Category Archives: Regret

Who can get by without a phone these days? Well, if you have your phone insured, the loss is borne by them. That’s the bottom line…

Don’t Call Us.

When your iPhone takes a swim
Chances of it working are pretty slim,
Water sure does take its toll
On an Apple bobbing in the bowl.

The insurance company took the call,
They heard the story of your iPhones fall,
Though insurance is so damned expensive
It sure do pay off when it’s comprehensive.

The cheque for a replacement is in the mail,
Ah, but hold on, this isn’t the end of this tale;
Your tenure with the new Samsung was all too brief
Due to the gall of some light-fingered French thief.

The insurance company took the call, again,
Second time around the loss was easier to explain,
The first one might have taken quite the while
But this time the details were fresh on file.

Then came another whirlwind dash to the continent
Where crashing to the terrazzo the Samsung went,
Another call is made on a phone that’s literally cracking up;
My, aren’t the numbers on these new phones backing up?

Another cheque arrives, with a covering letter
Advising one to look after ones new phone better,
With thanks for making full use of your comprehensive claim
But asking you to please- please not renew it, if its all the same.


Another morning of waking up with that dawning feeling you did something last night you now regret. (Thanks for the invite, Mike.)

No Body Likes A Lycanthrope.

What’s a poor werewolf to do
When his world and the moon turns blue?
As in this mind the lunacy surges
And the brain is beset by unsavoury urges?

I can’t help but prowl the night
And hope my bark’s worse than my bite,
But to my nature I’ve been true
And clearly bitten off more than I can chew.

This rare blood moon has ramped up my compulsion
And ‘neath its light I’m filled with revulsion,
When it comes to regrets, quite Frankly, I have a few,
Its an issue, like this leg tissue, I’m working through

If I’m ever caught I’ll be Wormwoods bound
Or perhaps, more humanly, the Battersea pound?
My beastly hair-raising episodes I do deeply rue
So I’m keep ’em tightly leashed for a week -or two.

Bitten by the riding bug again, for some reason. If you can’t dream, eh?

Firing Up In The Classic Manner.

The Promise.

I’m enamoured by most motorcycles I must profess,
There’s a plethora of eastern promises I’ve come to posses,
But I have lived long with one overriding regret,
That’s that I’ve never owned a classic Velocette.

But now, thanks to a late great Uncles largesse
I can turn my wife’s ‘no way’ to a reluctant ‘yes,’
Soon as I heard the word I sat down with smile set
And my fingers fairly danced as I hit the Internet.

Not for me a malleable mildly tuned inoffensive MSS,
No, I yearned for the fabled Thruxton, nothing less,
But I was to be seduced by a tarted up Vixen, and no debt,
She possessed the fine lines and promise of the true coquette.

The Arrival.

In my garage she’s sat, submitting to my caress,
A twist of the throttle, her kick start I gently press,
A backfire, a belch of flame and my bellowing epithet
Sounded as the kick start hit my calf like a curette.

… My thanks to those Hall Green designers I duly express
For their crankily geared starter only slowed my progress,
If my mild criticisms cause those old buffers some upset
When it comes to your clutch, how crazy could you get?

The Reality.

The old dear’s propped up, oil dripping, in its own mess,
Her starting procedure and clutch adjustment- anyone’s guess,
My once bewitchin’ now forlorn Vixen leaves me in a cold sweat
But my long-standing limp IS making her impossible to forget.

© Obbverse.Com

Back to the land of the ice and snow, Where there’s sod all sun and the cold winds blow. (Apologies to Led Zeppelin and the Immigrant Song.)

Home And Away.

Oh, to be back in the sceptred isle on a sepulchral January day,
No, there’s no place like home the old folks unfailingly say,
The rain paints the streets a shade of an all too familiar grey,
Hmm, whatever possessed me to go rather than jolly well stay?

Now I’m thinking of MY home as I trudge through the spray,
Where the rain gently but rarely falls on the sun crazed clay,
That welcoming sun’s calling me back, and no more will I stray,
I’m going home, getting my old Spurs scarf and giving it away.

January, and the cold and inhospitable month brings yet another bitter blow.

Melancholy Mood.

We say farewell to Dolores and her life too short,
It seems even when life looks good it can end all too badly,

Who knows what adversity and perverse Demons she fought
Trying to keep herself together in a world that’s spinning madly?

Today I’ll sit, spin a CD and pray she found the peace she long sought
And listen as a pure unbroken voice lingers ethereally, eternally, sadly.

Aloha from beautiful Hawaii, its a quiet peaceful morning. So why would my cell be sending me a warning..?

38 Minutes Later.

‘Dear citizens of Hawaii, I’m appealing for calm,
The incoming missile alert has proved a false alarm,
There is no need to panic or evacuate the town,
We’ve downgraded from Code Red to Code Brown.’