Yippee Calloo Callay!

You have reached the foot hill of the mountains.
You are most welcome
More than worthy
.

Sunday, 31 January 2010

My letter to Matt.

Smoobey Smoo

Alrite Matt,

Long time no see and long time no letter

So I’d thought I’d write you a very strange one,

Do you remember that once on a boat in Scotland, you told me that the more somebody masturbates than the more emotional they are,

Does getting a teary eye count as being emotional?

If it does than Dude, fetch me a new pair of socks I must be masturbating too much.

The reason I say this is because today I was sitting by myself,

No I wasn’t meditating, masturbating, or having an out of body experience as that previous sentence implies,

“You peoples with your crazy jumping to conclusions”,

“hoyski poyski!”

Erm anyway as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my own thoughts,

“Oi get back to Matt’s letter you swanker”

Aright aright quiet down up there,

Sorry Matt as you can read it’s a wee bit overcrowded in my brain today, what a pull over, is that the wrong word

Crikey I got to tell you mate, as well as my brain being crowded with randoms all the numbskulls are down in my stomach trying to fix up last night’s mess, so although doing sterling work in bailing out my hangover, they aren’t helping out much in my head department.

Watah I need watah or vodka I need vodka,

Anyways, I was sat on my own at the head of a wooden table, eating a pizza,
It was as Dr Ottkar pizza, Quattro Formaggi which is the only words I know how to say in Italian, incidentally talking of words we know in foreign languages,

I got a kiss of a polish girl I met in the street last week by using two polish words I learnt which I now pass on to you, use them well my friend, use them well,

Dimey Boo-Shakah...

These words means kiss me in Polish, they work if you say them out loud

You can put your own style on how you say it, and the more style you put in the more kisses you will get especially if you go to Poland, in fact if you did go to Poland I don’t think there’s any more words that you would need.

Remember for breakfast ham sandwiches, Japan is only a flight away.

Speaking of breakfast,

So this Pizza was burnt to a crisp and I didn’t bother with a knife or fork, what’s the point, or even a plate for that matter, and didn’t even cut it into easy to eat pieces, I just munched it as it was, a massive pizza which essentially is one giant easy to eat piece.

In fact after two bites I could sort of hold it in one hand, when it comes to burgers or sandwiches I’m a fan of the double handed munchers club, but holding and eating a giant pizza in one hand meant my other hand was free to randomly pick up and play with stuff,

Whilst balancing on one leg eating my pizza and looking out the window at all the passersby I realised I had put a newspaper on top of my head, so I decided to sit down at the wooden table so I could eat my pizza and have a read of the paper, what a treat,

well it was Saturday, the day of sitting, which I guess means Friday in England would be the day of the fry up, you English and you’re crazy ways I can’t wait for tomorrow because that’ll be sun day and I can kick back and catch some...

As I happily munched away, I read a review of this Only Fools and Horses prequel about Del Boys history and family life, and his poor old mum, it made me sad, because Del Boy is a really funny, happy sort of character yet his past is pretty bleak,

I could hear the sounds of birds chirping in the garden, and thinking about the juxtaposition woah that words nearly as big as the pizza I just ate of Del Boy in only fools and horses to his life growing up brought a tear to my eye, which then made me think of what you said on that boat in Scotland,

Penny lane, whoops I mean very Strange.

All the events in the above story\letter are true, apart from the fact that foolonthefootofamountain wanks too much, in fact he does that just the right amount,

although truth be told he would not argue with you if you called him a massive wanker, he might even reply cheers mate, probably because he’s not very creative when it comes to slagging matches unlike Robin Williams in Hook,

Yesssss still loving that cannon ball move. Carambolla!

Mass Respect going out to J.M Barrie;

Stephen Spielberg, Rufio-Rufio, Toodles, Peter, Tink, all the lost boys, Nana, Smee, Wendy, the crocodile, anyone else I’ve forgotten, and of course the main man Mr cannon ball himself, Thud Butt, aka Barry.

p.s four for apple fish and finger pies.

Gunpowder Tea.

Gunpowder Tea.

When peddling towards a hill on a push bike, it’s comforting to remember that what goes up must come down and down.

KWBL Newsflash.

You are tuned into KWBL Radio

Breaking news;

Cold weather snaps- Have all the swans frozen? clack clack clack ak ak

Foxes spotted chatting together like ducks Clack ack clack ak

And news just in – President Obama has gone AWOL

Ok listeners right now we’re heading over to Dr Matt Griving who’s broadcasting live in front of the tiny little wrought iron fence outside of the white house,

that’s right were heading to Washington D.C the capital of the United States of America and the world.

“Hey Matt don’t try and climb over that fence”,

Thanks for the heads up Kent,

Hi listeners Matt Griving here,

Some light news to kick off

It appears that President Obama dropped the ball on his recent trip to a Piggly wiggly; maybe he should have paid more attention to “The Grapes of Wrath”.

I repeat the White House is all out of gummi bears,

In more pressing news, our universe has become merged with the Walt Disney universe, please don’t panic I warn you to stay calm as I reveal to you that at this moment in time the President is missing,

So far no news on President Obama’s current whereabouts, please I once again remind you to remain calm, rumours are that he’s been replaced with something or someone out of the Walt Disney world...

For future updates on all the important global issues please stay tuned into

KWBL Guess what kids it was all a playground conspiracy –Santa Claus is real and he’s gutted you’ve stopped believing in him – Ray-Dee-oh.

Saturday, 30 January 2010

Bob Marley Fortune Cookies.

Wake Up And Live.

The life is symbolized with a many main road, therefore, when you ride, a horse will forget about your steps.

Pass the wheel trace, don’t you cause your brains complication.

From the hate, mischievous and the envy flees!

Don’t buries you the idea; Invests your vision to the reality!

mmm fortune cookies...

Friday, 29 January 2010

Chocolate Milkshake.

Chocolate Milkshake.

I was at my auntie’s Glenda and Uncles Jims house.

Sitting in the kitchen.

I like kitchens and I particularly like to sit at my auntie and uncles round wooden table when typing upon my laptop.

That’s because the table is near the fridge, in fact it’s near everything, the kitchen being too small for a table really, but it all seems to work.

The black and white tiles on the floor are nice. The white ones more inviting to patches of dirt then the dark. I don’t mind patches of dirt, id happily lick an unclean floor if it got a laugh.

The little kitchen sink in between rickety rackety cupboards, a spider left unnoticed to spin webs up in the corner of the ceiling all things said and done my aunties kitchen is a really nice space.

Which is why I choose to sit and write here in the first place.

I also love having the fridge nearby, with its gentle humming carrying on in the corner, and it’s inviting closed door adorned with all manner of magnetic letters shapes, and toys.

I can still remember as a young child playing with the three little pigs upon the fridges door.

Try and imagine them, three little magnetic pigs, fridge magnets, each pig dressed up as a chef, they all have curly tails, white aprons tied at the back with string and on top of their piggy brows a tall white chef’s hat.

To me they look like quite happy pigs; maybe they enjoy getting the chance to do the cooking for a change, instead of just being eaten.

Each pig is magnetic they all have matching aprons and hats, with curly tails sticking out from the back, but each magnetic pig chef is different.

For starters they all have different faces, okay so their eyes are all tiny google eyes, but one pig I think it’s the dish cloth pig has lost an eye, all the pigs have smiles, but one pig has a loony look upon its face with its tongue lolling out of its mouth a bit crazy like.

Another way they pigs are different from each other is the weapons each pig chef holds in its hands.

One pig magnet looks like a pig chef who is running very fast or almost as if it is flying a bit like superman with one arm stuck out in front, this pig’s trotter holds a frying pan.

The frying pan has always been my favourite of the pig’s weapons, it’s a good weapon for people too, I remember at University in London, our window getting shot at with a paintball gun by some guys having a laugh on the other side of the road.

So I grabbed a frying pan and smacked myself in the head with it feigning knocking myself out until I made them laugh and they stopped firing paintballs from their gun,

The frying pan pig chef looks like it is constantly running or flying horizontally from the right side of the fridge to the left.

The next pig is not a running pig or a flying pig, this pig faces the camera of the eye, or if you’d prefer this pigs face gazes out of the fridge door to meet your own gaze directly.

Unless of course the pig falls onto the kitchen floor, in which case it will probably be looking at your hand as you pick it up before sticking it back on the fridge, where it never looks like it wants to be moved at all.

As a little boy when I was around the pigs used to fall on the floor all the time.

This second pig chef has a fork in one hand and a knife in the other, as if it is just about to tuck into some grub in a most civilised human like manner.

I know this isn’t the case and that the fork and knife are really these chef pigs’ magical weapons for use in fighting other fridge magnets and of course its mortal enemies any other pig chefs.

The third pig is the one that gets played with the least, this pig chef holds a dish cloth but its hands and the cloth it holds are moulded on to the top of its stomach, like if you clasped your hands together and put them on your lap, which is rubbish, because it means this pig doesn’t really have a weapon, although it does have one eye missing so redeems itself a little bit there.

When I was a kid I used to play pretend wars with my favourite two pigs, the one with the frying pan and the one with the magic knife and fork.

When attacking the frying pan pigs special move is to fly through the air, well across the fridge, and smash into everything else, all the little wooden rabbit fridge magnets, all the alphabet letters, all the

“Every day is a like a piece of string I keep getting tied up in knots”

Wise proverb fridge magnets.

The frying pan doesn’t rest until every magnet that adorns the fridge is bashed into oblivion.

