Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 87 Comments

Oh no it’s a poem

Stand by yours beds people. It’s kind of back. Chelsea Owen’s weekly poetry challenge. Ok it’s not officially Terrible Poetry anymore, but this is me, I can only do it one way. That’s Terrible. Do this challenge once a week and I can myself a bard. A bad bard….

This week Chelsea is back with

Where once I told everyone to write terrible poetry, I now tell you to write terrible poetry with the intent to make us all laugh:

  1. The Topic is eccentrics. Collector, streaker, hermit, or superhero? I read about the British variety in Henry Hemming’s In Search of the English Eccentric and now I’m hooked!

  2. The Length will be a limerick. How else would you poem about eccentrics?? A limerick is five lines: AABBA, in anapestic meter.

  3. Rhyme? Naturally -unless that would run against your hero’s …idiom.

  4. Don’t worry too much about the details! Wake up at 2 a.m. from the strangest dream you’ve ever had, roll over to your notepad to write it down, then turn it in as poetry the next morning.

  5. Keep the Rating at PG or cleaner.You’re too clever to stoop to crass jibes for humor. I know it.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MST next Friday (September 11) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Brace yourself, here goes….

I am English and I am most certainly very eccentric

I drive a car the shape of a teapot but don’t worry, it’s electric

I have a fine collection of pink britches with matching bowler hats

Let’s not forget I live underground with my cross dressing pampered cats

And pray tell what’s wrong shopping in a musical codpiece when it’s authentic

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 74 Comments

1000 odd days

This is a photo from 3 years ago. I stumbled across it while looking for some old climbing ones. Another typical Yorkshire August day – all four seasons in one day. It got me thinking – what’s the same and what’s changed in those 1000 odd days. See that’s what a professional accountancy qualification can do for you – I’m good at those complicated adding up calculations.

THINGS WHICH ARE THE SAME

  • Getting no dyslexia support from school,
  • Getting no Aspergers support or accommodations from school,
  • Still bereaved,
  • Still a single parent,
  • Still a metal head at heart,
  • Hawklad is still a lovely character,
  • No holidays, no Switzerland,
  • Pets causing chaos,
  • My football team is still useless,
  • Still see myself as European,
  • Brexit is still a shambles and a monumental exercise of self destruction,
  • Vegetarianism,
  • Can’t cook,
  • Still exercising,
  • Still 5ft 10 and a half (don’t forget the half – it takes me beyond average height),
  • Still not climbing,
  • Still can’t work out the TV remote control,
  • The garden is still a mess,
  • Still don’t like U2,
  • Still haven’t seen Avatar without falling asleep,
  • Haven’t seen my brother even though we live only 50 miles apart,
  • The garden gate still needs fixing,
  • The washing machine is still possessed,
  • Still having bought myself that ginormous telescope,
  • The blog is still going,
  • Still writing about the same stuff,
  • Still waiting for official recognition of my stellar poetry skills,
  • Still haven’t won the lottery,
  • Still losing my car keys.

THINGS THAT HAVE CHANGED FOR THE WORSE

  • As Hawklad has reached the teenage stage many of the health support packages have been removed,
  • The waiting list to see The Paediatrician is now approaching 2 years,
  • A pesky pandemic,
  • Hawklads anxiety levels,
  • Hawklads isolation from the world and other kids his age,
  • Due to circumstances had to stop running,
  • Boris,
  • Trumps antics,
  • Might be a metal head but the days of skin tight jeans have gone,
  • Lost a couple of much loved pets,
  • Don’t really see my sisters anymore,
  • School’s view of Hawklad – definitely revising his perceived ability levels downwards,
  • The number of times I have to shout or pull my hair out at school is rising,
  • I’m physically meeting less people,
  • The list of things on the ‘need sorting out when funds are available‘ is growing.

THINGS THAT HAVE CHANGED FOR THE BETTER

  • Hawklad understands himself and his Aspergers much better now,
  • Hawklad is overcoming his dyslexia,
  • I understand now that it’s just as ok to Laugh as it is to Cry, YES it’s ok to live,
  • Friendship
  • Close Friendships,
  • Faith,
  • Love,
  • Happiness,
  • One step closer to home schooling (hopefully),
  • My dress sense – I finally chucked out some of my pink climbing shirts.

