Archive for May, 2012

Brick wall

I was overwhelmed by the love shown to me yesterday by fellow bloggers  when I wrote this little post. Some of your responses were so beautiful I think I have to share them. In particular this poem by the marvellous Randall Dean Scott, the man with no face but a huge heart. Thank you Randall. Thank you everybody.

It’s interesting and
absurd isn’t it?
How we willingly
run as fast as we
can into a brick wall.
The wall is so pretty
like no wall we’ve
ever seen but we
must make contact
yet the problem is that
we are too passionate
with everything we
do like da Vinci does
art and don’t give
one fuck about how
hard the wall is if
when it is beautiful and
especially if we
love it.


So, I’m having this hot sext with some girl from Canada or Australia or one of those countries and we’re both getting pretty close to coming when there’s a bleep and another chat box pops up. Its a friend of mine and she’s saying how her cat just died. Now, she can see that I’ve seen her message so I can’t really leave it until I’ve finished getting off and “Hang on, I’m wanking.” doesn’t feel like an appropriate response, so I try to console her and keep both the conversations going at once. It’s very confusing emotionally, like having someone cry on you shoulder whilst someone else sucks your dick. Anyway, I pretty much pull it off, until I type into the wrong boxes – the conversations ended like this:

Girl  10 hours ago
ooh god i’m about to come!!!
Me  10 hours ago
i’m so sorry to hear that, at least it was quick
Girl  10 hours ago

and this

Friend 10 hours ago
She was hit by a truck.
Me 10 hours ago
oh fuck yes!!!
Friend 10 hours ago

more from this guy

Just a dream

I guess it was all
Just a dream,
Something that
Could never,
Ever be.

I guess we were
Too far apart,
Too distance in space,
Too separated
By time.

I will never forget
That last night we shared
Talking and laughing and crying
Until the birds got up.

It was a sweet dream
that we shared, and
I will always remember it
With a naughty smile
And a joyful tear…

Fuck this!

oh god!
fuck this!
how easily
i give out my heart,
so readily
i get myself hurt.
no more!
fuck all this!!
never again!!!
til the next time,
i suppose,
when it’ll
happen again.
oh god!
fuck this!!


I wake up this morning to discover that I am single. She’s left me. In the middle of the night. For another guy.

Its a lovely little note, full of sweet comments about how much better he is in bed than I am and how fulfilled he makes her feel. I file it with all the others and then do what anyone else would do in such a situation, I change my Faecbook relationship status back to ‘single’. Next, I pop round to some friends and get myself lots of hugs, have a little rant, a little cry and a cup of tea. Then I have to get back to work.

I’m self employed, see, and my boss is a real wanker – although sometimes he’ll give me the afternoon off if I give him a hand job, (thankfully, he’s never asked me to suck his dick, I don’t think my back could take it). Once at my desk, I do what any self-respecting writer does, I go onto Farcebook, and its amazing, its like it can read my mind.

Within two hours of my declaration of singledom, Fartbook has filled my sidebar with adverts for women. The variety is astounding. I can find Christian girlfriends or date black women, I can even have a girlfriend in a uniform if I want. One says “Women over 40.” although there is no way the woman in the picture is even halfway to 40. I can date a ‘pretty Chinese girl’ or ‘1,000s of Japanese women’ and I wonder if that means you have to date them all at the same time. I’m even offered a choice of vegetarian women – why would I care what someone does or doesn’t eat?

I click on one and it takes me to a site called and I start to fill out my profile. There are some obvious questions, like gender and age and location. They want to know my ethnicity, which I guess is important for a lot of people, although it isn’t for me, and they want to know how much I earn, which is fair enough I guess, but I’m a writer and there isn’t a box marked ‘zero’. Next they ask me what religion I am. I scan the list for atheist or antitheist but they’re not there, and all I can click on is ‘none’, which is wrong because I believe in plenty of shit, just not any of the shit with the tick boxes on their page. Then, they start to piss me off.