It makes you wonder if this happy pig chef is really in control of its own destiny, or whether in fact it is lost under the frying pans spell, or possibly some other strange mysterious being controls the pigs’ fate.

Whatever the case that frying pan pig sure did seem to like sliding across the fridge sideways frying pan first, to smash into the other pigs ears and bash them repeatedly with frying pan, clang clang clang, until they’d squeal in submission or go death.

Of course each pig’s chef’s mortal enemy is another pig chef, in retaliation to its ear bashing the knife and fork pig flew, or slid as it were less sideways along the fridge but more up and down.

If the knife and fork pig got lucky it would sort of get below the frying pan pig and then rush upwards, up the fridge stabbing repeatedly with fork and knife moves, bash bash bash.

Who knows if I was an octopus id probably would have been able to play with six pigs on that fridge at the same time.

That’s if octopuses can breathe outside of water.

Losing my mum and dad at a young age meant whilst growing up I had to go and live with my Aunty Glenda and Uncle Jim.

Who whilst lovely were never wealthy enough to afford a Sega or a Nintendo to keep my thumbs busy, no matter with the pigs on the fridge I made do, but I only had two hands and only two sets of thumbs, so to my shame the one eyed dish cloth pig did get left out quite a fair bit.


Eventually though it would be the dish cloth pigs turn to play. You’d think that the dish cloth pig really wouldn’t have been much use seeing as the way it was moulded meant it had no weapon or that its weapon was just a dish cloth. Wrong.

Dish cloth pigs move only came out on special occasions.

Dish cloth pigs move was to blast round the fridge like a rocket, exhaust fumes and propulsion power shooting out past its curly tail out of the back of the apron, presumably out of dish cloth pig’s bum cakes.

Speedy dish cloth pig fly’s chef hat first, flying head butting anything in its way, kapow kapow, until once again most of all the fridge magnets would litter the black and white chequered tiles that line the kitchen floor.

Which would then leave me to pick them up and stick them back on the fridge so that the whole merry business could start over again.

It’s nice to remember what games the magnets on that fridge and I used to get up to, it was another time a different world in another universe. Back then all the fun of the fridge was on the outside.


You know what?

Sometimes those pesky wooden rabbits would be put to good use, once in a while with their magnets they’d be holding onto the fridge a picture that I had drawn with my own fair hands.

In fact my Aunties fridge is the only known gallery in this world that any of my artistic endeavours have ever been exhibited in, I mean on; unless you count the cheese I left to turn green as an artistic endeavour.

Now I’m older I’m content to let magnets on fridges stay where they are, well at least the pigs.

I’ll still try and make alphabet letters into funny words whenever I get the opportunity and for old times’ sake maybe the chef pigs will wage their war again.

I don’t even know if the pigs still exist ill have to look at the door properly again sometime soon.

Today the fun for me is on the inside of my Aunties fridge, a chocolate milkshake that I put in there about half an hour ago to chill out prior to writing these words, which I think I will go take out and drink now,

Oh right look here comes my Auntie Glenda, who is looking very well, much younger than the last time I saw her, she peeps over my shoulder,

“Your writing about chocolate milkshake” She says out loud, her voice sounds better today,

“Hey Shazz, Harry is writing about Chocolate milkshake again”

My auntie calls out to her daughter Shazz who is my cousin.

“Harry loves Chocolate milkshake” Shazz sings mockingly over and over, is this an attempt to wind me up or maybe a great song she’s just thought off I’m not sure which,

Never mind I admit the genius of Shazz's song which she’s just invented is that its true, I do love chocolate milkshake, and I tell both my auntie and my cousin that,

“I’m off to drink my chocolate milkshake in the garden”,

And ask whether they would you like to join me.

My cousin Shazz is a big girl she’s aged 30, and when I say big girl I mean that if she got into your car she'd be likely to make the axel go way down and your cars undercarriage would probably almost be scrapping the road, so know you now.

Anyhow Shazz decided to join me as did her thin, quite attractive but seemingly moody blonde haired friend Sam who I had never met before.

We trooped outside, I enjoy drinking my chocolate milkshake in the garden, there’s nothing better when it’s a lovely day and I don’t why but I don’t use a straw.

The two girls who were sat to my left were enjoying the relaxing feeling that comes of lying down on sun loungers and chatting. Whilst I sat to their right on an upright garden chair.

Suddenly out of the blue my cousin’s blonde friend Sam asks me what Jobs had I been looking for since leaving the record store.

I didn’t even know she knew that I had worked in a record store, let alone left my job.

I reply that well I hadn’t really been looking for any other work, as it hadn’t been such a long time,

“How long has it been” Sam asked with a look in her eyes I couldn’t read.

Hmmm not long I thought, but then I realised that it would be coming up to six months, half a year, wow that time sure had flown by, to me it felt more like only a couple of fortnights and the feeling was a little bit odd.

“About six months” I said in answer to Sam’s question, and she and Shazz shared a look together.

The subject of work and my cousins and her friends looks were making me a bit uncomfortable so I decided to change the subject, but what would I talk about,

I had to think of something that lay on neutral ground , ah I thought got it. I’d have a look towards the end of the garden and talk about what I could see.

Gardens were easy.

I thought.

Little did my eyes know the treat they were in for.


At the end of my Aunties Garden, it appeared as if there was some sort of giant super bar.

The Carlsberg beer company once upon a time brought out a series of award winning beer commercials, the gist of each was that whatever venture Carlsberg lent its hand to would probably be the best in the world.

For example one story revolved around flat mates, and revealed Carlsberg’s interpretation of the perfect flat mate, the advert ended with the slogan

“So Carlsberg don't do flatmates, but if we did, they would probably be the best flatmates in the world".

Well bearing that in mind, if Carlsberg did bars then they probably were in charge of the bar that was at the end of my Auntie Glendas garden.

It looked fantastic.

There was a giant outdoor TV which appeared to be carved into rock.

There was a futuristic looking and classy overhanging balcony all decked out in black and looking to my eyes like it was made from the same materials as a flashy monitor screen.

The bar had possible water features or at least elements of water features.

The whole look of the place had real appeal, I wanted to get up out of my chair and head to the bar right away, it just looked so truly awesome.

Id only recently come back from teaching English of all languages at an orphanage in Kathmandu I had first heard something around two years ago about a bar being built at the back of my Aunty Glendas and Uncle Jims, but this was the first time I had seen it for myself.

I turned to Sam and Shazz and said,

“Wow that Bar at the end of the garden is amazing”

I was wondering why there was no fence, to separate the end of the garden with the beginning of the bar, instead there was a series of rocks a bit like a mini mountain which led up to the bars balcony.

So essentially if you wanted to you could run down the garden and climb the mountain all the way up to the bar.

I was really thinking about it.

I was also thinking that it meant that if anyone wanted to they could head down from the bar and climb into the garden.

Another thing that caught me as strange was that the garden had both fences on either of its sides, just not on the end, I suppose the mini-mountain counted as a sort of fence, even so I still thought it a bit odd.

If someone told me they had a train track at the end of their garden then fair enough Id believe it, but who has a mini mountain and a bar, well I guess my Aunty Glenda and my Uncle Jim.

“Yeah it’s quite nice” Shazz replied with a yawn, Sam and her both shared another look this time of the exasperated kind, I could tell they weren’t at all interested.

Still the bar held me in rapturous awe, and I continued to talk,

“Yeah but look closer, look they have speakers and amps, it’s a really rocking bar.”

I noticed that at the top of the mini mountain, sitting in front of the balcony on chairs made out of stone were a pair of statues.

One was a man all green and covered in leafs, he looked like a man of the forest he had a beard, two little horns poking out of from the top of his head.

I thought it might have been a statue of the green man himself.

This green mans partner sat beside him on the other chair and was also cloaked in green leafs, she wore a crown and had furry legs which ended in hooves like a Mr Tumus, or if you’ve never met a Mr Tumnus you’d call her a fawn.

My eyes focused on one of the bars speakers, it was plain and black and looked just like a typical speaker that you could find in any music store but to me it was sending out so much energy.

It made me say out loud to my cousin and her blonde friend Sam

“Wow that place is really Rock and Roll”

As I said these words instantly the sound of thunder rolled out of the distance. It rumbled away for a while before disappearing into silence.

It was as if I had just said the exact magic words that the bar at the end of garden had been waiting to hear.

Words which when said at the right time had the ability to unpick the locks that constrained the world and kick start some sort of revolution within reality.

I really could not believe it, now the statues in the chairs were coming to life.

Sam and Shazz still weren’t impressed and were happy to continue with their relaxing and chatting upon the sun loungers.

Had they even noticed the thunder, couldn’t they see the statues coming to life?

I looked at the statues, they were definitely moving, in fact the one that reminded me of the green man was now grinning very cheekily and had some sort of tropical cocktail drink in his hand, its tall glass complete with miniature flamingo and umbrella.

“Now that’s Rock and Roll” he said to his partner, who had no drink at all, and then he laughed deep and rich, whilst smiling right at me.

Just to the left of the statues suddenly some fairy girls popped out into existence. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief but they were still there, this is amazing I thought, and I shouted out to Shazz and her moody friend Sam,

“Hey wow check it out fairy girls”,

“But it looks like there a bit too young for me”

Shazz and Sam paid little attention, but I could see for myself that all the fairy girls seemed to be very little.

Not as small as ladybirds or as your thumb but small like children around the age of four.

They were dressed in, well I have no idea, but their clothes appeared to be the usual sort of fairy garb as depicted in illustration, you know, like dresses made of leafs or dew drops or dragon fly wings, anyway each girl was in fairy dress.