You might be thinking that looking at the relative number of entries on these lists that the last 1000 odd days have been generally bad. But look at some of those things on the last list. It’s not about quantity it’s about quality. Yep looking at that last list, over the last 1000 odd days we have challenges but some really good stuff has still happened. That’s why there is always hope.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 74 Comments

It’s been too long without some Terrible Poetry

It’s been far too long since I’ve inflicted some terrible poetry on you. Just like my baking and my terrible Yorkshire jokes – YOU KNOW YOU LOVE IT 💓. So here goes then, but wait….. the last time I did one of these, it was pointed out that I couldn’t write these without having a go at the Government. As we know having a pop at The Government can be fun. But it can also be just a little grinding. So this is a politics lite poem (honest, well I might have accidentally slipped in one subliminal message, can you spot it…..). Remember I’m not very good at this sort of thing. If you want brilliant poetry then look away and certainly look at the wonderful sites out there. I follow so many and they never fail to take my breath away with how good their work is. These are brilliant sites for a starter.

Tina (Pippi’s Poetry)

Sadje (lifeafter50forwomen)

TanGental

Opher’s World

Ruth’s Scribbles

Blindzanygirl

So here goes let’s make it terrible…….

Basking in a garden full of weeds

One which requires no expensive seeds

Requiring absolutely no tiring weeding

It’s good on the knees with 100% chance of succeeding

Such a source of endless colours

Just perfect for my crappy watercolours

Oh I hear you shout, I didn’t know you could paint

He is that good I could be paintings patron saint

Should see the mess I made of son’s bedroom wall

One would think I did it after a hefty pub crawl

No painting is not my thing, weeds are what I excel in

It’s as natural to me as having a hairy double chin

So why don’t you venture with me into my overgrown garden

A special place which is great at capturing that pesky carbon

Please bring your own cakes as mine might make you unwell

Really bring your own as my cakes are as hard as a bombshell

And we can have a drink you can comfortably settle

Then watch me get stung by that pesky little nettle

****** as pointed out I can’t spell Johnson – makes it even more terrible and clearly indicates my inability to write English.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 43 Comments

Other worlds 2

There was a time when my mobile phone was only used for making phone calls. The phone call function now seems to be an optional extra. It’s now basically my camera, runs the house and sons Pokemon world generator….

As the great Terry Pratchett once said

Always be wary of any helpful item which weighs less than it’s operating manual.

As ever Terry in his hilarious fantasy worlds got life better than many so called modern philosophers. And while we let that thought hang in the air, let’s move onto the last Thursday challenge for a while. Yes people you will be safe from my terrible poetry for a number of months. But as Terry P also aptly pointed out

It’s not worth doing something unless you were doing something that someone, somewhere, would much rather you weren’t doing.

So it’s time for Chelsea Owens last challenge for a few months and my poetry….. Chelsea is taking a much earned blogging break over the Summer. This week’s challenge is about writing your very worst poem possible. Bonus points for squeezing in Douglas Adams like Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy references. Truly awful poems need to forwarded to Chelsea by 8.00am MDT on the 29th. As a Yorkshire lad I have no idea what MDT means – but it does sound kinda cool. Maybe something like Mindless Donald Tweets.

This poem might not mean too much if you have never read the great Douglas Adams books or have not had to endure the UK governments truly disgraceful lies (on a different scale over the last few days). To cut a long story short our PM is not in charge. That honour goes to a bloke called Cummings who is unelected but seems to have plenty of dirt on enough people to make him important. The country followed strict lockdown rules with the police taking action action rule breakers. We were told the rules were not requests, they were mandatory instructions. Stay at home or people will die. Senior People have been forced to resign for breaking them. Well apparently the rules didn’t apply to Cummings. He travelled 250 miles from his home to his parents (also a no no). This was when he and his wife had symptoms. Let’s just hope they didn’t need fuel…. He then decided to apparently test his eyesight by driving his wife on her birthday and with young son and dogs in the back of the car, 60 miles to a tourist site (Barnard Castle). Now this has been discovered the public are what is the phrase I’m looking for – pissed off. But now the government is saying that Cummings acted as any parent should do. So absolutely no action should be taken against him. In fact he’s a great citizen and parent according to Hancock (Health Minister). Basically all the parents who stayed at home and followed the lockdown instructions were stupid mugs.

