You’re Going To Kill Me

You may want to kill Ward Clever after having read this superb piece. That is if you haven’t died laughing!

Ward Clever

Warning: Reading this story will cause mental anguish and distress, blindness and rage. Consult a doctor before reading it.

Shelly Holeinfence had just changed her name from something ridiculous. She did this to win the affections of the object of her desire, or one of his friends. It didn’t work, so she moved deep into the Blue Ridge Mountains. Not, like, under them or anything, you moron, but a fair distance from any civilization.

And that’s when she saw the elves.

She saw them out her window one day, dancing in a fire. And a few seconds later, jumping around and howling in pain as the brighter elves danced around the fire while EMTs (elven medical technicians) attended to the burns. She tried to stay hidden from the elves, but they knew she was there, because it was difficult to hide a cabin in the middle of the mountains.

Over…

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A Poem Just For Me – Roger McGough – Comments

Heard this on “Poetry Please” today on BBC Radio 4, read by Roger, the author of this fine poem. It made me think of someone living with dementia, so made me a little sad, but only for a moment or two.

my word in your ear

A Poem Just For Me

Where am I now when I need me
Suddenly where have I gone?
I’m so alone here without me
Tell me please what have I done?

Once I did most things together
I went for walks hand in hand
I shared my life so completely
I met my every demand.

Tell me I’ll come back tomorrow
I’ll keep my arms open wide
Tell me that I’ll never leave me
My place is here at my side.

Maybe I’ve simply mislaid me
Like an umbrella or key
So until the day that I come my way
Here is a poem just for me.

Roger McGough

Well, some days you wake up and you just don’t feel your normal self … you’re not just there. What have you got to do to regain your Me! … who is this depressing foreigner that has walked into your skin…

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Lymelight Festival 2017

A fantastic report on Limelight Festival 2017 by a talented young music blogger. Read and enjoy!

E Major

We waited patiently, for a whole 12 months. We attended gigs, we played our music loud and we counted down the days until we’d be back in front of that stage once more. We watched with excitement, as the lineup, the headliners and the last minute acts were announced. We planned our May Day bank holiday weekend accordingly and then we headed for Newcastle town centre, cagoule in hand and hopes high.

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The fifth annual Lymelight Festival ran from the evening of Friday 28th April through until late afternoon on Monday 1st May and by all accounts, it was spectacular. Opening with sets from Captain Stingray’s Groove Machine, Vidorra, 10o’clock Chemical and Akahum, it seemed that from the get go, this would be more than just your usual local festival.

S A T U R D A Y

It was dry and sunny on the morning of the 29th of…

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Mama Said So

The old ones are the best, and that includes the Simple, Village Undertaker. With apologies to Ray!

A Simple, Village Undertaker

Unknown.jpegA certain little girl, when asked her name, would reply, “I’m Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter.”
Her mother told her this was wrong; she must say, “I’m Jane Sugarbrown.”
The Vicar spoke to her in Sunday School, and said, “Aren’t you Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter?”
She replied, “I thought I was, but mother says I’m not.”
 

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Leave it Jezza, it’s not worth it!

Kirsty, one of the few blogging friends that I know IRL, has a few views about politics. She gave up soaps some time ago. Now she plans to give up politics……..well, almost!

kirstwrites

Several years ago I remember waking up in a cold sweat after a nightmare about EastEnders. I think it was about Sonia Fowler – that sweet brainy trumpet-playing girl who fell in love with bad boy Martin after he’d accidentally killed her lovely previous boyfriend, then didn’t realise she was pregnant until she went into labour, gave the baby up for adoption but then had a breakdown and kidnapped the child back. 

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the left-behind

Owen, who has No Talent For Certainty, writes some amazing poetry. I think he has excelled himself with this. See what you think!

No Talent For Certainty

the left-behind:
no longer kept
by those who’ve fled
that place, or stage –

the ruthlessness
of time, who drops
the best things of
another age

the smiles that worked,
the words that soothed,
now empty echoes
in the grass

the left-behind:
the parts of us
that like us, too
must surely
pass

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