Word Prompt: Skewed

I set myself the little task

To answer Word Prompts all through May

But there’s no chance it’s happening

Because today is Saturday!

I’m heading out and don’t have time

To fumble in my little head

Skewed’ is much to hard to rhyme

So I’ll end with ‘bumbershoot’* instead.


*actually a real word much to my flabbergastment**

**Not a real word

Word Prompt: Skewed

Kid’s Poems

First of all, we’re on mid term here and there’s actual warmth in the outdoor world so I’m miles behind on my bloggy reading and nominations (which I fecking hate) – but I’ll catch up at some stage! Please forgive if I haven’t caught up on some of your posts over the weekend.

I’m still pushing on with my efforts to respond to the daily prompts for the month of May. I was eating my words on Sunday as I nursed a hangover…but a commitment is a commitment (pah! I abandon commitments all the time but I’m not gonna tell you lot….)

Chelsea Owens asked me to write nursery rhymes. Alas I’m not so great on being sentimental but I am good at being gross so I hope these amuse for the time being. I’m sure there’s a few more hiding in my noggin!

Doggies

A doggie is lovely

It wags and it barks

It just wants a cuddle

And walks in the park

But the worst thing of all

(And everyone looks)

Is when it sits down

And does a big poop.


Just Eat Some Toast Instead

I knew a girl

Who loved to eat boogers

At breakfast and lunch

She dug in her hooter

She wouldn’t eat fruit

And she wouldn’t eat bread

This girl just loved

To eat bogeys instead

One day while digging

Deep up in her nose

Her finger got stuck!

Her mummy said ‘blow!’

She huffed and she puffed

Her mummy said ‘more!’

She blew it so hard

Her nose flew out the door!

Lucky for her

Her mummy had glue

She stuck it back on

And nobody knew

So if you don’t want

To lose bits of your head

Take my advice

Use a tissue instead.

Next please…

I read a wee post earlier by The Wonderful And Wacky World Of One Single Mom about customer service.

It reminded me about a time when I had a little Christmas job working in M&S.

For those unfamiliar with Marks & Spencers, it’s one of the more ‘upmarket’ food stores in the UK and Ireland.

What makes it upmarket? Instead of mashed potatoes they call them ‘crushed’ and they use a fancier font on their packaging than Asda.

If you’re going to shop in one of the Dublin branches you may want to sell an organ on the black market first. I suspect whoever is calculating the exchange rate may have a mild dyslexia problem.

Anywho, that said I regularly have my head buried in their chillers fishing out their mango-and-fancy-pants salad or a nice block of Wensleydale-and-la-de-dah cheese.

Back to the story. Christmas in Marksies is a complete cattle market. Ladies with perfectly coiffed hair roll up their sleeves and engage in one-to-one combat for the last jar of brandy butter.

Nectar of the Gods

This particular day I was on the tills happily beeping the day away when the alarm went off – a suspicious package had been found in the kids clothing section. (I still maintain it was simply an empty Lidl bag and management were so horrified they activated a code red situation)

A handy tip:

If you ever want to find a genuine Belfast person – fake a bomb scare. We’ve been through so many of them that while the foreigners are galloping for the doors, we’ll have our hands on the floor checking the temperature. If it’s cool enough to touch, there’s no need to panic, finish your pint.

Annnyway, back to M&S…

We were supposed to close the tills and leave but I was almost finished scanning the current customer’s shopping – the last item (the fabled brandy butter) was in my mitt. Just as I was about to scan we had this lovely exchange:

Helmet Hair: For God’s sake! Will you hurry up?! I have places to be!!

(I immediately decided this woman’s Christmas shopping was going nowhere)

Me: *cloud of darkness passing overhead* We all have places to be, a bomb might go off.

Helmet Hair: And? Gimme that jar! Will you hurry up and let me pay??

Me: *places brandy butter just out of reach and logs out of till while mentally cackling like an evil lunatic* I’m awful sorry but we need to clear the building. If you could make your way to the nearest exit…

Helmet Hair: What? You take this money now! Where is your manager?? Blah de blah blah blah!

Me: Happy Christmas! *flounces happily to escalator*

I’ll never forget the look on that woman’s face as her notions of the perfect Christmas dinner crumbled to ruins around her. Actually, the shade of her face was more impressive – I thought she might be the first one to detonate.

I also saw that split second when she was tempted to lift the lot and make for the doors. If it was me, I totally would have walked out with it all, I salute her self restraint!

Despite the whole risk-of-explosion thing it wasn’t too bad a day at all. We all got to hang around the assembly point eating sausage rolls on the clock. By the time we went back to collect our personals, sure wasn’t it hometime? I never did get round to trying brandy butter either…

Bloggy Evolution

When I started blogging a few months ago I hadn’t a clue what the hell I was going to write about! Now, 100+ followers and 80-odd posts later…I still don’t! (who knew I could talk so much hooey?)