*************

Douglas Adams wrote of other worlds and evil races like the Vogons

He didn’t need to lie and cheat, no need to come up with patronising slogans

Now we have our very own new fantasy story authors

Cummings, Hancock and Boris, the UKs evil lying rotters

They inspire as much hope as Marvin the Paranoid Android

And are as pleasant as a hot curry to someone with a hemorrhoid

They only look after themselves, just like two headed Zaphod Beeblebrox

They gorge on the finest food while the peasants are expected to stay in detox

We all thought the answer to life was forty two

Well apparently not, that answer was a load of poo

The answer to everything is now apparently the tourist site called Barnard Castle

We are instructed to lockdown but for Cummings that is far too much hassle

If you are Cummings you can test your eyesight by driving your kid 60 miles

Just a coincidence it’s your wife’s birthday, ignoring restrictions with many smiles

Now that’s apparently Ok as it Cummings says his little poodle called Hancock

A man so stupid he’s turned this country into nothing more than a laughingstock

So thank you Douglas for writing some of the funniest stories ever told

And thank you those who voted for Boris, a man as useful as the common cold

***********

*** This is version two. The cleaned up version. It’s amazing what words you can find to rhyme with words like luck, fit and flanker…. ***

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 49 Comments

Survival

These are real survival plants. Will grow anywhere. It’s found on the paths, driveways, curb sides and stone surfaces.

“Dad have you noticed how often on the survival programmes like Bear Grylls, they frequently have clean clothes on after a night in the tent or sleeping out in a forest. The hair is perfectly combed and they don’t look like they have had the best sleep ever. Even though the camp is flooded. You can’t even look like that sleeping in your own bed.”

He’s right as usual. I seem to have moved from just needing a little touching up around the face in the morning to a full cement mixer and construction team.

“It’s as if they had not bothered with the tent and gone for a good nights sleep at the local hotel.”

Well funny you should say that and Bear. To be fair to Bear, I bet all the survival TV personalities do that. Finish filming, erect a shelter then bugger off to the nearest hotel. Actually it’s an excellent survival strategy. Save the tent for when you really have to use it.

I remember climbing in Torridon (Scotland) with a friend. We got caught out in a dreadful snow storm. We managed to get off the mountain but were completely lost. The blizzard got seriously bad as night fell. Couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of us. We found a level spot and pitched an emergency shelter. We spent a cold, damp and very hungry night in that cramped hell hole. When we woke the next day we found a blue sky winter wonderland. We also found that we had camped in a field only 40 yards from a hotel, bar and restaurant. Drat …. So Bear if you want to sleep in a hotel, well go for it fella.

So while we are on the subject of survival skills…..

It’s Thursday so it’s time for our weekly bit of fun. Wow this blog certainly needs that. So let’s have a little dabble with Chelsea Owens and her weekly hilarity challenge (sorry, not sure that came out sounding entirely decent). This week the challenge is

“Your writing prompt?

  • “…[T]here really is no valid excuse for an able-bodied person going out of his head from being bewildered in the big woods so long as he has a gun and ammunition, or even a few dry matches and a jackknife.”
  • Use it or be inspired by it to write a funny SHORT story.
  • Please keep your response to 200 words or fewer.
  • Remember: make me laugh. I can’t see how you’d go this route, but please also keep things clean.”

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 22) to enter at Chelsea’s blog

A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood

Unfortunately Bear Grylls was in the neighbourhood

Eating a mouse is great television, so watch for the trap

The mouse is caught, consumed in one, the scene is a wrap

Now time for Bear to light a fire with only a wet leaf and knife

Then tell a story about how he is missing a comfy bed and wife

Time to build a shelter from just some twigs and his underpants

Now Bear shows how to clean his teeth using some angry army ants

Look to camera and announce its time to hunker down for the cold night

Then jump in the car, head to the warm hotel and really satisfy that appetite.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 69 Comments

Birds

Every single day we have two pigeons who plonk themselves on the back garden fence. It starts off all very civilised then after a few minutes, it all kicks off. Gets a little bit racy.

I like to think of it as two Pigeons practising for their WWE wrestling trials. Clearly what we are seeing is a spectacular flying elbow seamlessly transitioning into a deadly Coup de Grace finisher. Apparently son is not convinced. He is picking up the courage to explain the birds and the bees to me.

After an all too short wrestling match (or something else) the two move apart and refuse to talk to each other. So like life really……

So last week it was the last Terrible Poetry contest. To much celebrations it looked like I had hung up my poetry pants for good. Well….

This weeks sees Chelsea replace her old contest with The Weekly Hilarity Contest. This week the rules are

  • Write a short story, poem, song, or really long sentence about Birds.
  • Don’t make it too long. We’ve got real life to get back to.
  • The goal is to make me, the judge LAUGH ALOUD. Whoever tickles my funny bone the best will be crowned champion.
  • As a tip, I generally think and live in a G-rated world. I don’t find crude or profane things very humorous.

You have till 10:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (May 8) to let Chelsea have your entry.

