Season's Greetings

Globules of phlegm cascade through my unwilling trachea as choking air hacks and wheezes its way across my throat. Happy New Year.

Winter’s Woes

As winter sets in with a grey sneeze and splutter
And frostiness looms like a squall,
My toes threaten mutiny
And I begin to scrootini
Why we have this business of winter at all.

There’s an awful fuss about the beauteous snow
But I say with fervour, “Bollocks!”
For snow turns to slush,
And there’s nothing plush
About bruising the ground with your buttocks

Cars will stall and birds will fly south
And butter will refuse to soften
O! woe to margarine
But what vents my spleen
Is having to visit the loo so often.

The Silence of the Bands

I happened to Google my name today (now, don’t point fingers lads and ladies…you know you all do that from time to time!) and found an interesting link. A review of Indus Creed’s self-titled (ahem, eponymous...) album that I wrote for www.themusicmagazine.com a couple of years ago has been cited by a lady named Rebecca Romanow in her jargon-heavy paper on rock music and the silenced Subaltern. I found myself rather badly misrepresented, but tell me what you think. (I think The Music Magazine links aren’t completely working though)