I don’t subscribe to technology

I don’t have a mobile phone

I do have a listening ear

However to harken my neighbours moan

I much prefer bees droning

Then people on their line

Just stop and look at the daisy

The world is just sublime

I’ve suffered a silent carriage

On a train out of Paddington

And heard the low buzzing

From earphones not quite plugged in and quite absurd

Being British I’ve just turned my pages

Of an old fashioned murder and sex

Given glances to fellow travellers

To put stop to their whispers and texts

I’m from the time of Agatha Christie

The days when things were quite still

If you don’t put down your technology now

Then with this gun I shall have to kill



An impromptu bout of sex

Next to the last revolution of the washing machine

After the final kiss

It’s a hunt round the house for our slippers

Let’s settle down in front of the tv now

Nestled in our respective dressing gowns

A smile on our faces

Sheer love and bliss

My ego needs stroking.

My ego needs stroking

I know, I think I’ll tweet

About my deepest feelings, what’s going down.

That’s what the public think

Of their own cares and discoveries,

No doubt they’ll think I’ll care.

Must switch off the button now

I don’t, after all, wish to share.

Getting older

I give a rictus smile to the bawling, mewling lump of snot in the pram.  He’s cutting his first tooth and is a little upset says mummy.  Well love, I am tad upset too as I’ve just paid a small fortune for this coffee and had high hopes of enjoying a little me time in the sunshine.  Why don’t you take the barely amoeba along to the seafront where he can compete for noise with the shitehawks?  You may not enjoy it but the rest of us will.  Yours Ms Menopause. Xxx

Will you miss

Will you miss the tut you give me as I noisily slurp my coffee

Will you miss your impatient sigh as I trip up the kerb

Will you miss the shout you give when I don’t at first respond

Will you miss the groan as you heave me out of the chair

Will you hell, you bastard

When I’m dead and gone you’ll miss my bouncy breasts, my blond smile as the wind slaps my face, my skip among the sand dunes as we raced towards the shoreline

You’ll only think of the buxom maid who set your pulses racing and that’s as it should be, my love.

First Love

When I was 15 I had a boyfriend I just kissed the once.  We’d take moonlight strolls and row our boat and talk of music.

His eyes were bright, his smile was lovely but he’d run away from home…so bunked down in the bushes and smelled of rotting toast.

I kissed him once but then no more as his hair swayed in my face.  I caught a strand upon my lips and died in his embrace.

To this day I don’t know why that filament tastes of oil.  I only know that with my new love I preferred the taste of soil!

The boat was called Luggerbug – I can’t remember his!

Husband, being veggie and not terribly brave, found a dead white dove behind the car this morning.  “Get rid of it” he cried, gagging on his breakfast.  Now me being used to working with horses )used to teach riding) am used to things all live and dead.  Many was the time that a half drowned rat was found in a water butt and the kindest thing was to despatch it with a shovel.  Have had dogs for forty years and used to patching them up, pulling things out of their throats or generally nursing them through a bad patch.  Anyhow.  I put said dove next to the recycling bins for Dover Council to collect.  at 8pm all the rubbish has been collected bar THE DOVE.  Well done Dover.  Let’s see how the school kids react tomorrow shall we.