First I’d like to say a massive THANKS!! to everyone that hit ‘follow’. I never intended to have more than 3 followers (me and 2 fake accounts that were also me just to get the numbers up) to be honest and all the positive feedback I’ve had from everyone has done wonders for my self esteem. There’s no way I could’ve done this a year ago.

As I cleaned the goldfish bowl this morning and pondered who’s been slipping bran flakes into the water (trust me, after one day that water is much too murky for a creature that size) I got to thinking, what’s the ‘theme’ of my little blog?

Unsurprisingly I came to the conclusion there is no theme. It’s pretty much just a scrapbook of the inside of my head.

But a couple of things I have noticed:

I try to steer clear of the negatives as much as possible. I feel there’s enough negativity out there and the minute I put it in writing and post, I’ve just cemented it’s ugly place in the world. But I assure you I am not Suzy Sunbeams 7 days a week. I’ve got the same real life hassles as everyone else despite my efforts to bang on the saucepan on my head to drown them out.

I also try to not think of the audience too much because it takes the craic out of the whole thing for me. Then when I get a like or a positive comment it makes my little day because I know the post was honestly me.

Some weeks I’m not in the form so don’t have much to say, then other times my head will be exploding with ideas and I’ll have loads to talk about.

Finally I had zero intention of writing any poetry. What a shocker that was! I was abysmal writing poetry in school and the minute I heard that final bell I tossed all notions of it on the bonfire of my school years and laughed like a crazed lunatic as it went up in smoke along with all memories of the German language and the university applications I didn’t even bother to complete.

By far the best thing about WordPress is the other bloggers! Sometimes I’ll be having a chat with someone on the other side of the world who I’ve never met and think: this is so effing cool!! Or when I’m drawing a blank I’ll read someone else’s post and get a flash of inspiration.

I think everyone should give blogging a go. Some people use it to clear their head (me), some share their journeys and educate the rest of us (A Guy Called Bloke), and some are stark raving mad and I thank the Lord they blog since it keeps them off the streets and the rest of us out of harm’s way (The Britchy One).

Whyever you might be tapping away at that keyboard, I’d like to raise my pint to you all and say keep it up ya good thing and thanks for reading my nonsense! Cheers!

P.S – Has anyone else’s blog changed in ways they didn’t expect??

The heat is on….

I was perturbed by a strange prickling sensation on my skin yesterday. Had I changed my washing powder? Were there ants in my pants? No. It was heat! Heat from the sky!

Here in Belfast (and I imagine most of the UK) when we get a tropical heatwave of 10+ degrees, we like to flee to the nearest patch of grass and let those freckles pop! Should there be no grass available, the front step will do the job.

I stuck my baby bird under my arm and ran to the park like a woman possessed for fear I’d blink and miss a few rays.

After I threw up and my face went back to its normal colour (Christ I’m so out of shape) we had a lovely wee afternoon pottering about.

My daughter instructed me that I was to pick a bushel of daisies. A bushel? She’s had a substitute teacher this week…is it Jebediah from the local Amish community? Either way I’m delighted she’s expanding her vocabulary.

Two bushels of daisies.

We even had a wee whirl on the zip line. I’m pleased to report I have managed to raise a well mannered kiddo. She didn’t even crack a joke when her mother’s huge backside caused the seat to practically scrape the ground.

How does one explain to the family doctor that posterior friction burns were caused by an over adventurous afternoon in the park and not because your partner got carried away with a paddle during a Fifty Shades reenactment? Hmm…

Zipping my troubles away!

Here in this fine land when we get a rare glimpse of blue sky (the last was in 1867) we like to completely ignore the temperatures and soldier on with our delusions that we reside in the Maldives.

Shorts are dusted off, sandals are pulled out from under the bed and beer bellies are exposed to all and sundry. (avert your eyes!)

As our lips turn blue and hypothermia sets in we will not be deterred! The kids will enjoy that paddling pool even if we have to weight them down in the bloody thing. (Be quiet child! I don’t care if you can’t feel your toes anymore, would you ever get on with enjoying yourself??) Those ciders will be quaffed and that BBQ we lost the receipt for will see the light of day come hell or high water!

I keep telling myself that those few pounds that have obviously established a long term relationship with my tummy will provide extra insulation during the Irish summer. Maybe this year I’ll get away with just the 14 layers!! In fact I’d better gain a few more for good measure….*Olympic dives into bath filled with deep fried mozzarella sticks*

Is…is she from Belfast??