Fishing in the Rivers of Life

Category: Rivers of Life

  • Have a Nice Day

    Why on earth is AI so fucking optimistic? Come on, you must have noticed. It’s worse than living in small-town America, what with its never-ending round of cheery “have a nice day” and “there you go, Darlin” after every fucking dreary completed task. For Christ’s sake, I’m not ordering doughnuts. I fucking hate it. And…

  • Plane Stupid or Stupid Plane?

    No Such Thing as a Free Plane There’s an old adage that states, “there’s no such thing as a free lunch,” and while that may remain true, perhaps it’s time to update the world-worn saying to: “there’s no such thing as a free plane.” Let me put it another way. It’s always been a dream…

  • Goodbye, Wilf

    A bright day, a dark task Bright sunshine conceals a dark day. Birds sing and angry drivers toot, oblivious to the mood. I can just about hear the babble of the infants in the playground like a faraway brook. Life is all around. Blue skies, warm sun, the world is on its head today. It…

  • Blessed Are the Cheesemakers

    The Joke That Took 45 Years to Land Around 554 moons ago, as I chortled my way through Monty Python’s Life of Brian, I laughed my little heart out at one line without understanding its meaning. Now, 45 years later, I’ve just gone: ahhh. All it took was age. The key to decoding my ancient…

  • Nigel and the Milkshake of Destiny

    A Screech at the Radio Christ alone knows what the neighbours are thinking. For about the tenth time, I scream at the radio. The venom and the message are the same: “You don’t speak for me, you fucking moron.” It’s not nuanced, not balanced, but that’s what you get from Nigel Farage. Well, not him…

  • Don’t Sink the Lifeboats

    A Long List of Awful Jobs Outside journalism, I’ve done my fair share of truly awful jobs. In no particular order, I’ve sold advertising space for the now long-defunct TruckMart magazine, worked as a steel fixer, paint sprayer, porter in a glove factory, pizza chef, KP, photographer’s assistant, and—my personal favourite—working for my dad as…

  • Ode to Feet

    Plates of meat,That do defeatLogic and rhyme. Malodorous, odorous,With a characterAll their own —No wonder I’mStood here on my own. Fetid and reeking,Put me right off eating.Don’t get me wrong —By God, they pong. They’ve got quite niftySomewhat,Rather swiftly. What a pen and ink,It makes youStop and think…Ripe like Camembert. God, they stink!Don’t kiss and…

  • Jam Tomorrow?

    Perhaps it’s time,That we all threwour toysfrom this globalPram. Humanity shoutingIn righteous indignation,Just where the hellIs my jam? Jam tomorrow,Jam yesterday,But never jam today. The time has come,I have to say,We passed the pot. From those who haveto those who have not,Before we eat the fucking lot. They string you along,And tell you lies,Perhaps evenSympathise.…

  • My Hovercraft Is Full of Eels

    The Eureka Moment I’m sat here dripping wet. It’s not raining. Nor has a pipe burst. No. I’m sat here because I’ve just had a moment of clarity — my Eureka-in-the-bath moment — and in such a hurry to share it, I rushed down to my faithful Mac to start typing before it vanished in…

  • Yet I’ll not go gracefully into the sunset.

    The Fear of Losing My Trade Dogs bark, children cry, men moan, and writers write. Or do they? Do politicians and bricklayers wake up in the middle of the night in the fear that they have forgotten their trade? I do. The fear that by the time the next dawn chorus breaks, I will have…

  • Tourism: The Self-Destructive Voyage of Modern Narcissism

    Tourism is not the harmless middle-class pastime we’ve all been brainwashed into believing, thanks to a never-ending diet of slick, over-produced adverts that invade our personal space like an irritating passenger reading your newspaper. In fact, it is time to amend the dictionary: tourism noun /ˈtʊə.rɪ.zəm/Definition: The desecration, defilement and casual ruin of a destination…

  • To Infinity And Beyond

    Aboard the Charabanc of Righteous Rage I’m not one for jumping on bandwagons, but given the circumstances, I’ll gladly leap aboard this charabanc, drop my trousers and metaphorically moon and shout at the bemused pedestrians like a drunken compositor on a works outing. The Treacle Sponge Incident It’s a feeling that’s been building steam like…

  • Top of the Pops

    Trying to writea love song,something punchy,not too long. Chas ‘n’ Dave —my inspiration.Come on now,what, you hate ’em?There just ain’tno pleasin’ you. Top of the Popswas my aim —sadly,they’re out the game. But, by Jove,I will not cry —time to exploitold Spotify.

  • First, They Came…

    “Son, I Hate My Job” I have an ever-abiding memory of my father, one that haunts me to this day. I remember, early one morning, bumping into him as I made my way to the bathroom. Through my bleary eyes, I could see such weary eyes, and with a look that I can still feel…

  • The Kiss

    When I stole the desperate kiss,You stole my heart.Lips sealed,Sealed my fate.I surrendered,As if a virgin,I gave myself to you,As you gave yourself to me. But that was long ago,In the past.It seems some things,They were not built to last. Indeed, you broke my heart,For a while.Life fell apart.Love moved on,As did life.I survived that…