Delaying the Inevitable

For as long as he could remember, Paul had wanted to travel; to see new sights, to push boundaries, to explore. Don’t get me wrong, he loved his family, he liked his home, but he couldn’t help but feel there was so much more to see out there, far away across the ocean. Life can get a bit repetitive for an Adélie penguin. Waddling down to the water, having a quick snack of krill, waddling back up onto the ice floe. Day in, day out. The same routine. No surprises, no drama, no excitement. Sometimes, at night, while his friends and family were huddled together for warmth, he’d make his way up to the higher ground, and stare at the moon and Southern lights. Occasionally, he’d see shooting stars arcing silently across the sky, and he would look down at his short, stubby wings, and flap them about a bit. “If only I could fly” he thought “the things I could see, the places I could go”. Every now and then, the colony would get a visit from humans. Dressed head to toe in survival gear,

Special Care Sam do you remember all   your time in Special Care? Would you recognise the  voices of  the nurses working there? Would  you  recognise  a   photo from  your first night in that place -  a   tiny  mass  of wires in   a   huge clear  p lastic case ? Do you have a distant  memory of   that frantic afternoon -  when  you put in an appearance nearly  fourteen weeks too soon? And  Sam do you remember when  I came to visit you?  Your  proud  but  frightened  sister I just didn’t have a clue. “When will his eyes be open?” and  “W hat’s that beeping noise ?” “When will  my baby brother get  to play with baby toys?” Sam, you won’t remember how  I thought I was to blame when  Mum and Dad were crying while  deciding on your name. They answered all my questions but  they had some of their own When  would  they get to hold you? Would they ever get you home? W hen times were tough they  thought  of  all  the love they

Memory Foam Paler patches where pictures used to hang, compacted carpet, footprints slowly fade. Silence fills the rooms where once she'd sang and weeds reclaim the grass on which kids played. The mattress on the bed is memory foam - he hopes that it will still retain her form; but bricks and wood no longer make a home - this house will never get to be so warm. So here he is, he's lying on his side with arms outstretched across the empty space - he never thought the bed could feel so wide without the promise of her love's embrace. With life so short, our time ticks by so fast - how long can our impressions truly last

*POLITICAL RANT KLAXON* So, we heard today that the Crown Prosecution Service won't pursue cases against Conservative MPs accused of electoral fraud. The "accounting errors" were made by Tory HQ not individual candidates or their election agents. It's the electoral fraud equivalent of letting off two shoplifters who claimed they both thought the other one paid.  There's a fair amount of anger about it, but I think getting them on this would be like when they got Al Capone on Tax Evasion charges. I'd argue the dishonesty of these "accounting errors" pale into insignificance compared to the dishonesty of their campaign in general. Is claiming election funding was national as opposed to local as serious as any of their other false claims? Claiming to represent working Britain when only the rich are getting richer (1,2)  Claiming to represent the interests of the UK while incompetently wrecking them for short term political gain (3)

Ears flapping in the breeze; tongue  out, tasting the fresh air rushing through the window crack. The excitement of the journey. Don’t tell him we’re going to the vets; let  him enjoy the pure thrill of just going. Until the reality of the destination dawns. Just like growing up.

Life is a series of choices. Big ones, little ones, clear-cut ones, difficult ones, ones that creep up on you without you realizing you’re making them. We’re all constrained by a finite amount of time, money and energy, and what we choose to do with them reflects our priorities. Should I apply for that job? Should I move? Should we have kids? Should I go for a run? Should I sit on the sofa with a double pack of Jaffa cakes watching World's Scariest Police Chases? Who should I vote for? We choose our representatives in parliament, and government makes choices on our behalf. With the finite amount of money and time they have, governments’ funding and policies have to reflect their priorities. Do you, for example, prioritise a multi-billion pound nuclear missile system designed to vaporize hundreds of thousands of people in nanoseconds, or do you prioritise something less explosive like health and social care? If you lead a party, you need to convince the electorate that you

