To resurrect or not to resurrect...

... that is the question. I now have a surfeit of magnificent people in my life who are very much Deserving of Pomes, so it may have to be done. This is mainly because I've taken up Roller Derby, meaning it, and the wonderful rollergirls I now skate with, have completely taken over my life.

Roller derby, roller derby,
How ever did this come to be?
I came along to induction day,
Had no idea what to say.

Now I'm a Birmingham Blitz Dame,
My life will never be the same,
And I wouldn't have it, I have to say,
Any other bloody way!


Now drinking: White wine. There'sh a big shurprishe. HIC.

Squeezleweasels and other things.

So, I've been feeling better. A lot better. For the first time since 2008. And much as I love online things such as this 'ere blog, I've been rather giddy over feeling better, and very busy as a result. But ne'er fear! The lovely Squeakles hath requested a pome about Squeezleweasels, a wonderful animal that exists purely for cuddles. Here goes, drumroll please!




I said DRUMROLL PLEASE.



Oh sod it. Y'can't get t'drummers these days. Imagine there was a drumroll, k?


___________________________


The Squeezleweasels

Squeezleweasels are fat and furry,
And warm, and nice, and rather squirmy.
But when they sit still long enough,
They turn into a ball of fluff.

Then it becomes extremely clear,
Why I hold them quite so dear:
They're perfect for a sneaky cuddle
When my mind is all a-muddle.

They also like extended snuggles,
(Even with us mere muggles)
For Squeezleweasels are kind like that,
And far less aloof than the average cat.

What, of course, I'm trying to say,
Is that Squeezleweasels rule the day;
They're squishy and squashy and hugabubbubble,
So get ye yer own for one hell of a cuddle!



Now drinking: White wine. And very lovely it ish too. *hic*

DRUNKEN POME!

Oh yes, my faithful following, teh Tea Queen is drunk. This is momentous because I've been ill for the best part of 18 months, and haven't been able to touch alcohol for most of that time. So here it is! I warn you, this pome has not actually been written in advance, it's just going to be whatever comes out of my tiddly mind. Ready?

_____________________


I am a little bit drunk
It's better than being a monk
I'll have a drink
As I should don't you think?
Before I'm completely sunk.


Let's try again, shall we? I currently have a million and one pomes running through my head that involve boobs, so I shall try to keep it clean.


Dennis is a really good mate
He keeps me out until late
We get very drunk
'Cause who would thunk
The Irish with drink you could sate?


And that's all from me tonight. I shall away to Twitter to discuss my apparently upcoming marriage to Alex.




See? Told you I was drunk. Although I do love Alex muchly.


Now Drinking: Irish Knights. Available in ASDA for all of £3 a bottle. It's technically a ripoff of Baileys, but is actually far superior to Baileys on so many levels it's unreal. *quaffs*

Violet the Noodle-Warrior Part I

There are two things I haven't really explained thus far. One is how I started writing pomes, the other is why this blog is such a luvverly shade of poiple, and they're both to do with Miss Violet, Noodle-Warrior extraordinare. The full story will have to be for another time (bed doth a-call), but she started it all by inspiring me to write this pome, which will be the first of many about my fearless little Noodle-Warrior:

___________________


Violet is a noodle-warrior,
Fiercest of her kind.
Nothing can faze or worry ‘er,
‘Least nothing I can find.

For none can stand before her,
As she wields her awesome noodle.
“Stand an’ fight, ye filthy cur!”
She screams to a fleeing poodle.

Oh Violet, Violet; mighty, mighty, Violet,
Prone not least to comedic violence;
No more fearsome flower have I e’er met!
And thus I must get away and hence -

‘Afore I shits meself!



Now Drinking: Heath and Heather Chamomile and Spearmint, because it's THAT time of night, when I do battle with the Dreadlord Insomnia. Toodles.

The Benns!

If you don't know who Mitch Benn, his wonderful wife Clara, and their two daughters Greta and Astrid (who doesn't have her own Twitter yet, but give it time) are, then you really should click those links. Now, the Benn ladies have been somewhat poorly of late, so today's pome is for them:

________________


Clara, Greta and Astrid are sick
Now don't you dareth take the mick
Because Astrid has a chest infection
(Try saying that without inflection)

Mitch the B is away for the night
And he very much hopes the girls are alright
I hope so as well
'Cause the Benn girls are swell

So get well again soon if you please!


(You heard me; get yerselves better!)





Now Drinking: Birt and Tang's Ginger concoction, which is a bit spicy and rather lovely.

MIPPER!

This isn't a pome, but it's still very cool. The wonderful Laurie Pink has drawn a Mipper, and HOW cute is the little guy? I feel a lot more pomes about Mippers coming on...







Now Drinking: The dregs of my Heath and Heather Morning Time, because I couldn't be arsed to go and get another cup of tea. I can now though.

Lord Lewis of the McStompy Clan

As is now fairly common knowledge in the corner of Twitter that I inhabit, the lovely Stompy's hound, Lord Lewis, has recently come back from the vet bereft of something. Two somethings, to be precise. So in the spirit of helping Sir Lewis through his post-op pain, he (and Stompy) are the subject(s) of today's pome. Here we go!

_______________________


Lord Lewis is feeling a bit ill
Of vets he's quite had his fill
He's missing his balls
And for them he calls
Bereft on the windowsill

For one day he hopes that they might
Come back to him late in the night
He's certain he's right
But of them there's no sight
Those awful recalcitrant balls!

But til they come back he's got Stomps
And with her on the sofa he romps
It's cuddles galore
And his spirits they soar
For what dog could worry about balls
When the wee Lady Stompy, she calls?


(Hope the wee lad feels better soon, Stomps!)




Now Drinking: Heather and Heather's Organic Chamomile and Spearmint. F.T.W.