**************

So my poetry retirement lasted 6 days. Sorry to disappoint everyone. Unusually this poem is not aimed at Boris Johnson. However as Boris is a massive BIRD brain, I did find a way to get a little abuse hurled at him – points will be awarded to the first person to find it in this hopefully truly appalling poem. See Terrible Poetry still lives………

Blimey what are those birds doing

Oh it’s such seedy x-rated viewing

Really, on our back garden fence as well

Is it not behaviour best saved for a seedy motel

Surely they are spoiling our gorgeous farmland view

Interrupting our peaceful world with something so taboo

Spending every day exchanging birdie pleasantries

Always trying to make so many more feathered babies

Fooling around as if there is no tomorrow

Oh having such fun and never showing any sorrow

One overriding thought about those feathered huggers

Lashings of rummy pumpy, those lucky little buggers

My excuse is that we don’t use a G rating in the UK. So I assume that G means Generally any word is Good to use.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 37 Comments

Goodbye

Well it’s almost time to say goodbye to April. Well that was a different type of month. I still can’t believe 2020 has only been going for 4 months. Feels an awful lot longer than that.

Sadly it’s time to say goodbye to a regular friend. This week is the last Terrible Poetry challenge hosted by Chelsea Owen. Thank you Chelsea for the fun. The last challenge is as follows

  1. Topic: A bittersweet farewell to something completely ridiculous.
  2. Length: You choose.
  3. Rhyming: For old time’s sake, rhyme in the worst possible places.
  4. Make it terrible!
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (May 1) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

So here goes with maybe the last bit of poetry on this blog. Let’s make it truly awful. There has been a fairly common theme in many of my terrible poems – someone called Boris. As he is completely ridiculous then let’s finish with him.

Oh Boris isn’t it time you went away

Surely it’s time for another holiday

Its only a few months since your last Caribbean jolly

How you must miss drinking all that expensive bolly

Your country is deep in crisis and finds itself in such a terrible mess

So many mistakes and lapses of judgement, yet you find it impossible to confess

It’s always someone else’s fault and never your own

You haven’t managed this pandemic preferring to blame the Eurozone

You don’t listen to reason, facts are just ignored

But you do listen to Cummings, Britains very own evil Sith Lord

You only had one aim and that was hard Brexit

Your getting your way leaving us deep in the shit

Because of your privileged upbringing you are entitled to rule

You lead by example, bluffing and acting the fool

You like all the trappings which goes with being the top man

Sadly hard work and emergency meetings is not part of your plan

So for the good of your country please take your leave

Go back to your mansion, don’t worry we won’t grieve

So I long for the day when you pack your bags and wish No10 a fond farewell

Go back to your lovely life, do nothing and watch your bank account swell.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 72 Comments

Usefulness

Surprised these are not vultures today

It’s been one of those days. You wake up as a zombie with one mission – to create havoc. The alarm went and as I swung out of bed I managed to send a glass of water hurtling towards the wall like an Exocet missile. I dried the wall, picked up the glass pieces and applied the plasters to my fingers. Then it was time for my pre school day workout. For some mad idea I decided to opt for single arm press-ups. Who do I think I am, The Rock. Clearly I forgot I am a middle aged chump. Although I managed a few reps, the problems came later. My arms clearly were not impressed. Now the shakes make drinking from a cup a real challenge. Today I’m just accepting that I have a permanent have you just wet yourself look.

Then as Son was doing his history lesson I decided to garden. First I tried to trim back a tree branch that is growing unerringly towards the overhead telephone cable. I should have been more concerned with the chainsaw power cable. Within seconds I had a power lead in two pieces and a out of action chainsaw. Let’s try something less dangerous. Let’s plant some seeds. Start with the flowers then plant some vegetables. I did a wonderful job with the hanging baskets. Carefully filled with seeds. So I moved onto the soil patch that I had carefully prepared for the vegetables. Why have I still got all the unopened flower seeds and can’t find the carrot seeds. Yep I’m going to have some beautiful hanging baskets with glorious displays of carrots. Well that went well.

Lunch went well. First of all I decided to pour tomato soup onto the carpet. I then tried to grate some cheese, unfortunately the plastic wrapper got involved, so bits of plastic got shredded as well. Wonder if that qualifies me for a Michelin star.

Finally I set the washing machine off on a daily wash cycle without actually loading much in. When I say much that means one pair of socks. All other items remained in the washing basket sat in front of said machine. Deep sigh. So basically today I have been useless. Having said that I have been doing this for years. It’s scary that it’s taken millions of years of evolutionary progress to get to me. Wow.

So now it’s time for some terrible poetry in the form of Chelsea Owens weekly terrible poetry challenge. This week the rules are most appropriately

  1. Let’s Topic on a humorous end to a useful object. Irony is encouraged.
  2. The Length is between 5 and 155 words.
  3. Rhyming is optional, but recommended.
  4. Make it terrible! Make me rue the day I ever started a contest based on bad poetry …until the next week’s prompt.
  5. Rating: PG or cleaner. You can do it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MST next Friday (April 24) to submit a poem to Chelsea.