As soon as I had said that they were too young for me, another fairy girl appeared, she looked like she was the same age and size as myself, amazing, what luck, I was very excited,

Turning to my cousin and Sam who still were chatting away on their sun loungers I said,

“I hope they come down from the mountain to visit the garden”

My cousin and her friend Sam stopped there chat for just enough time to state that they hated this idea, but my eyes had clouded over, and I did not care for their opinion,

“Yes”, I declared in triumph, “look they are coming down from the mountain, whey.”

Sure enough like rushing people hand in hand reminiscent of a people powered wood-stock chain, the fairy girls swept down the mountain in a flowing zig zag way.

All the while the tall older fairy played a flute almost as if she was leading the little fairy girls trance like or hypnotically with her song.

The fairy girls arrived into the garden, with glows and colours flashing across them like lightning as they danced and twirled round and round.

All the while the tall fairy girl was playing a tribal tune upon her flute faster and faster, she had long black hair which fell down her back, and tender arms and legs with skin that appeared soft.

I fell in love with her on sight, and knocked over my chair because I stood up so quickly, my cousin and her friend Sam were disgusted with my behaviour but I didn’t care, I was oblivious, I sent a couple of plant plots flying as well in my rush, all I wanted to do was go meet and then dance with the tall beautiful fairy girl.

Well what do you know, my Nephew Geoffrey sped out of my Aunties house and joined me in the garden and together we and the fairies danced.

We twirled together for how long I don’t know, I became in a trance as did Geoffrey who was the same size as the little fairy girls, my nephew Geoffrey by the way was aged four.

The tall fairy girl playing her pipe stopped the dance and led the fairies quickly back up the mountain.

The two statues the green man and his partner got up out of their chairs and moved gracefully like walking boulders into the bar at the top.

I thought to myself that I would see if my nephew Geoffrey would like to climb to the top of the mountain so we could visit the bar together.

Geoffrey was already one step ahead, as I was thinking it, Geoffrey was doing it; off he went climbing on all fours up the mountain.

By the time I caught up with him, his hands appeared scratched from all the scrabbling involved in climbing the mini mountain, my hands were scratched to bits too, and underneath my finger nails stung.

Both mine and Geoffrey’s skin had turned the colour of grey from all of the rock dust that now covered us.

We were climbing at a manic rate, as if we thought that we had a time limit in which to get to the top, and if we took too long we wouldn’t make it.

What it was we were trying to make I still don’t know.

On the way up the mountain I kept consciously making sure that I was climbing behind Geoffrey in case he slipped or fell.

Unfortunately he did slip, but instead of falling down the mountain he managed to fall to the side knocking his head into the next door neighbour’s high wooden fence.

It looked painful, but in his fever to reach the top, Geoffrey didn’t cry or stop he just kept climbing.

At this higher part of the mountain someone who had climbed before us, had left some handy foot holes and hand holes, as well as handy tips stuck to the mountain and written on card, such as

“Don’t look down”,

Which as I’m quite weak when it comes to mind tricks made me look down,

For some reason the garden looked like it was far far away, even though from the ground I was sure it was just a mini mountain it appeared Geoffrey and I had climbed higher than the clouds, a voice echoed in my mind, told you not to look down.

As the voices echo faded away, oddly enough I noticed that the next hand hold up the mountain was shaped like a bicycle saddle very strange.

After what seemed an age Geoffrey finally reached the top of the mountain, and I joined him on what was a flat part of rock, a nice place to rest and enjoy the view; however there was no time for that as Geoffrey suddenly became woozy possibly from his earlier collision with the fence.

He swayed left and right and with no control of his footing nearly fell to his death right off the top of the mountain, luckily I grabbed him before he could slip to his doom, and I clutched him tight to my chest.

“Can we go down please” Geoffrey asked, he had a very scared look in his eyes, which sobered me at once from the call of the fairy girl and the bar on top of the mountain.

“Yes” I said, quite fearful of having to hold my nephew whilst attempting a climb down what was a very precarious mountain, nevertheless I endeavoured to hide my fear from Geoffrey and set about keeping him safe as we begun the descent down.

Somehow I was able to keep hold of him in one crooked arm, whilst using my other arm and free hand to drop down from each hand hold to the next.

In fact it was not long before we reached the bicycle saddle shaped hand hold which marked about the half way point of the mountain.

A father and his son passed us on our way down and on their way up to the top of the mountain and its mystical bar.

“Not long now” I said whilst looking at Geoffrey,

To my shock he was unconscious, and had stopped breathing.

This was not the place to panic, but in my mind I was panicking, I thought he was dead.

I placed my hand above his mouth, phew; I could just about feel a faint breath.

Geoffrey’s lips pursed out in an expression that made him almost look less like a little boy and more like an shrimp, he was still in a bad way, but at least he was alive.

He appeared smaller to me somehow, maybe because of his distress.

I noticed that his mouth was full of water,

“Geoffrey are you awake, can you hear me” I asked, to see if he had come back to consciousness, he murmured a response, so I commanded

“Spit”

Geoffrey spat with a great pursing noise like the spitting out a peaches pip, and some of the water that was stuck in his mouth spurted out.

I continued to climb down the mountain with Geoffrey in my arm, every so often
issuing the command,

“Spit”

After about twenty spits or so Geoffrey seemed better, his expression was more like a boys and less like an shrimps, and his eyes which I realised had been slightly closed were now fully open.

“Is that better” I asked

Geoffrey replied in a gargle

“Yes that’s much better” it was like he was talking whilst underwater,

Hmm that’s not so good I thought to myself, and decided that Geoffrey must still have some water trapped inside his body somewhere.

Seeing as we were very near the bottom of the mountain I decided to hold him by his ankles and dangle him upside down to let the water out.

As I held Geoffrey upside down water rushed out of his eyes mouth and nose and well everywhere, for some reason I felt in the pit of my stomach that the chances were Geoffrey’s face, his mouth, eyes, nose, indeed his whole face was likely to go rushing off along with the water.

It would almost be like when having a bath you pulled the plug out, and off your face would go swirling down the plug hole leaving you with a faceless head upon your neck.

I hoped in my heart that Geoffrey’s face wouldn’t go rushing of with the cascade of water, how would I explain his lack of a face to my family.

Thankfully it didn’t, and after an age the water stopped, I turned Geoffrey back the right way and asked him how he felt now,

“Oh much better”

He replied his normal voice very clear and very crisp not a trace of gargle.

Good finally all was well and we could return to my Aunties Garden, I didn’t want my sister Geoffrey’s mum to know about how close we came to disaster, or how Geoffrey,

Wait a minute, his voice might have been ok, but as I stepped back into the garden I looked down at Geoffrey and he wasn’t there anymore,

“Hello”, said a strange thing in my hand.

It was like a clear plastic box, the same size and shape as an old cassette tape box it wasn’t empty well it kinda was apart from what looked like one of those sticks you get in a pot of bubble mixture you know the stick for blowing the bubbles with.

“Hello I’m in here” the top of the stick which was inside the plastic box moved as if it was speaking.

It was speaking! And it wasn’t an it. That was my nephew speaking inside the plastic box.

Geoffrey after I tipped all the water out of him had somehow turned into a bubble mixture stick that was trapped in a plastic box.

Oh no, I had no idea how I was going to explain this, too late, my Aunties garden wasn’t very big and my sister had already seen me.

“Hey Harry where’s Geoffrey”

“He’s right here” I said to my sister

And handed Geoffrey in his plastic box over to her.

“Very funny wise guy” my sister said, “No really where is he”.

I gulped in some air.

This was going to be tricky, in fact I became quite sad, I had lost Geoffrey and there was nothing I could do to get him back.

I didn’t know what to say, so I decided to stick with the facts.

As tears streaked down my face I began to tell all the family that had gathered round, my sister, my cousin Shazz, her friend Sam, my uncle Jim and auntie Glen what had happened to Geoffrey.

“Everything I’m going to tell you is the truth, but you’re not going to believe a word I say” I told my family whilst sobbing unashamedly in grief.

I relayed for them the events prior to Geoffrey’s change, the green man coming to life, the fairies dance, at this point my Uncle Jim chipped in and said in his chirpy brogue,

“That’s right I saw the fairies come down of the mountain, they was a dancing round and round, than young Geoffy raced up and started climbing that mountain like the world was going to end all the while with Harry here chasing away like a blue tit right behind him”

Relieved at last that someone else had noticed the fairies even though it was only my Uncle Jim who more often than not was on the sauce, I continued with my story.

I told of our climb up, how Geoffrey had slipped and hit his head on the fence and then the climb back down with all of Geoffrey’s spitting, the abundance of water and Geoffrey’s subsequent change.

“So where’s Geoffrey now” my sister asked again.

I couldn’t believe it; id just told her that when I tipped all the water out of him how her son, my nephew, our sweet Geoffrey, had turned into a bubble mixture stick that was trapped inside of a plastic box.

She hadn’t really been listening to a word I was saying.

None of my family had, apart from the slightly sozzled Uncle Jim who although drunk you could always rely on.

“Geoffrey”, I shouted out, “say something”,

I thought if they all heard him talk then they could see and know for themselves exactly what had happened, but Geoffrey did not shout out.

I looked down at my sister’s hands where I expected to see Geoffrey inside of the plastic box, but whilst she hadn’t been paying any attention to my story she had been absentmindedly playing with the box.

My sister had somehow managed to turn it a miniature ticktacktoe board.

All the while I had been telling her the grim events of the day my sister had been playing herself at noughts and crosses, and now all that remained of my nephew Geoffrey sat in my sister’s hands.

