Sometimes life is stranger than fiction. But usually — let’s face it — it’s not. In fact, sorry to say, it’s often quite dull.
Although most of the poems I post on here are autobiographical (with a little poetic licence), sometimes it’s fun to indulge in a bit of nonsense.
So here are two silly tales that are pure, silly, fiction (and if ANYONE recognizes themselves, it’s utter co-incidence!)
The Story of Sophie Smith
Sophie Smith came home from school, her blue eyes shining bright,
Her mum saw what was in her hand, and turned completely white.
“Look Mummy!” she cried happily, “I’ve got a violin!”
And she bounced up to her room, so her rehearsal could begin.
For hour after hour, Sophie scraped that violin,
She heard some shrieks from down the stairs, said “Great! They’re joining in!”
But when she heard the front door slam, she thought “What’s going on?”
So finally she left her room… and everyone had gone.
There were teeth marks in the table, there were gouges in the grout,
The cat lay cowering on the chair, its hair all fallen out,
There were claw marks in the curtains, lacerations in the floor,
There were signs of frantic packing, and a note upon the door.
“We love you, Sophie Smith,” it said, “but hate that vile din –
So sorry, but you have to choose – us or the violin!”
Sophie shrugged. She phoned her friends. Yelled “Party is at mine!”
“My friend,” she told her violin, “I think we’ll get on fine!”
My Dear Mr Morris
“My dear Mr Morris, I’ll hope you’ll consider
Me wedding your daughter. I heard you forbid her
To marry a suitor without your consent –
My intentions are pure, sir. I’m truly a gent!”
“So how will you treat her?” “I’ll spoil her of course!
You see, handling a woman’s like riding a horse –
The more fillies you tame, then the greater your skill,
Believe ME, Mr Morris, I’ve sure had my fill!”
“And what do you earn?” “Oh I earn to the max!
See, I’m building our future, so don’t pay much tax,
As I always take cash! Now, what was it you do?
Oh! You work for the Fraud Squad! Well hey, good for you!”
“And do you want children?” “Oh yes sir! A dozen!
I remember, my mum said she married her cousin
To strengthen our family’s excellent genes –
Which I’m keen to pass on, if you know what I mean!”
“Well Mr Morris, I think you’ll agree,
That she won’t find a husband who’s better than me!
Oh, we’re going outside? Ok! Let’s get some air!
Oh no, don’t close the door!
Hello???
Anyone there???”
Like the rhymes?
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Last Saturday I went out for dinner with some fabulous friends, and it struck me how very similar it was to dinners-with-friends 20 years ago – but yet how very different. Different place, different friends, slightly different topics of conversation – yet the laughter, the bonding and the sheer joy of time spent with my ladies remained the same.
In between washing socks and being five minutes late for everything, I like to spend a little time contemplating the mysteries of the universe. That’s why my ideal dinner guest would be the theoretical infinitely dense singularity containing all space and time, which possibly existed before the Big Bang. Or possibly didn’t.
Some people say German is an ugly language, but I’ve always found it incredibly enjoyable to speak, wonderfully descriptive, and, at times, hilarious! Besides, writing this allowed me to spend some time rifling through my Duden German dictionary, which took me right back to the happy place of my student days.
Ah, poor beleaguered estate agents. I’ve met some nice ones and some not-so-nice ones, but one thing NONE of them can resist is describing properties using those cheesy hackneyed phrases.
Phones. They’re great aren’t they? I mean, they are ACTUALLY awesome. The amount of computing power that (nearly) every one of us holds in our hands every day is… staggering.
For many Mums, a trip to soft play is a good excuse for a sit-down and a chat. Not for me. My three year old drags me round the teeny tiny assault course with all the energy of – well a three year old.
I used to be quite good on the celebs. I watched the soaps. I watched reality shows. I knew what films were in the cinema. “Love It!” magazine was stacked welcomingly in my bathroom. (Yes, bathroom. Well, this WAS the time before smart phones.)
I hate clutter. That may surprise anyone who has ever visited my house. But what’s important to realise is that there is a difference between wanting a tidy house and being able to achieve it.