The next page is about my interests, what kind of music I like, that kind of thing. I don’t get to type in genres or my favourite bands or anything, oh no. I have to pick from a list. Well, guess what? Rastabilly Skank and Bulgarian Hip-Hop weren’t even there. I get a list of bands I might like. Now sure, I like the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Primal scream, but where on that list are Bad Sin and The Tofu Love Frogs? Anyway, I click on  ‘rock’ and ‘blues’ and ‘new wave’. New wave! Really? The next screen loses me completely.

The next page of my profile is all about what ‘hairstyle’ I have, and again, I don’t get to choose. I mean, why the fuck would anyone select a partner on the basis of hairstyle? I want a woman who is beautiful, its not about how “hot” she is. I don’t care if she’s bald as long as her heart shines. I look down the list and… surprise surprise, mohawk isn’t there. This is the point where I click ‘cancel’ and would have clicked ‘fuck you’ too if they had such a button.

Tonight my friends are gonna take me out and get me laid. Gonna cheer me up. I’ll go along with it, in the belief that it will work, I just hope the poor girl doesn’t mind me crying while I fuck her.

Good night, sweetheart
It’s time to go now
au revoir,
You’ve been so wonderful,
I don’t wish to go
But this
my show.

Goodnight sweetheart – I will always love you x

Carnal apple


so, we got x for a kiss
and o for a hug
but what about the other letters?
so maybe z
that i’m sleepy
but q and l
and e?
let me send you an s
i wanna k your c
and f your v
and wtf does p mean?

Friend request

Me: sent at 23:47
i love you and adore you – you are all i think about from the moment i wake until the moment i sleep – i am besotted with you – i just need to know that you feel the same way – i don’t think i can live without you – i just need you so badly, it hurts

You: sent at 23:48
Dude!!! I like only accepted UR friend request 2 minutes ago and I only did that coz my pal Cathy said U had a huge dick.

You: sent at 23:55
Do U?

You: sent at 23:55
Have a big dick??


So, my friend Lizbet comes over from Denmark, and she’s never been to London, so she’s all like wanting to do all the touristy shit, yeah? Now, I’m a Londoner, and I hate all that tourist bullshite but you gotta go along with it, haven’t you? Well, you do if you wanna get your dick wet.

So, Lizbet wants to see where Charles and Diana got married, okay? And, I’m like not very up with the whole royal family malarkey, but I do remember one thing about them from school, and I’m quite proud of myself for doing so; I remember that royal weddings take place at Westminster Abbey.

So I take her and we look around, and she’s like “It looked much bigger on the TV” and I’m like
“Oh, its probably the way they did the lighting or something.”

So, later we go on the London Eye and we’re like gonna have sex in one of the pods but British Airways have a member of staff, a sweet young American girl, get into the pod with us, to stop us getting jiggy. She stands there the whole time, with her arms folded, like scowling at us, and if I’m honest, she was much cuter than Lizbet.

It was only much later that I realise that, up until Charles and Diana, all royals did marry in Westminster Abbey, but Charles and Diana didn’t, they married at Saint Pauls.

So, I get my dick wet anyway, later, although I’m thinking about that sweet American girl in the pod as we do it, and I never tell Lizbet that I took her around the wrong cathedral or who it was I was thinking about as I fucked her.


I’ll love you like
Or curry or
I’ll kiss you like
Or sugar or
I’ll fuck you like
Roast beef
And come on
Your tits.

My rules


the distance is fun
and exotic

at first

until you fall in love

then it becomes sad
and painful
and lonely


you finally meet

and your dreams come true
or not

the case

may be


Sarah was one of the best classroom assistants you could hope for. She was clever, kind and understanding. It was almost like having another teacher in the room.

She was nearly always cheerful, except for this one day, when I found her outside with her ciggie and her tea looking  quite forlorn. It turned out that she’d been invited to a school reunion and was upset that she had no one to take. Now, Sarah wasn’t the most attractive woman in the world, and she had been bullied at school for this. she had dreamed of going to something like this school reunion and be able to show off her boyfriend. She was petrified of going as a single and having to cope with all those I-told-you-so looks and snide remarks.

Later that day she asked me if I’d go with her, pretend to be her boyfriend. I felt awful, but I felt so sad for her. She even offered me money. I agreed.

On the night, the do was held at this very posh hotel and I played my role perfectly, I held her close, whispered things in her ear that would make her giggle, and told everyone I could, just how wonderful she was and how lucky I was to have her.