Silent. Completely surrounded by a bunch of circles, was a row of three crosses with a line drawn straight through the middle.

My letter to Lisa.

Hey Lisa,

Happy New Year

I just popped over to your place to see you, but got to admit I was a wee bit disorientated and that’s not just because I left Ori-mental Road. The digger has vanished, as well as the scaffolding, so I couldn’t work out which door was yours.

I peeped through some kitchen windows but alas no ice cream maker could I see or anything else belonging to Max for that matter, unless he owns the glass in the window

I’m pretty sure I used to use the song that Barney sang in the Simpsons Barbershop Quartet episode to remember your house number it was a parody of the Beatles track revolution9

It goes,

"Number eight, eurgh, number eight eurgh...

Unfortunately I might have mistakenly knocked on number nines door, which is ironic because the Beatles song goes,

"Number nine....number nine..."

needless to say it wasn’t your lovely self that greeted me, but two dudes, who may or may not have been Irish,

they were pleasant enough and said that you had never moved in, that you were students, and that you have moved out, but they were talking about a Lisa with the second name Simmons and I don’t know who that is,

in reality it was all pretty confusing,

I told them I was sorry to trouble them, and one of them was nice enough to pat me on the back and say

“No worries mate”

So that was alright,

Anyway enough with the comedic waffle, I high tailed it out of there and my message for you is

Give me a ring not a wedding one I mean a bell you know a bone woah is that moving too fast i mean a jingle you know call me,

I’ve found something you might find fun to do...

Letter ends

Or does it?

No it does

Really

Yes really

You idiot - that’s me I’m talking about not you

p.s

What a goof...

Letter ends

I could go on

No seriously stop it now

Letter ends

Good

Damn it!

Letter ends

Why I aught ta


Right if you don’t stop with this message ends nonsense I’m going chuck this keyboard at your head...

...

...

...

Are you still there?

Got yah!

Bastard!

Letter ends.

Thursday, 28 January 2010

Coco Pops.

03\04\1949
Coco’s Camp
The Jungle
South Manchuria


Dear Professor,

you were right
The gorillas are amassing against Coco
- Kylie and Ozmelda have dash scratch that, were last seen two days ago,
- Alan was injured in the battle at the chocolate river – he has been taken to the field hospital
- Shorty turned out to be a spy – You can never trust a giraffe

We are in desperate need of aid, please contact the government of your country; they will listen to you, and send us urgently needed bananas.

Yours George
the monkey

Monday, 25 January 2010

Monkey and Donkey.

Look who it is it’s that donkey

Who gets tricked by the monkey

One day monkey was in need of some smoke

So he sent donkey up the mountain

Donkey thought that monkey was making him go and buy tea

Yes that’s right donkey said monkey half way up the mountain will be a man who will sell you some tea

Little did donkey know that half way up the mountain behind the hut with the baby sleeping in a hanging basket

That the man he was sent to meet was growing field after field of weed not tea.

Stop come in rest have a drink said the man to Donkey.

Would you like to buy some tea?

Yes monkey sent me for tea let’s have a look.

And the man pulled out a big block of weed more than you could carry in your arms

For Donkey to put on his back

And sent him onwards up the mountain and down the other side,

After much Tibetan bread with honey, no water but lots of tea,

Donkey came to a runway and boarded a little plane,

Flying high above the Himalaya without a care

Until he was brought back down to earth

Not realising his bags where to be searched

For Donkey wasn’t all donkey, he worked out that the tea wasn’t tea but weed after he tried his first cup, cheeky tea drinking Donkey

The customs official delved into Donkeys pack,

And Donkey who was high became a little tense

What’s this? Said the official who had an out there moustache

Uh Oh Donkey thought I’m for the chop, they’ll use my decapitated head, in a second rate gangster flick, they’ll take my rump and BBQ it on a fire, Eeyore Eeyore

Unfortunately for donkey Eeyore was busy with his starring role in A.A Milne’s wonderful Winnie the Pooh but

Miracle upon high

The customs official pulled out not a bar of weed but Donkeys bar of soap

What’s this, the customs man repeated,

Oh said Donkey that, that’s just soap

Soap?

You know for cleaning

Cleaning?

Donkey mimed washing to the customs man,

But the customs man was having none of it

He twirled his hairy out there moustache and arrested Donkey on the spot, for carrying the suspicious soap about his person

It really was just soap.

Because you see the Customs man was Monkey in disguise, hence the moustache

Arresting Donkey meant he got to keep all the weed to himself and for free, as well as being arrested Donkey had to pay his friend who looked like the customs man but minus one moustache all the supposedly lost money too, for being so foolish in buying weed instead of tea,

What’s more Monkey got a bar of soap to boot,

That’s why all the smiling village mountain children sing

Oh Yar Yi Oh

Oh Yar Yah Eee

I am a monkey,

You are a donkey,

We are chimpanzee.

Its a repeat.

Its a repeat dot

Take it to the extremes

Like the red hot chilli peppers

Throw your computer through the window

And go out into the world

You’ll find a lot of lovely little people

They call the human beans.

You’ll see robber beans and police beans

They’ll be sweet beans too

So throw your computer out the window

And float down from the moon

There’s black eyed beans and dumb beans

Keep it a secret now please

Magic beans and Half baked beans

And all the lovely little people

They call the human beans

The Human beans.

My letter to Tim.

Dear Mr Burton,


My dream,

Cadburys have grown old, their ideas man has long beard, and they have not invented any new chocolate or sweets for years,

I dream many wonderful ideas, for confectionary snacks,

My first, I cannot take to Cadburys, even if I knew the way, it’s too edgy an idea, too cult, not right for a family brand like Cadburys.

This is my dream I’d like to be able to go into a shop anywhere in the world and buy a packet of sweets called “the red pill”,

But I have one big problem

“You don’t own a sweet manufacturing plant”

Ok so I have two big problems,

My original problem is, would my “the red pill” confectionary snack be like a freddo frog, in that in the bag with the name the red pill on the front you’d only find one sweet.

Or would my the red pill confectionary snack be more like smarties so in the bag with the red pill written on the front you would find 20 or so of the red pill.

Either way a “the red pill” would essentially be a giant jelly bean type snack and would be extremely tasty. So the market wouldn’t just be super culty matrix fans who want to be able to go into a shop and buy a red pill, essentially a market of one me, but people that like tasty sweets too.

I have a friend Barry, I was thinking he could be head of the Blue Pill, confectionary snack department, which we would pretend is our rival brand, but really we’d be in cahoots, similar to the whole long bearded Coke and Pepsi conspiracy thing.

Then my mate Spinky (w.o.t) can bring out the urban street version which would be exactly the same as “the red pill”, but the lettering on the bag would in places would be in gold, and his product would be called “the red pill innit” - very sweet, very street.

You may at this point be asking yourself

“Why on earth is this bean writing to me”

good question, also at this point hopefully you are eating or drinking something tasty,

Please let me explain, I asked my mate Spinky (w.o.t),

“But where can I take my dream”

Spinky replied

“To the candy man”

Who is this candy man, I tried to contact him via the mirror technique but I got a bit scared so didn’t go through with it, instead I searched all the hobo villages, and asked many a hobo with toes sticking out from their boots, whether they were the candy man all of which was to no avail,

Then one night underneath the sky I saw all the stars turn into spider’s eyes, and space spiders came and spun a cobweb from the sky to the trees, upon which read a name,

Your name,

So finally I believe that it is you who is in fact this candy man I’ve been looking for.

Although space spiders are notorious drunks so maybe they were just pulling my leg.

PARADOX SPOILER

Let’s make the red pill a reality.

Wait that’s not a paradox Doh I spoiled another paradox

Yours,
?
The riddler

No no no

Yours Faithfully
foolonthefootofamountain

If you enjoyed this letter, or are in need of something to wash the bad taste of it out of your mind, then feel free to look out for more of my work some of which but not much is far more enjoyable than a dead fish.

ps

i am a dead fish

Breakfast Song.

Breakfast Song

Chohshoku Chohshoku

Hamusandoichi

Chohshoku Chohshoku

Hamusandoichi

Sunday, 24 January 2010

Hey Morpheus just in case you’re out there.

Hey Morpheus just in case you’re out there

What is the Matrix?

In a while crocodile.

In a while crocodile

Feed the raver

Rock Originator

Your mixing wild

Voodoo style

Catch the lazer

Party maker

Makes people smile

That's so worthwhile

Lips fly

Butter sky

Make love

Magic drugs

New tune drops in the room

Gifting mouths silver spoons

Way down low

Shiny rays happy days

Banana, ohm bar la

See you later alligator

In a while mushroom child.

Now you know our ABC's.

Now you know our ABC's

This is just to let you know that for your personal listening pleasure

KWBL radio will be in session again live from the moon next week...

And of course every week thereafter until,

A: Our hands fall off, although we could type with our nose's.

B:We die

C: Our experimental suspicions into listening repeatedly to Nirvana's Never Mind evolve into fruitation and we reach enlightenment.

D: We reach enlightenment to such a great extent that we become like Quaver's and float off into out of space

E: Our heads explode

F: The penguins that live on the moon continue their pointless war against the KWBL studios they break in and take everyone hostage – in which case please send the squid and fish to the sea of tranquillity

G: We fail the are you a human computer word test, realise we are all penguins, and decide to wage a pointless war on KWBL radio.

