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It is well known, perhaps written in ancient scripture, that a day out to the British seaside is something everyone must commit to at some point in their life. In that regard, I am blessed for I try to make regular trips to the seaside. Living in the centre of the UK, where nearly everything…
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Apart from when Mrs Gnomepants V1.0 and I visited in the early noughties, and when Mrs Gnomepants v2.0 and I went swimming there in 2016, the last time I was in Alton Towers was when I was 14. So what poetry it was to take my 14 year old niece there as an Uncley Treat.…
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Before I blather on about how amazing Wales is I’d like to point out two important things. 1. On the subject of the Russian provoked LJ to Dreamwidth exodus: – I’m there as Stegzy too (http://stegzy.dreamwidth.org) although I rarely post there because I forget to do so but feel free to add if you are…
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Following on from this series
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For those who don’t read my Livejournal, those who have only just noticed I’ve not liked or posted on Facebook recently and those who just don’t give a stuff, on 30th January I logged out of Facebook. I went up to the little icon in the right of my Facebook page clicked and then clicked…
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Dear Sticky Toffee Pudding with Hot Custard, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I can’t eat you at the moment. You’ve been calling me for two weeks now. Quiet at first. Almost a whisper. Maybe once a day. Now you’re calling me every hour. Sometimes several times an hour. Unfortunately, we can never be as one.…
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Or so said Darth to Luke. Presents are a funny old game. Not being someone to want to appear ungrateful, normally I’ll smile and thank who ever got me what ever and appear interested or passionate about what ever they have got me. I think, generally, it is possible to classify presents into ten categories.…
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Who’s is that? It’s not mine Who’s is this That’ll do fine Presents are passed Around the room The defrosted turkey Senses its doom The family sat round All festive with cheer Our Chris got five pound! All I got was beer And in the kitchen Mother doth toil The Christmas dinner She hopes not…
The Compostual Existentialist 
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