An ode to Vic

On Christmas morn, a tale unfolds,

An ode to Vic, where joy beholds.

No more booze, a resolution we plot,

After a pint of snowball and a bourbon shot.

With snorts of laughter, a symphony bright,

Vic, my favourite,  a Christmas delight.

Adventures we chase, and of aspirations we jest,

On a sleeper train, en route to Loch Ness.

Merry Christmas Vic, you beautiful soul

What’s in your stocking? Definitely not coal 

This is sent with love from Jim, figuratively under your tree

And not written at 3am, by ChatGPT

The pig

Came the Thursday – came Big Tony
Through the doors with knife and fork
‘Make some room and take my order,
2 hundred hash browns and a whole roast pork’

It started as a novelty idea
to promote our gaff and make some talk
‘Eat the lot and for you it’s free
from snout to tail, a whole roast pork’

At first we thought we had succeeded
In through the doors customers would walk
But that soon ended when we met Big Tony
and he uttered the words ‘Whole. Roast. Pork’

It took 3 hours until he’d finished
’Oh my days. No way’ I’d bawk
But after inspection of the table
nothing remained of the whole roast pork

Now he returns every Thursday
People do come but only gawk
through the window at big Tony
biting the neck of a whole roast pork

January

January
By
James Brewer


Tear down that cheap tinsel
Put those cards in the bin
There's no more fun around here
So put away the biscuit tin

Wipe off that happy smile
You've gained an extra chin
Those jeans haven't shrunk dear
So put away the biscuit tin

Sweat out those poisons
Investigate that gym
You've plugged in that smoothie maker again
So put away that biscuit tin

Dump that lousy lover
Here's a fresh start to begin
Remove those photos you once treasured
And put them in the biscuit tin

Oggy Oggy Oggy

I've got 12 hours to decide if i want to go to Glastonbury. These are my musings thus far:


This is why I don’t want to go. It’s become a festival of idiots and I don’t want to be another idiot.

NOTE: I AM NOT SAYING EVERYONE WHO GOES IS AN IDIOT

But I think I’d prefer to go to another festival where I know the weather is going to be better and I’m not going to be surrounded by bozo’s blowing whistles / waving flags / wearing mankini’s / wearing t-shirts with a bands tour dates on the back / wearing body paint / who stink / who have met Michael Eavis (even though I do like him) / who talk about meeting Michael Eavis (but I do think the guy is great) / who shout “oggy oggy oggy” / who talk about Brothers cider tasting better at Glasto / who refer to it as Glasto / who want to get everyone they know in one big group at the end to listen to Coldplay play Amsterdam / who watch T4 / who think Steve Jones is hilarious / who reply “oi oi oi” …

and I get grumpy it when the act on stage says;

Band man #1: “make some noise Glastonbury”

Crowd: “SCREAM”

Band man #1: “I can’t hear you!!!! (lol lol lol)”

Crowd: “SCREAM SCREAM”

But I am still 50/50.

Plus I think I am bi-polar so I will probably want to go in about 3 hours.

Her name was Louise

Her jeans were tight, but tighter still,
Was her gaze
As she stood by the door to the fridge
Holding milk,
As fresh as her face
As cold as her heart
A perfect accompaniment to tea

She waited.

Her look, buckled to the mug
Which now lay fragmented upon the kitchen floor,
Jagged. Hand still on hip. Shards,
Like the noses of hounds, pointed in the air.

Her legs;
Two pillars wrapped in denim,
Stretched shadows dissect the carpet.
She stands there, startled
With her tits hanging out,
And a tattoo on her forehead reading
‘my tits are hanging out’.

Her name was Louise.



Special mention to Ally Howie for ending.

Sugar coated

Oh I’m in love.
In love. Again!
Yes looks don’t change.
It’s her. The same.

Oh I’m in love,
My mouth wet. Dripping!
I hold you close.
Our bodies sticking.

Oh I’m in love,
With you. Just you!
Your one red eye
And greasy residue.
(Am I for you as you are for me?)

Oh I’m in love.
With you alone!
Your sisters’ remains
Drip off my throne.

Oh I’m in love.
Who doubted? Believe!
“A beast of a man”
Cough. Groan. Wheeze.

Oh I’m in love.
In love? Alas!
I fear this love
This love won’t last

Oh I’m in love.
NO. It’s too late!
LOVE IS DEAD.
I masticate.

Oh was that love?
No love for me.
I sit alone.
My donut orgy.

Rant #1

Toilet etiquette

Someone keeps blocking the toilet at work. If you insist on eating a family pack of dairylea & raw mince meat from the cost-cutter discount section, washed down with a pint of Worcestershire sauce every meal time please be considerate to others and remove your Jackson Pollock homage. Dick.

No-one wants to see it. It's disgusting. Once is bad enough, especially in a public place like work; but doing it twice in two weeks is just stupid. What's even worse is that you don't even attempt to clean up after yourself. This gets me mad.

I'm a once a day man. Clockwork. I enjoy this time. I've got a football game on my phone, & I've managed to take Sweden quite far in the World Cup. Next game is against Portugal who managed to beat England so it's a big game. I like playing a half whilst on the loo, it's my escape. This is where trouble occurs. If I walk into a cubicle and I'm greeted with a poo fountain I can't go. Not even in the next cubicle. Why? Because if I go in the next cubicle, I will spend a little more than 5 mins trying to get Ibrahimovic to pull Portuguese pants down. Then when I return to my desk, the vigilant will have noticed I've been away for longer than a wee would take. THEN they might go to the loo and see a toilet paper-mache statue peppered with shit & assume it was me. I can't live life like that. No.

Continuing on from this, I work in a large office. I was the only one in the gents, washing my hands, when in walks one of the bosses. We acknowledge each other & he walks into the cubicle with the fecal shrine in. I know what he is thinking. I can no longer look at him. In fact, I can no longer work here. I quit because someone decimated a toilet. Fuck you.