H: Two oh

I: Lose my marbles and have to return to never never land in search of them

G: Err durr brrrr errrr ummm

J: Somebody got lost

K: Somehow our brains are removed from our bodies so we still have the use of our hands but we cannot think of a single thing to write

L: A super hackers take over the internet and destroy every computer on the moon.

M: Nasa land a rocket on top of the KWBL studios again - p.s thanks for all the monkeys, shame about the penguins

N: We get eaten by one of those giant spiders thats sitting in the sky – you might call their eyes stars

O: bla dee o blaa dah Desmond decides to run a barrow in the market place, and marry's a girl named Molly who is a singer in a band.

P: That reminds me

Q: Colombo works out from asking questions that it was us that assassinated JFK even though we have a ridiculously water-tight alibi – remember when assassinating that you’ve got to sass it

R: We get addicted to techno

S: We all get married have kids, and join a world where blogging is no longer a part of our lifes

T: Milk and two sugars please

D:

U: Join the penguins in their war against KWBL radio and lead them to victory with an inspirational speech a les braveheart

V: We are all banned from the whole of the internet for reasons un specified and the date that the ban will be lifted is never

W: xyz


And now you know our abc`s.

Gunpowder Tea.

Gunpowder Tea

To become a great secret agent,
always ridicule your heroes.

KWBL Newsflash.

You are tuned into KWBL Radio

Breaking News;

Swans are in charge at the met office - clack clack clack ak clack

Aliens have been spotted disguised as planes - clack ak clack ak ak

And news just in - The white house is all out of Gummy bears

We head live now to our correspondent in Washington Dr Matt Grirving

“So what’s going on Matt - wheres the President?”

For future updates on all the important global issues please stay tuned into

KWBL - Guess what were on the moon - thats right folks the whole we live onthe earth thing was all just a great big practical joke – Ray-dee-oh.

Chinks.

Chinks

My brother used to say don’t chink,
So I hear the chinks even more,
As I eat my dinner
At a table
Which was once set for five,
But now only sits four.

Farewell.

Farewell

The man with no name headed into the sun

and Isaac Newton once said I was like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and diverting myself now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me

Whereas I am Speedy Gonzalez the mouse who wears a sombrero,

Andale, andale, arriba arriba!

Saturday, 23 January 2010

No More Crisps.

No more crisps


It was on a Sunday when Henry-Dylan’s Uncle told Henry-Dylan,
That there was not a single crisp left in the world.

Not one crisp left in existence, imagine, not one crisp in the whole entire swirling universe,

That would mean no more crisps in the Milky Way ever!

No.

More.

Crisps.

The wisest animals say,
“Long time no fear”

And Henry-Dylan heard them, for Henry-Dylan was very brave.

So brave that Henry-Dylan decided, his adventure today would be to go and see if he could find a crisp even though he had been told that they’re were.

No.

More.

Crisps.

Luckily for Henry-Dylan there were no baddies in the front room,

This meant the way to the kitchen was safe.

In the kitchen Henry-Dylan checked all the kitchen cupboards,

Was that a bit naughty?

In the first cupboard he found drinking glasses but no crisps,

The second turned out not to be a cupboard

To Henry-Dylan’s amazement it was a fridge

Magical.

“No crisps in here!” He said.

Henry-Dylan imagined if you did keep crisps in the fridge they’d be very freezey.

The third cupboard was a drawer, not one crisp there, only plates.

The last cupboard he checked was completely empty nothing in there at all.

So Henry-Dylan decided to go all the way to the top of the house up the upstairs stairs.

At the first set of stairs he passed Granddad who was talking on the phone,
“Yes, I had the correspondence here a minute ago, but I keep getting distracted”

“No” Henry-Dylan thought, whatever Granddad’s talking about has nothing to do with crisps.

So Henry-Dylan continued on his way to top of the house by climbing up the upstairs stairs,

This led to the secret tree-top room in the loft.

The first things Henry-Dylan saw when he got there where two wooden boxes.

One had a brick on top,

“There must be some crisps in here”, Henry-Dylan announced

And slowly Henry-Dylan opened up the Box,

But all that was in there was Some dirty washing, eurgh!

“Then the crisps must be in this second box” Henry-Dylan said aloud
He slowly opened up the Box,

But all Henry-Dylan found in the second box was a load of smelly socks, disgusting.

Then Henry-Dylan had a really good idea,

He would go to sleep and dream about crisps.

So off he went to sleep at the end of the loft-rooms bed,

Surprise!

There was a monster, it was a dragon, a real scary dragon, with scales, sharp teeth like a shark, and a large mouth which could breathe fire, it had tiny little eyes, was yellow with green spots, could tap-dance, was very ticklish and it was... furious.

Henry-Dylan speedily jumped out of the bed and hid behind the box of smelly socks, he shut his eyes

And bravely counted to five,

One

Two

Three

Four

Five!

Henry-Dylan opened his eyes,

Phew! It wasn’t a real dragon, it was just a cute baby dragon picture, but Henry-Dylan was still a little scared, so he decided to try and sleep at the other end of the bed,

Uh Oh watch out, oh no, Henry-Dylan.

Look he’s fallen down the side of bed, and now he’s got stuck.

Henry-Dylan squeezed and squeezed until finally with one terrific pop, he became free and managed to climb back on top of the bed.

Phew.

After rescuing himself, Henry-Dylan sobbed,

“The front end is far too scary, and the back end is far too gappy”

Henry-Dylan then decided out loud,

“I shall have to sleep on the floor”

But the floor was too uncomfortable

Eureka!

Henry-Dylan remembered that down the upstairs stairs, he had his own cosy room with his very own cosy bed.

It must have been Henry-Dylan’s lucky day there were no baddies on the stairs.

In his room, Henry-Dylan was safe.

There were no dragons but still there were no crisps,

No.

More.

Crisps.

“Someone’s been messing about” Shouted Henry-Dylan.

“A long time ago I found some crisps in here”

“There should be crisps!”

Awww at least there was his cosy bed to sleep in.

Cosy, cosy.

Which meant Henry-Dylan could go to bed and dream about crisps,

And maybe eat them in his sleep crunch crunch.

Before going to bed Henry-Dylan decided that his room must be tidied, because he was going to have a visitor.

Whilst tidying Henry-Dylan found an egg, an egg which you could open up and close back shut again, maybe he could put a crisp in it for his visitor, but of course he didn’t have any crisps.

It became windy in Henry-Dylan’s room, so windy that Henry-Dylan needed to find a coat quick,

He sang his coat song,

“I can’t see my coat”
“I am in my boat”
“Looking for my coat”

But Henry-Dylan couldn’t see his coat anywhere, there were some coats hanging up on the back of the door to his room but he was not sure who’s was who’s

He cried out,

“I can’t see mine”,

Maybe his coat was hiding in the wardrobe,

“I can’t jump high enough”

Henry-Dylan found out that the handles on the wardrobe door where too high for him to reach,

“Well I might not be tall enough, but I’m still a small grown up” Henry-Dylan decided.

Suddenly a yellow coat plopped into his room,

“How funny, you’re a size 10” Laughed Henry-Dylan’s Grandmamma from the landing.

“This is not my coat”

“That is not my size” Replied Henry-Dylan,

“My coat is a dinosaur coat”.

Then Henry-Dylan spied a spider catcher dream machine hanging on the wall, maybe this will catch the crisps for me when I dream them, thought Henry-Dylan, what a clever little laddie, and without further ado he clambered into his nice safe bed and went to sleep.

In the morning the sun shone through the window and Henry-Dylan awoke,

He sang

“Pictures! Mictures! Crictures!
Put the dog in there
Mictures! Crictures! Witches!

And I have no idea what any of that means, do you?

Henry-Dylan ran downstairs; there were some baddies in the front room, unlucky for them, because Henry-Dylan defeated them all, with his moves and mighty power,

Then Henry-Dylan scuttled into the kitchen to take a look in the cupboards again,

Was that a little bit naughty?

In the first cupboard he found drinking glasses but no crisps,

The second cupboard was the fridge

“Freezey Weezey”

The third cupboard was a drawer, not one crisp in there, only plates.

That left only one more to check

Henry-Dylan slowly opened up the last cupboard,

Can you guess what he found?

Yes that’s right some crisps.

And Henry-Dylan thought,

“Thanks Grandmamma, Thanks Granddad”

Which means Henry-Dylan’s adventure has come to an end

Crunch Crunch.

Friday, 22 January 2010

Woking a Shithole?

Woking a Shithole?

One man’s pride in his home town

Brought to you in Stereophonicless real air sound

Unless you happen to be listening to the Stereophonics


Are you sitting comfortably, you can always skip to the end or just check out the Wikipedia page, an universal motto that can and probably should be applied to most things in life.

Woking is my hometown, and is also home to many other excuse my modesty amazing things, such as the Shan Jahan Mosque, which is the first ever mosque to be built in England, this was meant to be my first unique selling point about Woking as it’s a nice historical tit-bit, unfortunately you may wrongly ,wrong in the sense that you’re a bad human being, have come to the conclusion that this would mean Woking has a higher than average Asian population, or as my friend Joey who incidentally is “training”, to be a marine would put it,

“I don’t want to go out in Woking it’s full of paki’s”

For shame Joey for shame, he was 13 when he said that, so maybe you can cut him a bit of slack, I’m not sure, and I’d definitely have been more inclined to lean towards Joeys messages if they were more hippie friendly if you know what I mean but then again I don’t think Joey would be ideal Marine material if he was walking around in Birkenstocks spreading messages of peace and love.

So if you yourself are not fond of Asians I recommend you stay clear of Woking. Or better yet never leave your front door.

