Monthly Archives: April 2010

Somebody stop me

…No, please, somebody stop me.

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Shaky Paws

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We saw a cat by the road

Shaking its feet in distress.

We approached in concern

Tickled its chin and watched

It roll to show its tummy.

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Cherry blossom, freshly fallen.

A coating of petals, stuck between toes.

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Kitty wasn’t in pain at all:

It had stepped in the joys of spring.

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More bad poetry. Sorry.

(Also, WordPress really is rubbish at formatting paragraphs, isn’t it?)

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Advertising Space


As I stood and watched the turtle

Slide past me, little legs flapping

Safe in its aquarium home,

Unlike all its brothers out at sea

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I wondered if the way to save them

Is to give them a use of some sort.

Paint Coca-Cola logos on their shells

And claim them for the corporations.

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That way you’d be a thief if you

Caught and cooked them up for soup,

And their waters could be protected

Because their backs were copyrighted.

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Plus think of the free advertising

Logos on a half-shell, turtle power!

So much potential on the high seas

Where billboards would just go soggy.

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They could do the same for dolphins:

Have oceans full of Adidas porpoises

With lawyers poised to sue fishermen

For messing with their brand.

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Sperm whales could sell condoms

Giant Durex logos on their tails.

Portugese men’o’war sponsored  by

Rowntrees jelly, just because that’s funny.

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I don’t think this could happen though.

There are too many nets to kill dolphins

And plastic bags to choke turtles

And the paint would soon wash off.

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Fin.

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Ode To A Ladybird

The first I knew of you

Was a dry, feeble crunch against my skin.

There you were, a shiny, flattened thing

Pinned to the carpet. No longer whole.

Wings spread out, red spots on black

Like dice, three dots apiece

Lucky number six, except not so lucky for you.

Poor dead ladybird.

You’ll never fly away home, because

My right foot is a murderer.

I scraped you off the carpet with a teaspoon.

Said a few words of regret, threw you in the bin.

Wondered, for a moment, what might have been.

Washed your pulverised antennae off my foot

And went about my business.

Fin.

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In which I get a little soppy

As you all know, there are still no planes.

I’m sitting in my lounge with the window open listening to birds singing in the sunshine outside. I love planes; I don’t mind living on the Heathrow flightpath; I get a thrill when I look up at the sky and see a giant metal monster zooming overheard. But right now I don’t miss them at all.

Nothing is better than the sound of a robin singing its little heart out on a sunny day.

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Wow…

Just got home from work. Before walking into my house I stood in the street feeling strangely freaked out without being able to put my finger on why. Something felt… weird.

It took an entire minute before I realised what it was: NO PLANES. I live on the Heathrow flightpath and Heathrow, of course, is closed, thanks to that ash cloud from the volcano in Iceland. Obviously I’d been aware all day that I’d get home and find everything quiet, but I’d completely forgotten about it until my Spider Senses told me that something was off.

I don’t like it. I want the planes back!

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It’s all Thatcher’s fault

Spoilers for ‘The Beast Below’, uh, below…


I missed last night’s episode of Doctor Who because I was watering my plants. I have a lot of plants. It took an entire hour. By the time I realised what I’d done I felt so stupid I think I should hand over my geek credentials and go off and retire in a cave somewhere.

Oops.

But anyway, I watched ‘The Beast Below’ today, and I really liked it! The music wasn’t annoying (also, am I the only person who actually doesn’t mind the new opening sequence and theme?), I thought Eleven was wonderful and I adored the concept – even though the space-whale kind of reminded me of the meat-monster thing from that episode of Torchwood a while back. Is new Who and its ilk sponsored by the RSPCA?

One thing confused me, though: if all the other nations on the Earth were clever enough to build their own spaceships and fly off into space, why didn’t Britain? Why did they have to harness a flippin’ whale when everybody else built their own engines?

I have a theory. It’s because the Tory/Labour governments have spent the last few decades shutting down all our steel works. Clearly in the future there’s absolutely nothing in the way of industry left in the UK and so, when the end comes, we had to depend on the kindness of strangers (in the shape of a giant whale who likes kids).

I urge you all now: in the upcoming election, vote Saxon for anybody who wants to keep our factories open! It could save our country one day!

Oh, and Scotland’s full of engineers. That’s why they built their own ship with a fully-functioning engine. Wow, they must have been so smug.

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Eleven Heaven?

Spoilers for ‘The Eleventh Hour’ if you’ve not seen it yet!

Why, hello there!

I wish I could have loved last night’s episode of Doctor Who as much as everybody else seems to have liked it, although I will admit that most of my dislike came from the fact I couldn’t hear what people were saying over the loud and intrusive (not to mention ridiculously over-the-top) music score.  Seriously, guys, TONE IT DOWN. I don’t have the best sound system on my TV, true, I’ll own up to that, but it’s still a new TV so the sound can’t be that terrible – and besides, there’s no way I should be noticing music at all. It’s there to underscore the action, not drown it out. Dreadful!

(And with that ‘dreadful’, suddenly I feel like an old lady writing to her local newspaper about the terrible thing she saw on her television set last night and how it wouldn’t have been allowed in her day. I’m getting old, aren’t I?)

The good news is that I adored Matt Smith – not that I ever doubted I would! I liked how wacky he was, and expressive, and how he still has Ten’s excellent sense of humour (“Who da man? Okay, I’m never saying that again…”). He’s like an eccentric but desperately cool university student who knows even more than his professors and never turns up for lectures, yet somehow aces all his exams and even teaches the exam board a thing or two in his replies. There is nothing about him I didn’t like, absolutely nothing, and I am thrilled to pieces that he’s going to be our new Doctor.

I’m going to reserve judgement about Amy Pond until she’s done more than the obligatory “I’m going to look amazed and freaked out by all the things this man is showing me, and then I’m going to run after him a lot” new companion thing. I may also reserve judgement on the interior of the TARDIS, which at first glance seemed oddly similar to how it was, even though it’s different. Would a totally new colour scheme have hurt, or am I missing something there? Still, I liked all the hints about the interior – there’s a library and a swimming pool! – and I hope we get to see it one day. Better bring lipstick.*

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After the episode aired last night I went to the cinema to see Kick-Ass, or at least, that was the plan. Twenty-five minutes in, the projector broke. The crowd – who’d been laughing and hollering and whooping like I haven’t seen in years – booed and howled. We ended up with refunds and a free ticket to see it again whenever we wanted. I feel cheated, but at least I know the first 25 minutes are great!

*Obscure ‘Castrovalva’ reference.

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