Well here goes and I can’t think of a better subject here then ME…..

Face it I am a muppet

As useful as badly worn glove puppet

The youthful sporting body is sadly no more

Now this used body constantly needs to visit the drugstore

I just can’t bend over without making a groan

I can only move thanks to heaps of cortisone

Once brimming with dreams of adventure and success

Now I’m wracked with anxieties and filled with stress

Everyday I deliver mistake after mistake

Always sweeping up the stuff I carelessly brake

Increasingly I’m covered in dust

With a bank balance which has gone bust

These days definitely more rounded in the middle

Watching life fly past featuring only as a second fiddle

No more than a terrible poetry bard

Maybe it’s time for me to visit the knackers yard

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 55 Comments

Terrible Poetry

I was thinking that my recent posts had been a bit too depressing. Maybe a bit too much about that pesky virus. So I thought let’s have a bit of fun with some Terrible Poetry from the wonderful Chelsea Owens’s weekly challenge. I’ve just checked what this weeks theme is – Oops Sorry.

  1. The Topic is a parody of a popular song on the theme of COVID-19. Yep, I’m asking for a Coronavirus song parody.
  2. For Length: No, I’m not expecting every verse and chorus, especially if you do “Bohemian Rhapsody.” A verse or two and a chorus ought to be great.
  3. If the song rhymes, you must rhyme.
  4. This issue is a bit close to home for many of us, so keep the terribleness funny. Please do not be insensitive or over-violent or such.
  5. Rating? PG or G. My kids will want to hear it.

You have till 8:00 a.m. MDT next Friday (April 17) to submit a poem to Chelsea. *!!ALSO!!* Chelsea’s husband has agreed to sing a recording of the winner’s song.

***********

So here goes to the theme tune to The Banana Splits……
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
One infected, two infected, three infected, four. 
Four infected make a pandemic and so do many more. 
Over hill and highway the corona buggies go 
Comin’ on to bring you The Corona Up The Shit Creak Show. 

Makin up a mess of life 

Makin up a mess of jobs 
Lot’s of free time for everyone. 

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Four infected, three infected, two infected, one. 

All not allowed to play outside in the bright warm sun. 
Flippin sick of our leaders, poppin like a cork 
Guarding the bog rolls with a Pitch Fork

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.

Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Cov id, id, id, id, id, id.
Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 116 Comments

Random Tree

A random Yorkshire tree. When it snows, a random Yorkshire Tree positioned at the end of our sledging run. So a random Yorkshire tree with a very hard trunk which I have collided with on more than one occasion. It’s like a Rome. All the sledging runs seem to abruptly end at this tree.

So this morning’s fight with WordPress was a bit of a score draw. On the plus side it went remarkably smoothly and very quickly. On the downside my attempted fix – didn’t pigging work. So the app is still possessed. My comments on many sites just disappear. One explanation is that I’ve upset one of the Spam filters. I might have used a naughty word on a comment (or two ). See kiddies swearing is not big or clever. Anyway until it’s resolved I will keep trying to comment on your sites – a few comments are still sneaking through. Enjoy the peace and waffle free time while it lasts.

So the school version of homeschooling has ended for another week. It’s now the two week Easter break. A break which will probably look very like the last few weeks. Normally we look forward to these two weeks but this time it feels like just the same as the last few weeks. No real change except the school iPad can remain switched off.

But as everyday is FUN DAY let’s try to make the most of them.

It’s good to see school is getting into the celebratory mood. The kids have been set homework and have been given plenty of revision to complete over the holiday. After Easter it’s straight into online exams and YES the delights of spelling tests. Deep joy.

But we are not going to let school put a dampener on life over the next couple of weeks. So at lunchtime we reverted back to one of sons favourite games. Bouncing on a trampoline while holding a bucket filled with water. It’s amazing how even Son’s bucket of water ends up over his Dad. Maybe that’s why the game is so much fun. Then it was back to online lessons and trying to explain to a bewildered son the finer details of love poetry. You might have seen my sledgehammer writing style in Thursdays Terrible Poetry submissions. Me advising on poetry is like asking a pheasant to operate a pedestrian crossing. Some lessons are about personal growth and development. However this one was just about survival.

After the last lesson of the day the Easter break started with a dog walk. A walk to our sons self imposed world boundary. And a look over to a distant random tree. A tree beyond our little world. Let’s hope that when we get snow again, once again all our sledge runs will be able to meet this tree again.