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?

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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:

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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:

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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!

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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.

Mippery doodah!

When I first set up this blog, I got what has to be the cutest word-verification ever. Mipper. Myself and Squeaky were quite taken with this word, and the little furry creatures it speaks to us of, so I have written a pome to introduce the world to these wonderful creatures. They'll probably end up in a book of mine one day, so get yer mippers 'ere before they get all famous an' shiz!

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Mippers have very funny wee faces
They fit into all the smallest spaces
They're short and green
And ever so keen
On chocolate and strawberry laces

Mippers are also rather brave
They've foiled many a rascally knave
With their little hands
And marching bands
The whole world they will save!

But when they're not out saving us all
They can be found by the fire tall
Warm and toasty
Happy and frowsty
All curled up in a furry ball


(For Squeaky, in the hope that Ms PMS is beaten by the brave wee mippers.)



Now Drinking: Clearspring Hojishu Roasted Green Tea, and very nice it is too. None of the cheap crap in this mug, thankee.

Thurbulent Thursday Thingymajigs

Couple of short ones today, the first of which is about my good friend Roger's cat and, well, it's fairly self-explanatory really:

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There once was a rather large cat
And upon Roger Leese he sat
After a very large meal
This was quite a big deal
So the cat had to sit on the mat



Second one is something I wrote off the the top of my head while Roger and I were talking about Dr Who, which we do rather a lot, especially the legendary episodes, such as Blink. Other legendary episodes include pretty much any one with Daleks in, although those aren't in the pome, as very little rhymes with Dalek. Except Star Trek and Desmond Dekker's wonderful song It Mek. That said, that'd be one hell of a pome.

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Dr Who can be very scary
Of the weeping angels I'm still wary
David Tennant is gone
But we've got a new one
Who looks like Hairy McClairy*



*Apologies to Matt Smith and/or Hairy McClairy, depending on who you feel that's an insult to.


Now Drinking: Heath and Heather's Organic Echinacea, which cures a multitude of ills.

Squeak Attack!

Carrying on from Lord Laurie of Pink, here's a little ode to the lovely Squeaky, another of the many people I've been talking to on Twitter lately. She's also my first official follower on here, which makes her Special, and Deserving of a Pome. She says she's never had a pome before, (which I think is disgraceful) so this proves that there is indeed a first time for everything, including pome-induced warm fuzzies! Hurrah!

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Squeak Attack!


Squeakers is a cracking lass,
She's never short of class.
She squeaks and squeaks,
And geeks and geeks,
To Squeaks I'll raise my ale glass!

For Squeaks is funny,
Her outlook's sunny,
And she loves teh spideygeekyness.

This alone makes her the best,
Distinguishes her from all the rest
It also makes, which is rather sneaky,
The lovely Lassy Squeaky!




Now Drinking: Heath and Heather's Morning Time, even though it's nearly midday.

The Lord Laurie of Pink!

Here's something I wrote a little while ago for the wonderful Laurie Pink, her most excellent missus Sj and their whippet Mr Robert Smith, for whom all adjectives are sadly insufficient. I suppose it helps if you have a vague notion of what the three aforementioned ne'er-do-wells get up to, but if you've not got the foggiest who they are and you read this anyway, please let me know how much sense it doesn't make.

Drum roll PLEASE.

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Lord Laurie of Pink & Lady Essers Fair


Lord Laurie rules in Monkeyland
With her Lady Essers Fair
The rebels she doth keep in hand
She even dyes her hair

For theirs is a colourful, joyous land
Where each monkey has a jumper
And on the lawn there plays a brass band
Wondering what rhymes with jumper

There is a funky doggie too
His name is Mistah Smith
He wears legwarmers as nice warm scarves
And the other dogs take the pith

But Smith cares not, and why would he?
He’s Mistah Smith of Pink
He does trumps of love you cannot see
But you’ll know them by the stink

Shiny New Nonsensical Stuff

Hello!

If you're reading this, you've probably seen me being silly on Twitter and won't be surprised to learn this is more of the same. If you're one of the very few people I know offline who will be given this URL, you're probably not surprised either, and you should feel privileged. If you've just wandered in by accident and have no idea who I am, here's a quick rundown:

• I go by many names, but my name here shall be Tea Queen.
• I drink more tea in the average day than most people will ingest in a lifetime, and my current beverage of choice is TickTock's Green Redbush with a dash of Waitrose Essentials lemon juice.
• I am more than a little bit geeky, especially about spiders.
• I used to play the violin, but my teacher moved to Leeds without telling me. Bitch.
• I am what is sometimes referred to as a 'metalhead'. This means I like listening to very loud music, arguing with other metalheads about various aspects of the genre, whinging about festival lineups then going to said festivals anyway, and getting weepy over Iron Maiden singalong memories.
• I live for the summer festival season, which involves getting very drunk and sociable in various fields, and not washing for nearly a week at a time.

I also write very silly pomes about people. Generally people I know, but that could change if money and/or decent ale changes hands. For the uninitiated, a pome is a poem that's had the pretentious two-syllable crap beaten out of it, so let's try one for t'new blog shall we?


Blogs are funny squiffy things
They run me round in rings
I said I'd never have my own
But alas! I should've known!

That blogs are sneaky cunning sods
(A bit like Laurie Pink)
On and on my brain she plods
And ne'er did I think

That one day I'd need a nice wee space
To put my silly pomes
Now watch me do my serious face
And ignore the dancing gnomes

For I have a Dalek notebook
And a spiffy pinky pen
So why not take a sneaky look
At a pome or ten?