We planted the flag, but it didn’t grow Oh no! Let’s find something different to sow We’ll pull up the drawbridge, we’ll turn off the lights We’ll round them all up and we’ll read them their rights We’ll build a huge wall, and we’ll get them to pay (But if they say no, we’ll push on anyway) We’ll strengthen the army, campaigns will be planned (For ease we’ll find foes that are closer to hand) And when that’s all done, we all should unite One country, together, to fight the good fight

A heart warming tale for children of all ages: Bobby was an idealistic little bee. He spent his days buzzing around the meadows, bringing back pollen for the hive. It was exhausting and dangerous work. And he thought to himself “Why do some bees do all the hard work, putting their bee-lives on the bee-line all day, while others get the prime spots in the hive just because of inherited privilege?” The bee rulers said to the bee workers “Aren’t we lucky to have our hive close to the sunny meadow with plenty of flowers? Aren’t we lucky, because some bees have nothing?” And while other bees felt happy with their situation, Bobby knew that this was just a distraction, a con-trick to make the workers grateful for the basic shelter and sustenance they needed to survive whilst the rulers hoarded obscene quantities of honey, enriching themselves at the expense of the masses. So Bobby started to protest, he handed out bee-leaflets, he held up bee-placards, he wrote bee-protest songs.

*sighs* *shakes head* *tuts* *sighs some more* *drinks* *tuts louder* *writes a sonnet* Riding the Tiger In our world of post-truth, with wool over our eyes we should all go and see if the land truly lies. "Debates" are a shit-show; the "experts" are stumped, there's no place for fact-checking, when facts can be Trumped Government's clogged: nothing's passing its Khyber - it's diet is lacking enough moral fibre. So how will we get their position to shift to one where a right is a right not a gift? Where all life is sacred, not just life in the womb Where those fleeing warzones aren't told "NO MORE ROOM" Where spiritual leaders can give their hot take on social injustice, not just words on a cake. Because if we can't, if it all is in vain, We'll have forgotten the lessons of "Never again"

So, it's Burn's night. I've always felt a particular affinity with the Scottish people, mainly because I really really like fried food. I also like Haggis, as documented in this poem: Address to Haggises In General Haggis is such a tasty treat For connoisseurs of oddball meat Scottish folk are always pining For offal served in stomach lining Haggis that’s grilled, haggis fondue Haggis en croute, haggis in stew Haggis deep fried, Haggis dry roasted Haggis concasse, Haggis that’s toasted Haggis tempura, Haggis by Heston Haggis with extra assorted intestine Haggis that’s stuffed with Haggis rilettes Haggis paninis and Haggis baguettes It’s true that if I had my way I’d eat some haggis every day 

It’s December 2016. We’re in the Labour Suite of the Infirmary. A home away from home – your brothers were born here, and your Mum and Dad work here. It’s been a bad few months – in which governments encouraged us to clamber over each other to escape this fucking dumpster-fire of a year, only pausing to turn back briefly to blame the charred corpses for getting in the way. But now you’re here. The light at the end of the tunnel. What kind of a life have we brought you into? No wonder you came out screaming. Which idiots decided now would be a good time to bring you into the world? One that’s so far off the rails we’re starting to forget what the rails looked like? “Forget about the rails” they tell us, “Rails never really existed”. Maybe it’s because we think that you, in your own way, could make the world a slightly better place? I hope that’s true – that you become one of those people who put in more than you take out, in whichever way makes you happiest. But most of all I h

*SHAMELESS BOOK PLUG KLAXON* So, I've got a new book out, and it's probably the best book about an anthropomorphic wasp who is also Health and Safety Officer. At least it's in the top 3.  Info is here:  https://www.facebook.com/WhyworryWilliamWasp Anyway, in the spirit of Health and Safety, thought I'd better put up some Health and Safety advice for new parents. Because you just can't be too careful: Do not feed babies baby potatoes: I saw a Mum and told her she should wait until he’s older For BabyBel, the same applies (they’re really not a proper size) Do not shower babies in a baby shower: I saw a Mum and told her she should just use soap and water                 But if she insists, I’ll tell her “Try                 to have a plumber on standby” DO NOT ALLOW YOUR BABY TO HAVE BABY BOOMERS I saw a Mum and told her they would make a giant crater (It’s one of our directives to keep babies from explosives) BE CAREFUL W