chilli perkins out mate innit?

I’m growing a chilli plant from seed and NOW IT’S GOT BUDS ON IT! flowering, dude! I’m expecting to be cooking up a hot n’ spicy chilli sauce by the end of the year…

And not only that, but my baby’s got a name, courtesy of my partner: he’s MR CHILLI PERKINS, to you, buddy-boy…

8 out of ten cats wanna rub up against Jon Richardson

The poem is the way back machine

is the head-to-toe skin-tall Tardis removing you from this speck of existence to another

you wrote it because:

you were drunk

(applicable only to Persona A)

you are a peacock

(universally applicable)

it was funny and bad ideas are still ideas

and all ideas must be implemented in all possible worlds

this world is the only world possible for you


because it scoured and bleached the memory

and Jon Richardson would approve

(spottily applicable where you care to apply it)

not even because you slept through

and nothing else was going to get done that day

not everyone’s

not ever


of the diminution of results

from strenuous efforts

POEM: poison, fear me

I eat black mould and I thrive
poison, fear me
bears and snakes, don’t come near me
behind the wheel, but I can’t drive
the dream’s a dream of when I was alive

spiders know that I won’t kill ’em
the dentist gets bitten if he tries to fill ’em
nice girl that I used to be
met you, which was nice for you
’cause it meant you met me

bleach from the cupboard in the old toothmug
cum on the seat someone’s been giving it a tug
and I roll up in foisty blankets
phone in and use up some love
on a move in the game today


A Nice Jewish Wolf 1

Elena stirred, alerted by the long, long silence to the fact that business was exceptionally slow. There was no great need to worry: their bookshop was ticking over in the black – just about – and had been for years now, given a fortunate location and loyal clientele. It was just – wet Wednesdays, and early closing day, and a long way off payday for a lot of folks. The thing was, a lack of customers gave her the urge to mess with her brother, even if only for her own personal amusement.

She looked over at him, hunched beside the elderly till, a vintage Guy de Maupassant spread out before him, and a mug cooling by his side.   


and build it up with worn-out tools*

Ehhh, feels like time to re-make and re-write some of my old fanfic WiPs, rebuild them into original fic.  Not that I haven’t already been doing a bit of that, under aliases Sarah Tender and Wanda Withers.  But for my two old faves this seems like the right ID.  So very shortly indeed, expect a mangling re-working of a tale loosely based on ‘Notting Hill’.  With new added werewolves!



*Kipling, darling.  Love a bit of Kipling.  ‘If’ used to reliably make me cry, before I got so hardened and contemptuous.



Goodreads reviews: Tenth of December by George Saunders

A huge, big, fat, pig-ugly, repulsively obese toad.  Blobber blobber blobber!

Tenth of December, by George Saunders

“Gross, clever, ruefully funny. Spot on about human nature. Twunts, by and large, certainly will act the grovelling, slobbering toady to an outright abuser, with very little persuasion.”

Image credit – Gordon on Flickr,  licence no remix.