I met a chap just the other day at the garden centre where I was fondling a sapling whilst at the same time shedding a tear for a wilting bonsai.  With so many people about I had, of course, kept my kit on. Any way the chap I met worked there I think. He said his name was Casper and he was ever so tall with blond flowing Nordic locks and a most handsome face. We smiled at one another yet as I stood up from my bodily caressing of the precious baby tree and reached up to run my fingers through my somewhat matted hair I noticed a change in Casper’s expression as he spotted the forest of hair about my armpits. In point of fact his lips curled in horror and he turned his gaze to the floor. After that he made mumbled excuses and went about his way at a good pace. 

Such is my luck – had it not been such a very hot day I would have worn my trademark woolly jumper over my sleeveless vest and things might have turned out so very differently for Casper and me. Woe is me once more. 

Anyway, here is my new poem. It may be my last. 


I’ve hugged trees in Sherwood Forest

I’ve hugged trees in Richmond Park

I’ve hugged trees in the twilight

I’ve hugged trees under moonlight in the dark


From mighty oaks to weeping willows

I think I’ve hugged the lot

I’ve hugged them in the coldest times

And in summer when it’s hot


Yet soon I feel that tree hugging

Will cease to be my quest

You see I’m going to top myself

For I think that’s for the best


Because nobody doth like me

I am so very alone

There’s not a single name in my contacts list

For my mobile phone


I’ve had a dozen lovers

Yet they all told me the same thing

‘You’re a fucking boring tree hugger

And in all truth you do ming’


My pets have all died horrible deaths

Under buses or by lightning strike

My house was torched by activists

And they even trashed my bike


So I think I’ll go and OD

On cornflakes and green tea

Perhaps a pinch of cinnamon

Without fuss, the death of me 

So my 54th attempt at leaving this mortal coil behind is upon me. I shan’t of course OD on cornflakes and green tea as that was just a silly billy idea I put in my poem to let my readers know what a dry wit I am. No this time I’ve decided to try a blend of real ale, bran flakes and laxatives.  I may suffer the indignity of dying of dehydration upon the lavatory pan yet it would have been worth the effort. However before I take the plunge through death’s door there’s a nice little cherry tree in a garden up the road that is simply gagging for a hug.





    1. It is funny you should mention that. I had planned her death today but couldn’t bring myself to do it! There is so much scope with the types who swoon and have a life of bad luck that even the satirist in me cannot be as cruel as I should!

  1. I strongly encourage Jessica to call her county agronomist hotline. Perhaps they do not have them across the pond, but over here many a tree-hugger has been talked down from the high limb of despair by a county agent.

    I don’t think Jessica is beyond help, I see she took the helpful comments on this blog seriously and appears to be hugging moss-laden trees versus the gnarly bark variety. So much easier on bare breasts.

    1. Cheers Sir – Jessica is basically someone I once knew back in the day and although she only lives in my head now I will ensure you entirety of your message is laid upon her. As comments to posts go yours is up there with the great ones. Thanks.

  2. Bwaaa haa haa! What a way to go! 😉 A funny thing happened on the way to read your blog today. I stopped off at Facebook and took a quiz that promised to tell me my “Hippie Name”. It was TREE. I immediately thought of you and poor Jessica and laughed about it before I even got here. (Yes, really!) Awesome post, my friend! 😀

  3. Amazing stuff! Those armpits must be like a forest in their own right…I really like this character…well, I can’t say I really ‘like’ here, because in real life she’d probably drive me crazy, but nonetheless there is a general sentiment here I can definitely relate to, a sentiment of everlasting self pity, which I guess all of us feel like succombing to at one point or another, even if it is only for a short while.
    I hope she gets to commit many more failed suicide attempts…and perhaps, if you’ve run out of legs, she could be crushed by a falling tree? (But maybe it’s just me who likes morbid irony like that;))

      1. Actually Jessica’s ghost has a rather nice ring to it – if my (fading with age) memory serves me well you are a West Country girl (?) so I’m guessing ghosts and folk lore are second nature. Shirley and I lived in Dartmouth for 15 years until recently and it was ghosts aplenty down there! I like that idea though – a ghost so thoroughly depressed that she can no longer top herself so she goes around forests freaking out unsuspecting trees!.

      2. Brilliant! I am a London (old) girl Mike but so weird you mention West Country as most people think my accent is from those parts, it is a place I love well.

      3. Sorry I got that wrong about the West Country – I am still in a bit of a fog having had a tad too much red wine watching the football last evening to the extent I shall be returning to bed methinks.

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