One resident from the Woking ward of Maybury, who would especially tell you to keep clear, is my good mate Spinky(wot) he used to constantly refer to his home town as Delhi, which although wrong is quite clever, Delhi being the capital of India.

Although I think all you freaky Asian haters if any of you are still out there should look on the bright side. I know from experience that in Woking one is never too far away from friendly people and many a friendly shop which sells Rizla and beer. Who doesn’t like friendly people, or beer, or Rizla, I’m guessing grumpy people.

Of course if your modern enough to love and embrace all walks of life, all colours and creeds, then welcome to Woking, come head on down, if I’m about, and we happen to meet, I’ll buy you a pint, you can even check out the Mosque, which is actually quite lucky to still be standing.

Not only did it survive both world wars, but as of September the 11th it survived two attempts at being burnt down.

September the 11th by the way was the first day I experienced one of those where were you on the day moments,

I’ll always remember I had just started my first real job, I say real job because being a paper boy just doesn’t cut the mustard,

especially the way I did the round, sorry No.33 Lavender road,

anyhow 9\11 as well as being a great global tragedy was a day in which the fate of one particular budgie was sealed and by some merry co-incidence (Yahtzee hippo) was the day I begun working for Pets at Home.

Another famous where were you moment is when president Kennedy was assassinated, I can’t join in this one because I wasn’t even born, unless reincarnation is the ticket in which case, who knows, maybe I was the third gunmen on the grassy knoll,

As I was saying, after September 11th the Shan Jahan Mosque was the victim of two attempts at being burnt down, and that it still stands today is testament to the fact that I failed in my mission both times,

alas,

but at the nearby Pets at Home superstore (Lion Retail Park- Woking) you can find some burnt out store posters and the melted bin of boredom.

The Shah Jahan Mosque (also known as Woking Mosque) is not the first mosque to be built in Britain it is the first purpose-built mosque to be built in Britain.

Built in 1889 it comes a close second in the race to build the first Mosque in Britain narrowly losing out on the gold medal to Quilliams Liverpool mosque

The mosque was actually built by an orientalist; I love that word, an orientalist named Dr Gottlieb Wilhelm Leitner. He was born of Jewish parents in Pest, Hungary.

Some friends and I took the word and turned it into our very own “orienmentalist”, which you yourself can now use in phrases such as “watch out the washing machine is about to hit oriemental”

Pets at home Woking used to sell a lot more products then it does now, for example plastic tubs of locusts at 20p a go,

in the wrong hands these locust's could be turned into a deadly Halloween trick, an affordable one too, for as little as a pound, notorious non treat givers such as No. 33 Lavender Road, could have their houses subjected to the eighth on the list of biblical plagues,

I used to love doing my paper round after that Halloween, with the friendly chirp of locust chatter springing forth to greet me from every bush, hedge and shrubbery.



Woking is also home to Horsell common made particularly famous by the Martian invasion that begun there,

I’m going to take the time now to reassure you that by the best of my knowledge I am not an alien, on the other hand there was this funny time I was messing about with my nephew Henry(4) when I called him a smelly egg and he retaliated by saying,

“You’re an alien”,

This immediately made me think, good comeback kid, so who knows maybe he’s onto something.

Anyhow it wasn’t really the imaginary aliens’ landing that makes Horsell common, one of the most un-common commons around it was good old H.G.

H.G Wells once lived in Woking and you can even visit his house, but he doesn’t live there anymore.

Don’t worry you can console yourself of this fact by venturing to Weatherspoons to enjoy a Pint, but while there don’t look down, unless you fancy a big trip.

The carpet at Woking’s Weatherspoons, is just as accomplished as any drugs legal or otherwise at producing some startling chemical reactions in the brain,

the beers not so bad either, well it’s cheap and that’s the main thing.

On the wall is a button that when pushed will allow you to travel in time, hard to believe I know but I assure you very true and definitely handy when last orders come round.

Horsell Common alone without any of the War of the Worlds madness really is most beautiful.

There on a clear night, in the milky way, you can see the stars make a lions face appear in the sky, if you’re lucky the stars may even dance for you, they did for me once, and when I listened carefully it was as almost as if they were calling me home,

anyway enough of this E.T flat-trap I fancy some Greek mythology.

In nearby Pyrford you can often see Zeus, usually above the local butchers, he is not a kebab shop owner, and is most likely to be in the form of a cloud, you’ll notice him just floating, having a look down, pretty much checking out how everything’s going on.

Once in Pyrford I saw giant monkey riding on his magic fly cloud, he was a long way from China, as they say in England, which has Chinese roots, you can even find some on Woking’s Oriental Road, which used to be home to the Oriental institute.

Oriental Road finds itself lying upon a hill,

its sides are lined with trees,

it has a bench, an old people’s home, and also the house where I was born,

well the house I was taken too after my first visit to a hospital, which I really can’t remember at all, thankfully as apparently it was pretty messy, there was talk of me being covered in blood from head to toe, boy that must have been some party,

anyway my house at Oriental road sits at the bottom, whilst right at the very top of the hill is Woking railway station.

Woking railway is Historically linked with the trafficking of corpses to cemetery’s to provide for the overspill or should that read overkill of the dead bodies that had begun to pile up in nearby London,

a plague will have that kind of knock on effect upon a town.

Today the plague has moved on from cows and rats to being spread by pigs, since St Georges time we’ve been out of fire breathing monsters in the U.K, so I’m quite looking forward to the next year of the dragon,

Meanwhile with optional swine flu mask attached you may want to enjoy a luxury cruise, by taking yourself on a trip by train from Woking station to Brookwood,

which is known round these parts as “the ghost town”

For when a train stops at Brookwood, cue eerie horror music, the train doors open, yet no one gets on, and no one gets off,

Apart from you of course, if you happen to be one of the nutter’s or I suppose mourners that’s decided to pay a visit to the cemetery.

Brookwood is where the dead people were taken on the train from London to be dumped and if I’ve got my facts right this played a major part in the springing up of Woking town, it certainly accounts for the cemetery.

In the grounds at Brookwood cemetery you will find amongst the ghosts and old tombstones, a very remarkable tree, so remarkable in fact it adorns the front cover of the book, “meetings with remarkable trees” by Thomas Pakenham, if your names Thomas, than he shares your name but he’s probably more of a ham packer than you.

In Woking Park you will see swans,
And at Hopwood’s moth lit strobe,
Well rock up and take it in my friend
You’ve found an awesome place to smoke


Its undercover see so makes a perfect shelter from the elements, id even testify in a court of law that it’s a perfect place to stop and roll a cigarette, id go one step further and swear on the bible but that sort of behaviours a bit rude for my liking

Talking of smoking according to some of the greener locals it is written in old stoner folklore that pixies like to toke joints after midnight on Pyrford common and that is not fog you see misting up above the grass but hashish smoke, also apparently for reasons unknown Pyrford lodge is dancing easy.

Here are some helpful phrases that will be of benefit to you if you happen to visit Woking

1. “Innit”
2. “Sorry mate I don’t have any spare change” that one is universal
3. “Sorry mate I haven’t got a ticket and I haven’t got any money to buy a ticket either”
That one will save you money if you happen to travel to Woking via the train

Now I’ve just got time to leave you with a little wise old monk fortune cookie type rhyme

And to any person who says Woking is a shit-hole,
I’d reply with a No,
It all depends,
On whom you see and where in fact you go.

Shit! snakes.

Shit! snakes.

She’s so sexy,
She’s the one
The girl you need to touch,
And it makes you cry
To love her,

She’s the one, who’ll love you in a rush,
And that is greed right there
Squeezing night into another rising of a burning day,

In the morning that is life,
Can you see the hamsters?
They live in the biscuit toy box
You know the fruity one
And they like to play with bunnies,
Whilst witches in stripy pyjamas
Pop bubbles to answer the wide crashing questions.

I was so happy riding on a skateboard, and helter-skelter sliding
Till that day when you sold my electric silver
Guitar,
And it’s just too much for me, that the more I can throw, well the more I do,

And we all throw
Throw more throw more, more and more
What we need that cure and it’s just too much,

So your long dark hair falls
Onto the cold floor of cancer.

And Toddler doodles on the wall hasn’t quite got enough moustache,

So he Jumps into the trees, growing wild in the kitchen
And hits out all the snakes in the grass at the picnic,

You’ve gotta grab a bug to watch your pets
Because lemonade babies won’t last forever,

And in those grubby ways we smoke,
The Smell of loved ones burning shoes
Is in the atmosphere

Shoe fire Moves like moonlight,
Where by the Knotted trees, tied to boats,

Floats a fish in a glass that can
Escape to the land of sweet dreams,

The fish’s colours are shining just for you,

And baby...

I burnt my moustache.

What do you do?

What do you do?


I’m a sleeper, waker, writer, masturbator, TV watcher, sometimes reader, music listener, friend, family man, presents giver, risk taker, doo gooder, sinner, gambler, loser, winner, drinker, eater, smoker, food maker, provider, insider, outsider, laugher, game player, I’m a friend, I’m a listener, a problem solver, I breathe, I do well, I sometimes do bad, exerciser, relaxer, I don’t do a job, and a still think that the funniest reply is in an Italian accent,
“I do Rachel”
I also like,
“I does what I likes and I likes what I do”
And just for you, I’ll make didgeridoos to sell in Timbuktu, why dont you come with me? that way neither of us will ever have to come back again.

Gandhi.

