I will take my leave ahead of you,

To a place that is most sublime,

And rent for us a suite of rooms,

At The Hotel End of Time.


By the time that you arrive there,

You can take for granted that I’m,

Going to ensure our cocktails will be waiting,

At The Hotel End of Time.


We shall have an open reservation,

In the restaurant most elegant,

The chef is cordon bleu you know,

Although I’m told a little arrogant.


I hear the view from the veranda,

Is to behold and quite divine,

We shall breakfast there on summer morns,

At The Hotel End of Time.


But please always remember,

That right now you are in your prime,

So there is no need for you to hurry yet,

To The Hotel End of Time.

BATMAN & SEAGULL – The Days before ‘Robin’


Before Batman met up with Robin,

His previous ward went by the name,

Of none other than the Seagull,

And Seagull was a pain,


For when compared to Robin,

A sweet and gentle lad,

Seagull was quite brash and bold,

And like his namesake was mostly bad.


He would when in the Bat Mobile,

Driving about Gotham City,

Wolf whistle at all the ladies,

Whether or not they were pretty,


Ever the incorrigible,

Loud mouthed useless pain,

He really pissed off Batman,

In disguise, or as Bruce Wayne


As for the butler Alfred,

Seagull took a grave dislike,

Even telling Alfred once,

To get on his fucking bike


Also when the villains,

Such as The Joker and Mr Freeze,

Were being, well just miscreants,

Seagull let them do as they please


The final straw came on the day,

Seagull took things too far,

He did what seagulls always do,

And shat on Batman’s car.


And thus it got too much for,

Batman who had become most bored,

With putting up with Seagull’s ways,

And so he chose another ward.


The new one would Batman determined,

Be named again after our feathered friends,

Thus Robin came into being,

And there this story ends,


Save for this short postscript,

For the tale must be told,

Henceforth Seagull dressed as The Penguin,

And joined the scallion’s fold.



La Petite Mort

Odd thing

Suicide bombers

Will go to their death

On the promise of

This state of being

Believing it will

Hold them fast

In its grip

Through eternity

Such are the dubious


Of scriptures

They are fed

Until so very



La Petite Mort


And others

Will simply

Savour the moment

Devour the moment

Live the moment

For what it is

Nothing more


‘THE ELASTIC SNAPPED’ by Agaurther Christie – consummate drivel!


Hercule Poirot: “Right you toe rags, got you all in the same room for once. I know you all really don’t want to be here yet given I am now certain of which one of you killed ‘Harry the Bomb Thrower’s’ old mum so as to get your slimy mits on the family collection of discarded, sometimes rusty, live ammunition gathered from the battlefield of The Somme using only a basic Argos metal detector I feel I have to bore those of you who are innocent of the crime shitless going on and fucking on about who did it and who couldn’t have done it, save for the actual perpetrator who will be shitting bricks presently so let me start – once I have regained my breath following an unnecessarily long sentence what I have just uttered.  OK then we will start with you Harry.” 

Harry the Bomb Thrower: “Do what? You can’t for one moment believe that I would harm me dear old mum? Why I’ll have your guts for garters. Anyway I was out bomb throwing the day she was horribly murdered – well I say that yet in truth I was using live hand grenades as it happens. Always liked a bit of variety to spice things up on the explosives front I do.  Anyway, ask ‘Eric the Bilge Bucket’ should you not believe me for ‘twas his very bucket I had filled with said grenades.” 

Eric the Bilge Bucket: “I can Mr….er…….Pie Rot or whatever you’re called; I can confirm that Harry was in my company at the time.  We were lobbing the said explosive devices at ‘Alphonse the Graffiti Artist’ ‘cause we think he’s a tosser.” 

Poirot: “Knew that already. Right what about you then ‘Stanley the Vicar?” 

Stanley the Vicar: “No mate you can cross me off your list for I was having a jolly sing song with one of me parishioners down the church at the time of the crime.  Amazing Grace if you must know. She’ll back up me story – bit of a goer mind. You might need a chaperone with that one if you get me drift….nod, nod, wink, wink.” 

