Category Archives: Regret

Hi ho, hi ho, where did my three week holiday go? New years resolutions are already taking a battering. (Part four of Hi ho, hi ho.)

Bouncing Back.

Well, I survived my first crazy week back at work
Even though my jerk of a boss drove me berserk.

By Friday I was creeping toward the edge of sanity,
Scarcely able to control my temper, or my profanity.

After my three-week Zen retreat, let’s say, diplomatically
That prat Rich has been acting like a complete prize… dickily.

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So much for Hi Ho, off to work we joyously go… Guess I’ve got them post-holiday blues.

Workaday.

Oh, yes, it’s back to work I’ve gone,
Here I am, sat upon my sit-upon,

Gazing blankly at a blinking screen
Brooding on the good days just been,

Looking out at a bright bright sunshiny day
Thinking darkly ‘Christmas is 333 days away.’

Hi ho, hi ho, oh no! It’s off to work we go. Oh, woe is me.

No Holiday Camp.

Tomorrow is the day of reckoning,
The joy of gainful employment is beckoning.

Say, for another year
‘I’m happy to be here.’

After my holidays my joyous job holds no allure,
From vacation to vocation, it’s my job to endure.

Not much help, being a blubber-mouth when a strong voice is required. Words can fail me sometimes, but my family never does.

In My Eye.

I sat misty eyed all through the eulogy,
Fine words heard makes it hard to see,
When my daughter rose I went to her side,
To stand strong, some comfort to provide.

If she faltered with her words I’d said
I’d take on the recitation in her stead,
But when I stood forth, as if to speak
Well, damn my eyes, they began to leak.

I had said I would speak up without a quaver
But on looking down the words began to waver,
So I stood by, mournfully manfully staunching my eye,
Ah, but my daughter spoke far more eloquently than I.

Premier league football post from a beleaguered Crystal Palace fan. Every week I hope for better things…

About Time.

Today we would see the Eagles soar,
We’d see off the bores from Turf Moor,
We tested Burnly’s Hart with shot after shot-
Poor old Joe must look like a pepper pot.

Such an unusual sight for the fans in the stands,
To see our Keeper clapping to warm his hands,
Finally McArthur lobbed in a wobbly cross,
His far post lucky bounce begins the Burnley loss.

This was to be the first of Palaces winning brace,
Owing less to McArthur skill than Divine grace,
Yes, our Palace sharpshooters would bumble in two-
But shoot twenty-odd times, odds are you score a few.

Then late late on Townsend shot from long range
And it didn’t fly up to the Heavens- for a change,
Now, manager Hodgsons nous is hard to refute,
With two minutes to go Sorloths out of his track suit.

Sloth ain’t out there for his silky skills or deft touch-
He’s not impressed on either front there overmuch,
Not Hodgson nor I expect Lex to score a goal sublime,
Sorloth’s on to prove- once again- he’s a waste of time.

Christmas is coming- Jeez, already!- and all the sweet (and savvy) kids have sent their wants and needs to North Pole Enterprises. Lets see what apps- what ‘appens?

Off The Xmas List.

Would this long jolly December day never end?
All this kid craved was for the blessed night to fall,
I watched in impatience for the sun to descend-
How I’d like to get my hands on that clock on the wall.

Finally in the wee wee hours of Christmas eve
I hopefully strung up my XXL size Christmas stocking,
Murmuring ‘Santa please  don’t practice to deceive,’
After last year my once-solid faith in Him was rocking.

I lay abed replaying my plan of when Santa would descend;
No more milk and cookies left for when He deigned to call,
Now its eggnog, Christmas spirit, Bells 80 proof, special blend,
This kid is not above greasing the skids to get a decent haul.

Come Christmas morning and what did I receive?
From the mantle fluttered my stocking, empty, mocking,
It hurts to find your faith is based on make believe-
No more lists to Santa, that fat bastard I’m Facebook blocking.

I love to watch the Premier League football, I follow Crystal Palace… Yes, I know, I must be deluded… Today, I am beyond it though. (A cry of anger and frustration.)

Thor Point.

I’ve been sorely tried to hold Palace in high regard,
And yes, it’s been a tough week for the Palace guard,
This week Spurs stole the sole goal, given half a yard;
If only our half-hearted offense would try half as hard.

For another week we hear old Roy’s comments-
Yet more talk of tough luck, bad calls, sad laments,
Good old Roy has a lifetime of wisdom to dispense
But this eternal optimist is running out of patience.

Today saw Wilfred Zaha appear amongst the suits,
He’d put his feet up , but not put on the boots,
Wiv Wilf out of the game it’s down to Roy’s recruits-
From the back of the class up Sorloths hand shoots.

Yes, today would be Alexanders lucky day,
Good old Roy reluctantly let ‘Lex out to play,
And as luck would have it the ball came his way
But alas, lead-foot ‘Lex also has feet of clay.

Glory beckoned for Scandinavia’s best,
For with an eagle eye our Norseman’s been blessed,
He shot unerringly- straight at the ‘keepers chest!
I near had conniptions, Roy near a cardiac arrest.

Whey-faced Roy feels in his chest the knife slowly twist,
Roy, your choice is is cut ‘Lex loose, or cut your wrist;
Now Sloth’s hot off the bench, and on to the transfer list,
His missed shot at Spurs guarantees he’ll not be missed.