Gandhi

I find your mouth so boring
That it takes your hands to thrill me
If I cut off your arms at the elbows
I could use your stick to rape you
I’d have two new legs for my table
And I’d wear your ring finger like a rolli
So I could talk to strangers like I’m Gandhi
Cause when your words have made me empty
Shoes start flying out of windows
And I wish your words would thrill me
So that one day ill have no need to rape you.

Nose picking.

Nose picking

Kids who pick monkey rings
jesus knows where you’ve been

It is love
Is it blood

Kissing legs with liver cuts

So break yourself
with no more dolls

lets loosen up on self control

while pillows talk
and walls do see

jesus knows where I’ve been

I got back late
and don’t want to talk
so its straight to bed
against your wall

and Your perfect hair its feeding me,
Lets me breathe when I’m asleep

So loosen up

I’m out off dolls
I broke myself on self control

When I bit my tongue in a dream
my eye lids still fake pretty scenes
from sleep to wake and wake to sleep
That perfect hair feeding me.

Naked bodies.

Naked bodies

I love her she’s love me
I can love you and well be three
Like little pea pods on the old gum tree
Let’s share our bodies nakedly.

Bittle Lird.

Bittle Lird

Elastic scar fat
Drips will burn
Plastic heads
On football legs

Naming tags for all your bits
And lots of deep fried mars bar T.V trips,

Snaking ropes in the cellar hang cow shoe maps
old as lighters burn itches scratch.

Lab ruts fire
deep inside

more of those bear hand jokes to find,

I stoke my feathers
and spread your wings

as silver pickled milk drips
sing

the reds the reds
They haven’t got any legs

all the while a beaming Manchu squatter,
screams

cuckoo cuckoo
You’re a donkey

and in the morning you will marry me.

Thursday, 21 January 2010

The Lost Match.

The lost match.

It was snowing.

As is often the case when things turn bad, sometimes our hearts will dictate the weather, for a lot of people snow is good fun, but it wasn’t much fun for Jacob Rehab, or his bare feet. Jacob was a down and out and had been begging near the London Docks all day,

“Spare a farthing guvnor”

He cried out pleadingly to every passerby and truth be told these didn’t number many; the steadily falling flumps of snow were quickly taking care of that.

Any wrapped up stranger that did happen to stumble across Jacobs way rushed on by quickening their pace through the snowy gale, without even as much as a nod to the bundle of rags that cried out for farthings from the relative sanctuary of an unknown doorstep.

All things said and done sitting in his stoop on the streets of London Jacob was pretty cold going on freezing, if you happened to stick his feet in a fire, it would probably be a moment before he would have to remove them from the flames burning heat.

Then of course if you decided to remove Jacobs’s feet from his legs they could sit prettily in the fire forever and to what end, just that London would be down by one voice.

If by some miracle or bountiful amount of rum he survived his feet’s amputation then all that would mean is one more crawling beggar to grace fair London streets.

No big matter, wake up tomorrow and see if the world still turns.

Is this earth really a spinning six-penny that never stops?

Ever notice how sunshine flirts with the moonlight, it seems they are destined to dance together eternally heading round and round.

Just remember that if you did wake up upon a spinning coin then its best to ignore any heads because as the saying goes it’s the tales that never fail.



Jacob thought about his feet, and he thought he was weak. How he would love to sit inside a fire and burn the cold away.

His handsome brown eyes like a King Charles Spaniels looked down to his hands, which were hidden from view below his assorted collection of rags, these were in fact the trusty blankets and covers that he had acquired over the years.

Currently Jacobs’s hands were at home in a rather fetching pair of black woollen fingerless gloves.

If this story was set in a London of the future then hoodies might have been invented in which case you’d be likely to find Jacob the beggar’s hands resting comfortably inside of a hoodies pouch.

Safe like a Joey inside mother kangaroo.



As Jacob sat alone he’d often play out entire conversations, thoughts whizzing back and forth like a tennis ball bouncing inside his head, sometimes he would even hit upon what is known as a bums philosophy, such as,

You can go anywhere with just a bundle of blankets and two good legs, what more do you need.

“Maybe a bit of bacco”

Jacob answered his question unintentionally by unconsciously shouting out loud.

Loud enough to send some nearby perching pigeons scattering into flight, and also startling another one of the stumbling passersby into looking even closer at the ground so as to avoid the beggar’s eye.

Oblivious Jacob rubbed his cold hands together, and breathed shallow breaths onto them; he was nursing some life back into his hands prior to delving into his mass of pockets in search of some tobacco.

Eventually he found everything he needed to roll himself a cigarette, which carefully with skill filled yet cold frost bitten fingers he managed to do.

Jacob placed the cigarette in his mouth.

Instinctively his hands went to light it, but to his despair he had no match.
Patting his pockets furiously in hope was the most he had moved in two days, yet his search yielded nothing. Fruitless.

Then Jacob remembered. The pretty little match girl. She had stopped and shared some time with him only the other day. Where would she be?

He couldn’t remember where, but was sure the match girl had mentioned that she worked nearby.

Jacob decided he would go and find the match girl, his need for a match had given him enough impetus to get up and leave the dismal shelter of his stoop, even if it meant walking bare footed through the snow.



The pretty little match girl, liked the snow, she enjoyed the way it made everything look, she felt the weather was mirroring her mood, she was in love, well at least she thought maybe love was what it was.

She had never felt like this before, maybe it did have something to do with the snow, all she could think about was the young boy she had met sitting in a stoop a few days before.




Have you ever been on a mushroom trip, when it was so cold that you thought you might lose the use of your lips? If not try to imagine feeling frightened for a part of your bodies’ safety due to its exposure to the cold,

Well that’s how Jacob was feeling about his feet. Which themselves had lost all feeling. He couldn’t be sure whether his feet where fine, or in a really bad way, so he just stopped worrying about them and kept walking.

His bare feet were taking him away from the docks of London towards the famous London Bridge, he had always felt it wise when walking to trust his feet, and they usually seemed to know which way to go.



In the dark smog, night flickering lamps of amber, cast an eerie orange glow on patches of blackness, and added a smell of popping sulphur to the air, but what was this other smell?

Jacob sniffed with his nose as deep as he could muster, chestnuts that’s what it was. Roasting chestnuts and what’s more it meant a light for his ciggeratte.

He trusted his feet and followed his nose; soon his ears picked up on the hoarse cockney cry of,

“Roasty, Roasty”

With a cry of roasty, and the delicious intoxicating smell of heady sweet roast chestnuts wafting through the air.

You would not have to have the powers of the famous detective Sherlock Holmes to reason that a roast chestnut seller was somewhere on the streets nearby.

Yes sure enough Jacob could see the roaster underneath a large tree. Flickers from the roasters coals were burning and they drew Jacob like a moth towards the flame.


“Roasty, Roasty, Lovely Chestnuts, ooh isn’t they gorgeous, roasty roasty, get your chestnuts, come get em while there hot”

“Chestnuts sir?” The roaster enquired of Jacob,

“Have you got a light” Jacob replied,

“Oh a beggar is we”

Was what he got in return, the roaster taking one look at Jacobs scraggly appearance and bare feet became angry. Unfortunately for Jacob it seemed his nose by way of his feet had taken him to a man, who seeing another man in need, did not react kindly at all.

All he wanted was a light for his cigarette and although unasked for if the roasters attention to finer details was just a little better it was plain to see by the hunger lines that marked Jacobs face that he was in need of some roasted chestnuts on the house, or as you might say for free.

It appears that the way of the world, is that those with wealth are often treated with great kindness and respect, whether this is false kindness or respect is immaterial, and sometimes these wealthy are granted goods or services on the house, for free even thought they could easily afford them.

Feel for those without wealth, who need the respect or kindness of their fellow man more than anything, and would welcome whatever little was given on the house yet day to day are being treated no better than vermin.


On the streets of London, under the tree and by the coals Jacob was in the roasters eyes a scruffy, wicked, wild animal. The roaster quickly made up his mind and reaching behind his stall he brought

out a heavy walking stick made of oak, wielding it like a club the roaster fiercely hit out at Jacob, whack after whack until he forced Jacob to move away,

“Be off with you”,

Jacob was at a complete loss, his feet had let him down, it must be the snow he thought, but kindness springing eternal crops up in the most unlikely of places,

“If you want a light, go buy one yourself of the match girl over at London Bridge” the roaster sneered at Jacobs retreating back,

Jacob took the time to turn his head, the roaster was right; Jacob now remembered that it was his pretty girls patch at the end of London Bridge. Funny even though he’d just been attacked with a stick, he still replied in thanks over his shoulder

“Cheers mate”

He felt at peace because once again his feet had led him the right way.

Far away to a man with bare feet walking in the snow, but only on the other side of the River Thames, around 300 yards away over the bridge a distance easily walk able by many, Jacob could see the match girl illuminated below a street lamps shining light.




Inside her head the match girl was thinking about the boy she had met sitting on the stoop just days before.

She remembered they had sat and talked a long while, the boys name was Jacob, Jacob with a cheeky face, and deep rich brown eyes, handsome, soulful like a puppy dogs, she had told him he reminded her of a King Charles Spaniel, which was meant as a compliment, he had made her laugh, and she had thought of little else since.

“How much” A stranger on the street asked, whilst simultaneously picking up a box of matches from the match girls tray

“1 shilling” she replied absentmindedly, taking the strangers coin then heading swiftly back to her own thoughts.



Jacob felt behind his ear to make sure the cigarette was still there, it was, all was good.



Just before he reached London Bridge an apparition emerged out of a side alley and stood in front of Jacob blocking his way,

“Well if it isn’t young Jacob Rehab, I’ve been looking for you” Said the apparition,

This apparition turned out to be a man, a man who looked like smoke and was cloaked all in black.