They put us all up in the same hotel, in big swanky rooms. She’d had quite a bit to drink and suggested that we rattle the bed a bit and moan and shout some, so that the neighbours would think we were having knock-out sex. I’d had a bit to drink too and said “Fuck that!” I grabbed her and kissed her and chucked her onto the bed.

We made enough racket, that not only did the neighbours hear us but the neighbours’ neighbours did. I think she might have blown it though, because each time she came, she screamed “Thank you!”

Point five

Drinking cups of tea,
We sat on my mate’s steps,
Watching the girls stroll by,
And smoking funny cigarettes.

I fell in love
eight-point-five times.
“Point-five?” you ask.
“Yeah, I only saw her from behind.”

They say that


I watched Didier Drogba win the Champoins League final last night. The man is amazing, a real charm for Chelsea. To really appreciate him, you have to be at a match, the TV doesn’t show you what a master he is off the ball, the way he draws players away, his positioning, his relationship with the fans. I saw him a couple of years ago run rings round QPR.

Funny thing though, about football; as much as I admire Drogba, I hope he’s bloody injured the next time Chelsea play my team.

why can’t everyday of the week be sunday?


this isn’t a poem,
it doesn’t rhyme,
well it kinda does.
but just some of the time.

you thought that bit rhymed
but this bit doesn’t,
it could if i wished
but, really, i just can’t be bothered.

I am delighted to now be a nifty noet. Find more nifty noems here.

Straight Tony

We called our mate Tony, ‘Straight Tony’. Originally because he was gay but, continually, because it wound him up so much. When we caught him flirting with a guy, we would stroll up and ask him how his wife was. It was hilarious.

It was back in the days when the pubs would shut at eleven, and he and I would go drink in this gay bar in Clapham that was open til five. I like gay bars: they’re nicely decorated, the bar snacks are better, the toilets are cleaner (if often rather busy) and I rarely get into a fight for chatting up someone’s girlfriend.

One night, Tony had got hold of this awesome Peruvian coke, and I asked him if he could lay a gram on me. “Only if you suck my dick.” he laughed. I gave him one of those looks that say ‘Are you fucking serious dude?” He was.

We found a unoccupied cubicle – nice thing about that bar was that they kept the lavs clean, so I didn’t have to worry about kneeling in a puddle of piss – and I set to it. I reckon guys are good at giving blow jobs, even if we’re not that experienced at it, because we know what it feels like to have a cock. Anyhow, Straight Tony seemed to enjoy it.

Afterwards, while I was snorting a line as long as my arm and as thick as my willie off the toilet seat, Tony giggled and said, “I would have given you the ticket anyway, you didn’t have to suck my dick.”
“I know,” I grinned back, “and I’d have sucked it anyway.”


Usually I’m clever,
Thoughtfull, and cool,
But every now and then,
I can be a bloody fool.

Normally I am brilliant,
Funny and smart,
But from time to time,
I will break your bleeding heart.

Sometimes I’m a genius,
Sometimes I’m an arse,
So this is why I call myself,
A goddamn geniarse!


The wonderful Bird @ Everyone Has A Story asked me to write a post for her daughter Rebekkah:

i would say Rebekkah
is soft yet strong
at the same time
and has a deep respect
for those around her
for family values
and friendship.
I also reckon
she can be rebellious too,
and probably very rebellious.
I bet she has great respect
for others
but always speaks her mind,
and a sense of value
but a mind of her own,
and if
she’s anything like her mom,
she’s hot too.


we cried tears of words
on the day we had to say goodbye,
it wasn’t like you were dead
and you were always
ten thousand miles away.

we tried to 🙂 and lol
on the day we had to say goodbye,
poured out our tears of letters,
words and emoticons
and our love just scrolled away.

you’re still there on my sidebar
since the day we had to say goodbye.
i left an x
at the bottom of our thread,
that will never go away.

Stop staring at my face, my boobs are down there

When I’m talking with a woman, I make a point of not staring at her boobs, its not polite or respectful, “apparently”.  The other night though, I was on a date with a girl who talked about her breasts incessantly. I figured it would be rude not to look.