Yes my friends it is the summer solstice and that is the very best day of the year to take a swift tree hug I can tell you. I truly find this day the druids treasure so very much; this longest day, shortest night the day when trees pulsate, abundant with messages just for the likes of me and the other devoted tree huggers. So why then am I so totally depressed this year at this time of what should be celebration? Well I’ll tell you. Only last week I fell in love for the umpteenth time. The only difference was that my would be lover was almost a decade my junior with an appetite for carnal pleasure that for once in my life matched mine. My God we were at it night and day – I even found I had to diarize my bouts of embracing the perennials so as to give some order to my otherwise frantic days of erotic delight. 

How very happy I was – I even prayed that this relationship was the one; that I had found my soul mate with bonuses to boot!  However just a week into our relationship I asked him what he did for a living and he, Wayne Purfleet was his name, replied to the effect that he was a lumberjack! Bollocks I thought as I ended the affair forthwith. 

Since the split I have repeatedly asked of myself how I could have even contemplated falling for such a cruel, evil mass murderer of my beloved botanical marvels. It was with sorrow in my heart that I penned this, my latest and more than likely, my last poem. 



Oh woe is me

For I can’t see

A forest in my dreams


For in a forest fair

Is where I dare

To offer up my screams


For as I hug

That nature’s rug

That is the very bark


The energy

Of tree trunk to me

Takes me from the dark


Secluded place

Where off my face

Stuck on fast upon loves shelf


I contemplate

I cannot wait

For the day I top myself


So tonight’s the night then! Yes my 55th bid for self-inflicted ruin is about me and I do believe death on summer solstice has such a nice, even poetic appropriate ring to it. For this attempt I have carefully chosen a mode that I believe cannot fail.  You see I shall venture to the very depths of the forest and find the biggest tree that lies within – for the record a majestic oak – and, with my kit off (it’s the best way to feel the energy emitting from twig to roots and all things in between) I shall superglue myself to the trunk and become at one with the tree for eternity, or basically when I starve to death for no one will find me there. 

I do harbour one small doubt as to the potential success of this attempt though. You see when in Poundland purchasing a gross of said superglue I had the occasion to be stopped by our village policeman PC Robert Bobby known locally as ‘Bobby Bob Bob.’ He stopped me and asked, ‘Oi Jessica what are you doing with all that superglue? I trust you’re not going to try and top yourself again – I shall have to be keeping an eye on you luv.’ I do so very much hope he will not thwart my venture. I live in hope. 





  1. ’embracing the perennials’ ‘Wayne Purfleet’ lumberjack – what a total hoot, Mike. Can’t wait to find out whether the drippy and pretentious Jessica finally finds a way out of this Veil/Vale of Tears. Doubt it somehow; she’s had more come-backs than the Rolling Stones – and looks a damn sight better bollock naked than any of them do! Pass the iron, Keith – and stand clear!

    1. Crikey don’t diss the Stones – I saw them on Eel Pie Island before, I suspect, you were born young lady. Having said that they were crap ‘live’ back then and still are. Poor young Jessica is in the frame tomorrow as this is part one of a two part skit. Thank you for taking time out to read.

  2. Not bored shitless yet! By the way, don’t tell Jessica, but I just don’t see the Superglue bonding with the tree. Perhaps she should try a window or something if she really wants to top herself.

    1. Ah young lady tomorrow the true effect of the superglue will become clear – although given that I’m writing it maybe it won’t. Thank you for spending time reading this old tosh for you must be as insane as the rest of us.

    1. Thank you – I’ve been running Bobby Bob Bob as a separate character yet at the behest of another blogger I have let him slip into the Jessica stories. His name came to me whilst pissed on fine red wine in France a few weeks ago. Thanks again, the Old Fool

      1. No worries they were a tad on the rubbish side of the art of skit writing – he needs to evolve more does Bobby Bob Bob. He started off pedantic then became an idiot so I’m not sure what next. Thanks for the reply.

  3. This was hilarious! I guess I knew her relationship wasn’t meant to last, but the reason for the break-up made me burst out laughing. But I am glad poor Jessica at least found some love in her life. She deserved it…too bad she fell for a man that cuts down trees;) (Really funny twist that is)

      1. Not sure if the truth be told – I thought it would be easy writing a skit with her as part of a tree yet when I sat down to write it earlier this afternoon I drew a great big blank! Bollocks.

      2. Well, I’m sure you won’t find inspiration in this one. It’ll find you. And if it doesn’t, that’s okay too. Jessica Downlow will live on in our memory…

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