Jacob knew this man and now you do too as the silver kiss, this silver kiss gave Jacob a gift before slipping off into the night never to be seen again.


Jacob wearily stumbling onto London Bridge, managed to get halfway across, before stopping to look at the patterns dancing in the waters reflection, a favourite pastime of his was watching the lights from all around dance like ripples upon the surface of the River Thames,

Raising his head, Jacobs handsome brown eyes, concentrated purely upon the face of the pretty little match girl, she was illuminated at the end of London bridge beneath the street lamps glow, to Jacob she was so beautiful and this gave him inner strength, enough to carry on his way.

Blood began to ooze out from a hole in Jacobs’s stomach dripping onto the snow which covered the bridge, in the day time it would look fine like a work of art, bright red pools of blood on soft white snow, and oh so much blood, but in the dark of the late night Jacobs’s blood as he stumbled fell upon London Bridge unseen.

“Trust your feet, trust your feet, not long now”,

Jacob repeated over and over in his head like a mantra.

All the while with each step and with every beat of his heart ceaselessly more blood kept seeping out from the wound in his stomach. It would seem that the silver kiss had done his job well.


Gazing up into the starry sky the little match girl had last sold a match about five minutes ago, suddenly she was stolen from her lofty airy thoughts and brought leadenly back to ground, funny how all it took was the sound of a whisper in her ear,

“Eliza”,

Jacob whispered, and was more thankful than you’ll ever know that he could remember the pretty match girl’s name,

“Please spare me a match”, he asked

“Jacob”

Eliza exclaimed excitedly, thinking that her prayer to the stars had been answered,

“Of course, oh Jacob”

Eliza went deathly white as white as the surrounding heaps of fallen snow, in panic, she was silenced and did not scream, as might have been your first thoughts as to her reaction, in fact the whole street seemed to turn unreal, or if you might believe it even realer than it had been before, time had slowed down and the very air became quieter almost deadly silent.


Jacob could not carry on walking any further, he didn’t have enough blood left to move his body, and his feet had taken him as far as they wanted to go,

He collapsed into Eliza’s arms.

Even though he was dying, he managed to reach behind his ear for the cigarette,

“Got a match” Jacob asked whilst looking up with sad eyes into Eliza’s tear streaked
face.

Eliza managed to strike a match which quickly flamed, whilst still holding tightly onto Jacobs’s cold body; she shakingly and tenderly raised the lit match in her little hand to the cigarette balancing between Jacobs lips.

It was a miracle that the match did not go out, how could the wind know at that precise moment not to blow. It appeared as if that night a fairy tale was being played out in London’s fair city.


Eliza did not care that her dress was becoming soaked in blood, she felt that she would keep it forever stained, as more snow flakes fell all she cared about was stroking Jacobs brown hair, and looking into his handsome eyes, Jacobs and Eliza’s tears mingled together.

Jacob looking up at Eliza noticed it was like she was hanging beneath the stars and as he lay in her arms Eliza kept watch upon his face keeping it safe, so that the boy she had met in the stoop a few days before could at last on the foot of London bridge under a street lamps orange glow smoke in peace.



All the while death stood waiting unnoticed beside them stamping his foot in impatience,

“Come on get on with it, its freezing out here”

Those last two lines are a joke, for the sanctity of “the lost match” story just ignore them, innit.

The Yahtzee Hippo.

Man thought dice where his idea, in fact it was the hippo that invented dice.

Yahtzee is a game you can play with dice.

You roll five dice and if all five dice reveal the same number then you have rolled Yahtzee.

Three of the same number and a pair is called a full house.

This is where the hippo comes into it.

Let’s say you’ve rolled a full house and decided not to use it, and then you keep rolling full houses when you want something else.

Then the Yahtzee hippo is smiling.

Or if you say something along the lines of,

“Anything but two’s”

And get nothing but two’s,

Then the Yahtzee hippo is smiling.

The Yahtzee hippo is ignoramus and flies through the sky, sometimes the Yahtzee hippo will
take the form of a cloud, although this is very rare to see.

Like Loki, the Yahtzee hippo is a bit of a trickster, and to some extent thrives on Murphy’s Law although without knowing anything about it.

All the Yahtzee hippo knows is how to react to people’s words, thoughts or actions.

For example as a young boy say of the age of 12 you constantly took the piss out of your friends
and other randomn’s by singing over and over the Mexican hat song.

Well you better pray the Yahtzee hippo wasn’t flying by as thirteen years down the line,

You’d be likely to meet and go out with a Mexican girl, who at first is lovely but soon turns violent, gets you arrested, and a criminal record, then leaves you, only months later to ring you to say she is Pregnant with your baby and that you most move to Mexico to start you new life,

In situations like this sometimes people wonder why does it always rain on me?

Two simple words are enough to answer any such puzzlement

Yahtzee hippo. That’s why.

The Yahtzee hippo likes this type of thing very much, so if for example you happened to say,

“Life is sweet; the world just couldn’t get any better”

Don’t be surprised to wake up and find your Brother has thrown himself to his death off a multi-story car park, thanks Yahtzee hippo.

So what can you do to protect yourself from the Yahtzee hippo’s games, well for starters roll dice or at least shake them, this will annoy people, but make the Yahtzee hippo smile.

Remember that the Yahtzee hippo cannot be everywhere at once, so its luck whether the Yahtzee hippo happens to be flying above you.

Just knowing that the Yahtzee hippo is out there can give you an edge on anyone who doesn’t.

Especially as you learn more and more about how the Yahtzee hippos mind works. In this way you can manipulate your thoughts, words, or actions in any given situation and if the Yahtzee hippo does happen to fly by you will be at an advantage.

Remember to never say out loud

“Fuck the Yahtzee hippo”,

thinking it in your head is bad enough, and only bad things will happen if you say it out loud, whether they happen to you or not is an entirely different matter.

If something randomly good happens to you and you have the slightest inkling that it might be to do with the Yahtzee hippo, then say,
“Thanks Yahtzee hippo”

This will make the Yahtzee hippo smile and when the hippo is smiling things that are bad for us like earthquakes or marmite are less likely to happen.

Try not to confuse the Yahtzee hippo with the Nazi hippo, for starters the Yahtzee hippo doesn’t like it, and secondly they are both completely different hippos.

I’ll leave you with well known song that few people know the deeper meaning behind, it is in fact a prayer to the Yahtzee hippo,

Shake, rattle and roll by Big Joe Turner, for some reason the Yahtzee hippo likes you to have a clean face and hands, go figure.

Make the hippo smile

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

Diamond Surfers.

Single girl about town Byrony Gordon writes

“Where, exactly have I got going for the bloke who listens to Bob Dylan and spends his time surfing and skateboarding? Nowheresivlle, that’s where.”

She adds maybe there are worse things than being materialistic.

There probably are worse things than being materialistic depending on how you want to live your life, but I feel that saying going for the bloke that surfs and listens to Bob Dylan means booking yourself a one way ticket to nowheresivlle is a bit harsh. Not just on the surfer dude but on the single girl too.

Another way of looking at it is if you go for a bloke who listens to Bob Dylan and spends his time surfing or skateboarding, and you bag yourself said man then where you are is where it’s at. Surely just let the good times roll.

If it was the 60`s the simple solution would be to go out with one of the Beatles who at the time would have been young, full of life, more than likely listening to Bob Dylan but with surfboard substituted for guitar your Beatle boyfriend would be earning enough money to buy you things.

Here’s a simple truth every man no matter how much money he has in his bank can kiss, and it is within anyone’s means to take a rug lay it on the beach then kick back and gaze at the stars.

There is nothing wrong with being materialistic, many people in the world earn money, and money has got to be spent on something.

Yet it costs nothing to kiss, share time, talk or listen, these actions are quality and it is sad if material possessions are required to make up for their absence. How many times do we disgracefully try and buy our way out of neglect or nurture. As if flashing a bit of money will make everything all right, It’s too easy and too meaningless.

Of course being materialistic has both its positives and negatives, if you don’t need to be surrounded by material possessions to feel at peace and have a good time, then life is a whole lot easier, because where you are is exactly where you want to be perfect, easy, no problems.

If on the other hand you need material possessions to fill a hole than you’ve got to get them from somewhere.

In which case the answer lies in the materials, a giant TV, a house in the country, a whole load of china dogs, or maybe you need your man to provide you with say x amount of designer shoes or a big shiny diamond on a ring.

If that’s the case than the Bob Dylan surfer type probably won’t be able to take you where you want to go, you see surfer boy is already somewhere, he’s more than likely found his world, in which case it’s the person who’s looking for something else or more that is heading away from the mainland to the call of nowhereman.

Speaking materialistically Id like a girl who instead of wanting a diamond ring on her finger to show her friends, would prefer a ring carved from wood, with a token of love inscribed into it such as “fleur de les ├ętoiles”, flower of the stars.

Diamonds have their uses, according to an old saying diamonds are a girl’s best friend, but unless that girl is a burglar or an industrial miner I don’t see how this can be, it gets me to thinking that maybe diamond rings exist solely so that people with lots of money actually have something else to spend it on, otherwise it’d be pretty silly having all that money.

It’s at these times I like to borrow and twist a handy phrase from the film “cool runnings” if you’re not enough without the diamonds then you’ll never be enough with them. Then again maybe diamonds are gifts which can grant you magical powers in which case, I eat all my words and bow down to your shiny twinkly twinkly awesomeness.