's another friendly, you know like our match against the States. That game however was soporific, dull and quite disappointing, even though England won 2-0.
I'm hoping for fireworks from the boys tonight.

Talking of combustibles.
Fabio Capello will have to a word with Wayne Rooney, because although Rooney is undoubtedly talented, his temper is in need of some kind of training though. I don't know what's in store for the lad but if he can keep his slate clean and his rages under control he should do well.
The never ending story about who's fit for the captaincy is sending me bonkers. Davey B. he of the unquestionable skill and fabulous smile has the armband for tonights match but who'll be wearing it in future is anyones guess.

Euro 2008 starts on Saturday 7th June and we're not in it. It's unbelievable. I suppose being a football lover I'll have to support someone so I'm plumping for er...Spain or Italy. Can't support the Germans likewise the Dutch, anyway I think both those teams have had enough glory.
But what about Croatia, Romania and the bloody French?
Oh, I wish we were in it. because I want to be able to dress up in my shorts and footie shirt and throw missiles around the room.

Oh well, Wimbledon's just around the corner, that'll give me something to cheer about. But.
Who will represent us, the English?
Nobody.
Nobody who has any chance of even getting through the first round yet alone to the finals. The Scots have the lanky very Scottish misery guts Andy Murray, and he's made it quite clear thank you very much that he'll always be playing for Scotland and not England. Wow! I'm devastated, how will we cope?

Never in the history of first class tennis has anyone been as sour faced and ungracious as the kid from the top bit of Britain. I know he's in the top ten and all that but he should take a few lessons from some of the brighter more grown up tennis players, i.e. be consistent, be nice and smile a bit more, he knows nothing about how to work an audience and knows even less about making people like you. So I wish he'd go back to whatever it is they do in Scotland, shoot haggis or something isn't it?

Oh, I don't care.
My money will be on Rafael Nadal as it was last year and it might help Murray if he studied Nadal very closely, because the Spaniard is not only a first class player, he's a first class entertainer. People look forward to watching him walk out on court, they gasp and dribble over his bright clothes and fantastic muscles, he thrills with his exciting passionate game and he knows how to please the paying crowd.
Murray on the other hand reminds me of Tim Henman, couldn't care less about the public, doesn't give a hoot about his image or what tennis fans think, all in all he's a bad egg.

When real stars come out to play, the crowd not only witness great skill they get treated to a performance too.
Murray glowers and shuffles around like a schoolboy then spits in the publics face, especially the English.
Nadal however just gets on with winning the game, he is a supreme tennis player and a great showman and most tennis fans adore him. Andy Murray? Nah on all counts.

So to sum up.
Football, tennis, screaming, hurling abuse at referees, umpires and lack lustre players. Wishing I could be there. Sucking on strawberries and slurping beer. Looks like I'm in for a cracking noisy summer. Oh, Goody.