Poirot: “Good enough for me Vic. So then that leaves just the two of you. ‘John the Basildon Nutter’ what have you got to say for yourself?” 

John the Basildon Nutter: “Couldn’t ‘ave been me for I was round the clinic with electrodes attached to me cranium having a bit of electric shock treatment to keep me nutter levels up when poor old Harry’s mum was snuffed out.” 

Poirot: “I can tell by your constant body spasms indicating such a recent course of treatment that you’re not lying and are therefore in the clear. So then that just leaves you then ‘Veronica the Wayward Harlot’ does it not?” 

Veronica the Wayward Harlot: “No guvnor not me who severed Harry’s mum’s noodle using only a nail file and a pair of tweezers and thereafter recycling it in the fish pond at the bottom of the garden having first placed it in a sand laden bin liner. No I was out working the Mile End Road at the time – there’s at least two dozen punters who’ll back me up if they know what’s good for them.” 

Poirot: “Ah ha Veronica how is it then that you know exactly the means by way of which the murder was accomplished for I have not made that common knowledge? Gotcha there my girl! And furthermore at the scene of the crime there were a pair of pink ladies knickers whose elastic had snapped in the struggle with the old lady which I surmise you, as they fell to the floor, simply stepped out of thus enabling you to make a swift getaway.” 

Veronica the Wayward Harlot: “No I never just stepped out of ‘em indeed I was wondering where those knickers had gone. Had it in me mind my regular client ‘David the Sniffer’ had nicked ‘em. Well you live and learn. Whoops I shouldn’t ‘ave said that should I?” 

Poirot: “Right Chief Inspector Japp you can come in now and cuff Veronica the Wayward Harlot for she carried out this most heinous of crimes.” 

Veronica the Wayward Harlot: “Did you say ‘cuff’ – crikey I’m up for that what with me being wayward and all!”



Sadly there are powerful fools in life’s sewer

Sadly there are the wise, who will not speak out

Sadly there are believers, who show no compassion

Sadly there are the blind who harbour doubt


The brawn and the precision of the heinous

Crimes born out of human choice – nothing more

Set against a backdrop of indifference

Will not expunge the curse of pointless war


In truth I am but a hopeless dreamer

Devoid of the skills to even make a dent

In the horrors of this lust to procreate evil

Mankind’s time on this Earth is almost spent


Pre-Menstrual Woman Spared Jail After Killing Husband For Whistling

A master at work – this deserves another read methinks!



A pre-menstrual woman pictured last night reminding her husband not to keep leaving the toilet seat up.

Women’s support groups were jubilant yesterday after a 38 year old London woman was allowed to walk free from court, despite being found guilty of murdering her husband, in what was described in court as “a frenzied and sustained brutal attack” with an axe in June 2013..

During the six weeks trial, the court heard how Mrs Mary Terry from Stepney Green in East London, was close to the onset of her menstrual cycle at the time of the murder. The court was then told how she had been subjected, to what her barrister described as, a “sickening catalogue of abuse” at the hands of her 45 year old chartered accountant husband of 18 years, Miles.

A number of female jurors wept openly, as defending counsel, Penelope Barrington-James QC, described how, during their…

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Event Manager Stanley: “A word in your shell-like if I may JC.”

JC: “Certainly Stan – how can I help you mate?”

Stanley: “Look there’s no easy way to put this.”

JC: “What?”

Stanley: “Well consider this for a mo. We’ve sold 2000 tickets at 50 shekels a hit for this gig. And what JC; what is the billing for the gig? What do all the posters across the length and breadth of Jerusalem say?   Let me tell you. They say, me old mucker, ‘MAN WALKS ON WATER’ that’s what they say!”

JC: “And?”

