Category Archives: Short Stories

An apprenticeship for five long years

With sweat and effort and many tears

To not qualify would have been a bummer

Not being able to call myself a “Plumber”

But now the Government must intervene

And I must now be an Engineer of Energy Clean

And pass exams that cost me very dear.

To install heat pumps that don’t work I fear,

This is microeconomics gone totally  mad

For my future I feel very sad

I am a plumber! and so was my dad.

Poor Aunt Tilly

She wanted a willy

And now because of the doctor’s strike

They’ve told her to take a hike,

So for the moment it’s a no,

And to the ladies she must go.

So Doctors want to Strike again,

When will this chaos ever end?

Surely to heal and cure is their end

Not their monetary reward to defend?

You can understand a miners strike

For safer conditions and a better life,

But not a  middle class income which is pretty

nifty

And the opportunity to retire at fifty,

The placards and shouts just look silly

When you know they won’t treat Auntie Tilly,

She’s been ill for ages and needs a scan

The NHS says they’ll do it when they can,

Never mind we’ll soldier through,

There really is nothing more we can do.

But look aghast and hope like hell

That Aunt Tilly’s tumour doesn’t swell.

The World is making me angry

My fuse shortens with every headline

Laugh they say

At what I say?

Oh there’s always a funny angle

You’ve just got to see it,

I can’t or won’t,

No more

My heart hurts,

When the fuse burns out

I will be dead.

Just like everyone else.

All you’re left with is a photograph,

That made you look like a Princess,

But you weren’t.

And he  was no  Bonnie Prince Charles

I’m not worried about the State,

Politicians are fine and great,

If they want to know when and where I peed

Well  a National ID is all they need,

Not a simple card but chip and pin

A quick insert into my skin,

 Free at  an NHS walk in,

They can track me each and every day

And warn me should I go astray,

No knocking on doors in the middle of the night,

Just a quick vibrate to keep me right,

Why worry ,what have I got to fear

Freedom is so cheap, and tyranny so dear.

Here I am minding my own business on holiday in Cornwall and some lunatic fascist shoves it right in my face that Tommy Robinson organised an inspirational match in London.

Did it scare me ,no, what a sad piece of flotsam from Kent, who frankly was upset when I said that I no longer wanted to continue the conversation.

Apparently I’m at fault for not listening to said Tommy Robinson’s words of wisdom, he has been silenced

Actually I was more interested in the history of Tintagel and it’s famous castle.

Cornwall is expensive , but so are fascist twits who waste my time.

Well forgive me if I irritate the sensitivities of those who campaign for understanding and acceptance of all sexual behaviours.I agree that if it doesn’t do harm to participating parties than who cares and why worry.

I do believe that to mislead those who perhaps are making choices at whatever their stage of their lives is wrong, also to claim a knowledge of certainty in a part of life that is by no means clear no matter what age or proclivity is also wrong.

Well my concerns centre around the disproportionate emphasis in all media platforms of the importance of sexual relations in our day to day lives and why this should be.There are no sexperts. There are just people fumbling around in the dark.

I could go on, in fact this piece had a structure and covered many influences and indeed many influencers.However, it is best maybe summed u by Pet Benatar’s song Sex as a Weapon.

Abuse and the horror of abuse needs to be stopped in it’s tracks and not used as titillation for drama or audience figures.Sex sells, but meaningless sex leads nowhere.There is just too much media attention for what is a part of people’s life,I have a suspicion it reflects the juvenile interest of the men at the top, and they need to be stopped too.

Were you one of the lucky ones to attend  last night’s end of the Prom season’s concerts at the Albert Hall.It sounded a truly wonderful event ,mixing all sorts of musicality, traditional, pop and even a typewriter.

Congratulations to all the performers and organisers and a shout out to Sir Brian May, who I imagine is a bit of a perfectionist for giving a nod to us mortals by saying he made a couple of errors, but that’s live performance for you and real life.

Sounds like a great finale and I’m sure I’ll be able to catch up on snippets of it on various platforms.

Namaste and Thank You for Reading