I am going to China

Soon I am going to China
An adventure in my later years
Escaping the tedium of the office and salary and the 9 to 5 slog

Before I get too old
I am going to China
I'm leaving my old life
And my daughter and my dog

And I can't sleep 
I lay on my bed and think
Let the doubt work into my head and kick off the quilt with irritation

My daughter on the settee a metre away snores gently
Supportive but scared of losing her daddy
And he scared 
Questions the reason of the decision

I am going to China
And now I cannot sleep
Not like my daughter is sleeping innocent and trusting
But with guilt writhing in my head

And soon the roar of the jet plane with fill my ears
And the smell of China fill my nose
And my daughter will cry her tears
I think of these as I lie, awake, in my bed. 

Danny Baker

This is my Danny Baker story. I'm writing it simply because I am pleased that Danny is still with us after facing up to cancer.

I once taught sociology at the University of Exeter. It came to my attention via the usual sources that the students had nicknamed me 'Danny Baker'. I'm not sure why as I don't think I particularly look or sound like him. Although I do recollect that at an OU summer school disco I was asked if I was Danny Baker by a rather nice looking girl. Obviously stupidly I answered in the negative and will never know if I could have got a shag out of a positive response.

Back at Exeter ( the obvious choice for student that had failed to get into Oxbridge or Durham) I carried on through the term knowing that these bright sparks were still calling me 'Danny' (perhaps it was my working class roots, or my accent which many placed as London but not cockney although I have spent all my life south of Bristol in the west country)

Throughout the term I planned my revenge. The last lecture of the year is the one where the lecturer might give BIG hints as to what might come up in the exam which he himself had written. So a full turn out was expected.

On the day the students hung on my every word, taking copious notes trying to decipher my words for the much needed exam hints. At the end of the lecture I summed up with - 'Now if there is just one thing you need to take from this series of lectures, the most important thing is this......the students sat, attentive, rapt, their pencils poised for my most important insight.

I switched the overhead projector on (yes it was a few years ago) and there in all his glory was a picture of Danny Baker!

'That is' I pointed at the picture 'Danny Baker, a big cockney twat' and 'I' I said, pointing at myself 'am the guy that's going to mark your exams!' I kept a serious slightly pissed off look on my face

There was a stunned silence in the room, lots of nervous eyes and shuffling, until I smiled at which everyone laughed with relief and the lecture series came to a happy end.

So that's my Danny Baker story. You can follow Danny on twitter @prodnose

Thanks Danny - keep on keeping on!

Six Nations Rugby

Six nations rugby
The power and the glory
The blood and the beef
The thrilling knife-edge story

The kick and the pass
The maul and the ruck
Body slamming tackles
The nip and the tuck

Of the winger and scrum half
The push of the pack
No 10 sometimes the hero
Safe hands, the full back.

The trys and conversions
The full bore drop goal
Playing for their country
Mind, body and soul

The stadiums are singing
The anthems and songs
The flags and the mascots
The shirts say I belong

The players are our Heros
Their courage is unbowed
To proudly play for country
To thrill the watching crowd

The six nations rugby
An immense sporting event
Boys get out on that field
And play with passionate intent!

Lazy Sunday...blues

It's a lazy Sunday morning
I'm sitting on my ass
I'm even saving money
By turning off the gas

A massive jug of coffee
A pile of bagels, cheese
I'm just doing fuck all
Doing as I please

Just got the Sunday papers
A forest full of news
Ones gotta keep upto date
To have some valid views

Got my iTunes spinning tunes
Got my tv on remote
I'm drinking so much coffee
My teeth may start to float

I'm not doing any housework
Not doing any chores
Ain't polishing my knickknacks
Ain't hoovering my floors

The washing up can wait a while
While I lie here on my back
I made my mind up recently
Today? I'll just be slack

Not gonna run no five miles
Not gonna hit the gym
Today my energy levels
Are set right down to dim

So pass the chocolate biscuits
Break out the carrot cake
When I hit that sugar coma
DO NOT prod me awake

It's way past Sunday morning
Still lounging on the couch
Just wile away the hours
I admit that I'm a slouch

Only eight more hours
It's slack, I know, I said
But hey just don't bug me
Cos soon I'm off to bed!

Journey

I'm sitting on the train again
Outside it's very grey
On my way to London
A businessman today

Yesterday I was daddy
To darling daughter girl
Eatin chips and fizzy pop
Sugar popcorn till we hurl

In the evening I was Rob
With daughters dizzy mum
Coffee n cakes and laughter
I think we we're having fun

Tomorrow I'll be worker bee
Lost in the mindless hive
Head stuck in my computer
Count the seconds till I leave

I really don't know who I am
And where I want to go
But it's not where you are going
But the journeys none stop show

Sometimes I might be static
Sometimes I might be lost
Sometimes I need a helping hand
To fix the fences crossed

With no handy map or compass
I'm going with the flow
Because on this mortal journey
You just never bloody know.

Where are the geeks?

I hate my job
I hate my desk
I hate my office
I need a rest

I hate my boss
I hate the place
I hate the smile
Across her face

I hate her words
I hate her tasks
I hate the people
Behind their masks

I hate the gossip
I hate the smarm
I hate the rules
I might self harm

I hate this pencil
I hate this pad
I hate that mouse
I might be mad

I hate my pc
I hate my phone
I hate my laptop
Don't leave me alone

I hate this morning
I hate the wait
I hate the supportdesk
The geeks are late

I hate my keyboard
I hate my water cup
I hate them mixing
My. Computers. Fucked. Up!

mademoiselle stalker

Im writing a poem for my stalker
I know she's reading this
Its probably gone past midnight
And shes probably a little bit pissed

Shes checked my dating profile
And gone to my staff page online
She been following me on twitter
As she sips sweet white wine

She got onto my facebook
Via a family friend
She notes down from my diary
Events i'm going to attend

My post its always being tampered
My parcels expertly unwrapped
Sometimes in my kitchen Im feeling
That Im just a little bit trapped

Changing my mobile number
Is not a solution for this bitch
Within the hour of changing numbers
Texts tell me its pointless to switch

My blog is not infallible
She knows Im live online
and if MSN is working
She can messenger me real time

No more a friendly 'Hi There'
No more a winking eye
Just jagged threating wordscapes
Telling me how I might die

Im in an electronic prison
Captured in a virtual hell
And my stalker, she knows, I know it
shes one twisted mademoiselle