Stanley: “What do you mean ‘And?’ For crying out loud. You JC, yes you; the bloody star of the show are – if I’m not mistaken – walking, how shall I put it, ‘IN WATER’ rather than ‘ON WATER.’ The crowd are getting restless even as I speak. Anyone with bloody legs can walk ‘in water.’  ‘In water’ is not, my friend, ‘special’ in part or at all.  I feel the gig could easily fall apart and a full-on riot may ensue if you don’t get your act together post-haste matey boy!”

JC: “So we’re talking angry mob are we?”

Stanley: “In a nutshell – yes!”

JC: “We could have a problem then Stan.”



A marvellous indifference

Toward the peripheral

Things in life

Tedious everyday things

Such things sometimes


Become problematic

The French

Dismiss these things

With simplicity

Of the Gaelic shrug

Most economical

Of exertions.


Those same French

Have such passion

For the meaningful







Fine food

Fine wine

An innate ability

Dissection of

The momentous

From matters


Leaves it mark

Annoying mark

An impression

That they

The French

Know of something

We do not.


To an outsider

In awe of such

A sagacious capability

It seems they have

Access to a potion

A recipe shrouded

In mystery

And secrecy

The French are an enigma

Yet a worthy one

Vive la France!






Ring, ring…….ring, ring…….ring, ring….


“Is that Supergirl?”

“Might be; whose calling?”

“This is the President of the United States of America calling from the Oval Office of The White House in Washington DC.”

“Again! Ho hum. Time’s money – spit it out then.”

“We need your help Supergirl. The San Andreas Fault has cracked wide open following a seismic shift of Biblical proportions threatening the lives of millions of citizens of this great nation of ours. We need your assistance urgently Supergirl for you are the only one who can rectify the situation at this time. What I’m looking at here is for you to spin the planet around on its axis a few times thereby turning back time. Thereafter, you can drill yourself into the fault line and bind the tectonic plates back together thus preventing the catastrophe from ever occurring in the first place.”

“Oh is that all? Well you can fuck right off. I’m just not in the mood matey boy.”


Ring, ring…….ring, ring…….ring, ring….


“Hello, is Supergirl there please?”

“OK who are you and what do you want?  Be quick about it I haven’t got all day.”

“UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon speaking. The thing is Supergirl we have a potential humanitarian crisis on our hands following credible reports of an enormous tsunami heading straight for East Coast of the African continent. I am calling you personally to plead for instant help before a tragedy unfolds. Will you assist Supergirl? You are our only chance.”

“The short answer? No, I simply can’t be arsed. Good-bye.”


Knock, knock……knock

“I don’t believe this. Is there no such thing as peace?”

“Supergirl, Supergirl its little Millie the small child from next door and I are sorry to be shouting through your letterbox but I don’t know what to do as my pet dog has been run over by a steam-roller and is quite dead and now shaped in the style of a Persian rug. Help me, oh please help.”

“Look kid I’m in the middle of reading an engrossing and all-consuming Cosmo article about how to perfect the art of making the man in my life feel eternally inadequate and now you’ve interrupted me. Also, I recall that only last week on two occasions I brought that mutt of yours back to life following similar road traffic accidents so its third time ‘unlucky’ kido. Bugger off.”

“Please Supergirl, pity please.”

“For crying out loud – this is the very last time though, understand? I really don’t need this.”



World War Two


A young man

Receives call-up papers

His Emperor needs him

He must fight

His nations cause

The foe

The combined might

Of America

Of Great Britain

And their Allies

He lives with his family

A remote village

Before he departs

Exactly 1000 ladies

Young and old


By way of tradition

And in turn

Sew a stitch of white braid

Into his tunic

For good luck



Is a curse

When you are young

Still a virgin

Grateful for the tunic

Of a thousand stitches

He does though

Have a preference

Not one spoken


It was not to be

No mercy

In the hearts

Of the girls and ladies

Who stitched


To war he went

A troubled boy

Knowing the option

For surrender

Was not an option

In victory or defeat

He would likely die

A troubled virgin

Accepting his lot


The boy though

Did make it home

A man now


The oldest virgin

In the village

It was time

To make up

For lost time


  • Based on a true story I read a little while ago.