Skip to main content

A Poem A Day 14

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ah, memories, how fleeting etc

Cleaning up the old FB inbox, I came across a message (see below) from a chum who reminded me how indifferent the Universe can be to the trials of mere mortals.   Firstly, my name isn't Chris (although Mark may have been protecting my identity - no need old bean!) and secondly, I'm not sure The Hayes Island Snack Bar sells pies... Still, on the first point, Ninjah (residents of Cardiff will know exactly which 7 foot bin-thumping rap star I'm talking about) called me Nick for ten years, and the lovely Lisa from Jazzy Jackets in the market insisted my name was Matt. When set straight they were respectively mystifyingly unperturbed (Ninjah didn't care - he preferred Nick to Gareth), and embarrassingly forgetful (I became instead "Maaaaa - shit! - Gar!")   Anyway, I have no idea about how genuine this extract courtesy of Mark Thomas may be, but it warms my cockles nonetheless. Enjoy.   13 November 2008     Mark Thomas can't remember things the way they happene...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...

In response, a rebuttal, from an apologist for the Liverpool Cause

I feel the need to raise the ugly spectre of my footballing allegiance this sunny Tuesday morning in response to some not unfounded criticism from an  understandably long-suffering Jack , now into the fourth (or fifth?) day of waiting for the delivery of a little Jack, and also a Swansea City fan of some years. I say not unfounded but playing to an anti “Plastic Scouser”* crowd is just going for cheap laughs if you ask me. So, a rebuttal it is. In no particular order, let’s start with punditry. Like all those in the harsh media spot light, the best football pundits are the ones who are unequivocal about their opinions. It doesn’t matter if they’re right or wrong, as long as they invite comment and argument, otherwise what would be the point? An expert opinion is useful if one has to make a decision on something, but when the decision is out of your hands in the first place, the only use it serves is to make a prediction that can be debated endlessly for fun or to infuria...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...

Dribbles of concern

I was wandering around after work (read: walking home), musing on suitable subjects about which to blog and avoiding students on bicycles and cars intent on killing something, anything, at crossings and junctions, when I was distracted by the thought that I had never shaved every day ever. New job, new skin care regime I had reasonably assumed before starting - along with new Gap jumpers, Gap corduroys, Gap shirts (and you know what? I strongly dislike Gap. Go figure) and an errant H&M pullover - and had stuck to it for the full week without so much as thinking about not shaving. But now I was. . I'm not sure why shaving has become such a standard requirement for suitably dressed men past the age of university slackerdom. I regularly enjoyed 3 weeks worth of fluff up until the age of 32, even once the lovingly groomed ponytail had been ceased to be a feature of my daily routine, having been hacked orf during a moment of drunken clarity one drizzly Tuesday afternoon, aro...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...