April 19, 2014

Hot Livid Bun

Well how would you like it if YOU were killed

By slicing in half, and then were grilled,

First on the front, then on the back,

Left for too long till you turned slightly black,

And then (as you sniffed with your very last sob)

You were shoved down the back of some horrible gob?

Yes, of COURSE I’m cross! It isn’t much fun.

Signed, yours sincerely, your small toasted bun.



April 14, 2014


This one inspired by my youngest child, who says he only likes his hair washed on Fridays. 


Don’t you dare

Wash my hair!

It’s not fair!

I don’t care

If it’s grotty

If it’s snotty

If it’s tangled up and knotty

If it’s grimy

If it’s slimy

If it’s greasy all the time-y

If it’s snaky

If it’s cakey

If it’s dandruffy and flakey

If it’s crazy

If it’s maze-y

If it’s filled with bolognaise-y

If it’s home to nesting birds

Or to elephants (whole herds)

Or it all looks quite absurd!

If you do

Use that goo

Which you seem to call shampoo

And you cover it with bubbles

Then I warn you – there’ll be TROUBLE!

Don’t you dare

Wash my hair

I don’t care





April 11, 2014

Dave’s Navel

Dave’s navel’s a cave in the mound of his belly.

It’s gloomy, it’s roomy, it’s damp and it’s smelly.

There’s no greater crater – it’s five inches wide,

And a whole host of creatures is lurking inside;

There are bugs, there are beetles, and fungi and mould,

And crumbs from Dave’s lunch that are fifty days old,

There are flakes of stale cake, there are forests of fluff,

And great jumbly jungles of junky-gunk stuff,

And if all of that wasn’t quite simply foul,

Every so often it gives a great growl.

So I really do wonder if anyone brave’ll

Take even a peek in Dave’s big cavey navel.

March 31, 2014

Too Early

This morning my feet walked off down the street

But my head just stayed in bed.

My legs went to school, and my toes in their shoes,

But my brain simply felt like a bit of a snooze,

And it gave a small yawn, as if to say

‘Thinking? Oh no! Forty winking today!’

Then it settled back down for a nice lengthy doze.

But that’s not unusual at all, I suppose,

As it’s really too early, as everyone knows.

Yes, my head just stayed in bed.

March 30, 2014

In the Night Kitchen (a poem)

A bit of a departure for this website, in that this poem is a) serious, b) for grown-ups and c) not in rhyme. But it seemed an appropriate one for Mother’s Day (here in the UK).


Sometimes, at night, I dance.

Dishcloth in hand, I glide across the kitchen floor,

One-two, one-two,

Serenading a saucepan

Flirting with a frying pan

Waltzing with a whisk.

In the bubbled air I twirl and prance.

And then I stop.

Outside the window it is dark, the only audience my reflection.

I return to the sink, and watch

As the music drains away.

March 28, 2014

Duck Chorus

Quick, quick, quick, join the quack, quack choir!

We’re quite a big quackaphony; the sound is simply dire.

We don’t tweet neatly, or thrill with our trills,

But we jive as we dive and we quiver all those quills.

So squeak with those beaks, beat the water with a wing,

Get your feathers all together and then lift your bills and sing.

We will take the lake by storm, and then set the world on fire,

So quick, quick, quick, join the quack, quack choir!

March 26, 2014

Viking Song

A tribute to the Vikings exhibition we saw today at the British Museum


The Vikings are striking! We’re not here for trading;

We’re raiding, invading your village!

We’ll stride through your fields with our helmets and shield

Then like brutes we’ll all plunder and pillage.

It may seem alarming, but really we’re charming;

Just look at our crafts – we’re artistic!

Although if a Viking is not to your liking

We can be a little sadistic.


March 24, 2014

Shark Attack

























March 21, 2014

Unrequited Love

We’ve only just met so you don’t love me yet,

But I’m sure that we’re going to get on.

We’ll spend ages in bed and then maybe we’ll wed

(I hope you won’t wish that I’m gone).

I’ll invade every cell and right there I will dwell,

Perhaps for the whole of this term.

So please say ‘I do’ to your suitor, the flu,

Signed, yours sincerely, your germ.


March 17, 2014

The Science of Snacks

Personally I can’t stand cheese (yes, I know I’m weird) and especially not cheesy  snacks, but today’s poem is for my good friends Clara Vulliamy, her daughter Martha, Polly Faber, and the rest of their cheese snack gang, who between them could probably win a Nobel prize in cheese snackery.

I’m testing which snacks are the cheesiest,

It really is most scientific,

And although it may not be the easiest,

This work is quite simply terrific.

It engages each neuron that’s up in my brain,

My studies will never be beaten!

Though sadly I do them again and again

Because somehow my tests all get eaten.


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