Atchoo

Atchoo
Can’t stop sneezing

Coughing and wheezing
Can’t stop blowing

Nose is running and glowing
Can’t stop sweating 

Fever’s well and truly set in
Can’t stop aching

Feels like my head is breaking
Burning up 

Confined to my bed
Soggy tissues 

Filled with gunk from my head
TVs on 

But it’s painful to watch
Sleep eludes me

Cause I keep waking up
I lie in bed 

And wait for it to pass 
No appetite

Just fluids en masse
Paracetamols

A hot toddy here and there
Whiskey, lemon, honey 

Is all that I can bear
Flat on my back

Until I’ve won the fight
Just got to surrender

When you’re feeling this shite.

Slacks

My ‘tights’ are falling down

I’m indecently exposed

My bum keeps hanging out

Of my baggy pantyhose

Every time I walk

They slither down my legs 

And try as I might to discreetly hoist them up

They plummet to the ground instead

My tights are falling down 

If before I’d left home I’d known

I’d have doubled up on knickers 

To ensure they don’t drop down

Should’ve shopped in M&S 

And maybe they would’ve stayed up

Should’ve hired a crane

Or worn suspenders but no such luck

My tights are falling down

But right now there’s nothing I can do

So if you should see my bum

I sincerely apologise to you.

It’s not because they’re old

Or because the elastic has snapped

It’s because I bought them in Primark

And frankly they are crap

My tights are falling down

Like I said before

They should really be renamed ‘slacks’

Because they’re always on the floor.

DD-Cup Cakes

The lemon muffins on display

In Starbucks are quite rude

Positioned in pairs, with pointed iced tips

They look suspiciously like boobs

Turned over on their sides

Full and bursting out

They immediately caught my eye

And made me laugh out loud

Like bulging bosoms

Veritable sugar ‘tits’

I actually cracked a smile

And almost lost my s**t!

What cheeky little chappy

Was the author of this joke?

That brightened up my morning

As I trudged to work in the snow?

He must be a breast man

Bazookas his weakness

Harbouring an obsession

With the female chest

To liken them to muffins

Is actually quite strange

Perhaps he’s fixated with Mary’s Berries

From her Bake-Off days

Or maybe it’s simply just

My own silly, warped mind

That associates muffins with mammaries

Because there’s two turned on their sides

Who knows, but it tickled me pink

And I totally had to share

For the sight of them made me happy

So forgive me for going there…

Ring Burn

When I wedged the stupid thing on

Never knew it’d get stuck fast

Was trying to be stylish

Not induce a life or death dash

To the emergency room

When the soap and fairy liquid failed

And my poor damn finger turned purple

Swelled up and caused me to wail

I had to dial 111

They told me there was no hope

Unless I went to A&E

To get it sawn off – I swear, no joke!

Thus off I went

In the dead of night

It was pouring down

But I needed out of this plight

With a throbbing, fat finger

I arrived at The Whitt

Registered at reception

Was undoubtedly deemed a twit

Sat in the waiting room

For what seemed an eternity

But this penance had to be endured 

If my finger was to be freed

From it’s nickel shackle

That squeezed and nipped and pinched

From the allergic reaction

That caused it to blister and itch

When they finally called my name

And I sheepishly met the nurse 

She almost fell about laughing

At this mishap that evoked her mirth

But she ushered me through

Quickly anyway

To an operating theatre

Where to my dismay

I clocked an array of tools

That scared the life out of me

Metal cutters, chainsaws and knives 

Sharpened beyond belief!

Wielding them

She grabbed my hand

Clamped the offending

Fake gold band

Yanked and sliced

Wrenched and stretched

Prised that bastard apart

As I screamed and wept

Until the foreign body 

Was completely broken off

And my poor little finger could breathe 

Unencumbered by that sod

Oh how it f*****g hurt!

How it singed and it burned!

It felt like being dismembered

But thankfully my digit remained

 Oh, hallelujah!

Did I then sing 

They had succeeded 

In removing the ring!

Unbelievably 

They’d saved my life

And rescued me

From this particular strife.

Snow Joke!

And so the snow finally came

But it didn’t prevent me from getting to work 

T’was a bloody signal failure

That drove me bloody berserk

Battled through the ice

Skated the pavements and rode a bus

Travelled on the tube

Finally reached Highbury & Is

To find all Stratford trains cancelled 

Though I waited and waited – in vain

To discover said signal failure

Had afflicted TFL again

Oh what a merry cock-up! 

I feared the weather would be the culprit

That ultimately prevented me reaching

My destination – but that wasn’t it!

When will these signals be fixed?

Is a snowflake their kryptonite?

They’re always breaking down 

And must be considerably shite

To render a whole line defunct

A station unreachable

To cause them to send everyone home 

And make them miserable

So back the way I came I trudged

Developing frostbite, hypothermic and miffed 

All the while sending explanatory emails

To my bosses who could’ve been p****d

That on the very day of my appraisal

The most important one of the year

I couldn’t make it to the office 

Due not to snow but signal failure 

The same old boring chestnut 

That repeatedly blights the lives

Of poor, downtrodden commuters

Who are robbed by the extortionate price

Of a beyond sub-standard service

They are forced everyday to endure

They have no choice, it’s a sacrifice

They undoubtedly wish they could be spared 

Well, thank heavens I had my laptop

Having feared I’d be snowed in

But like I said t’was bloody signal failure

That foiled me once again.