A Curious Orange-Gah

I appolgise in advance for this next post.

There will follow a temporary suspension of this blogs usual fixation with everything feathery, fluffy, charming, and cute.

Normal Niceness Service will be resumed forthwith, I promise.

This is a sort of anti-tribute to Mark E Smith of The Fall who died last week.
(Anti, because he was that way inclined)

A Curious-Ah Orange-GAH

I were a right crabby bastard me
Never took yes for an answer

The E in me name = sumwhere where the sun don’t shine.

I could rock a jumper like-ah no other-Err
Old git to cheeky imp to nasty fooker
With one swig of this bottle.

Don’t give me that phoney hero-worship-ah
I’m NOT having it
Any of it.

I spit in yer sanity
I knacker yer normal
I piss on yer raving reasonable-AH

Do I give a fook? Do I fook
I’m no bollock munching hypocritical shite

I made something of meself.
You didn’t have to like it
I never liked it. Liked like.
Better not to like me. Like me.

Go and grab sum other arseholes tits
I’m NOT fookin having it
Any of it.

I was an Odious-Ah


Now fook off!……the lot of yers…..

Leave me in, er, peace……. AAAAH!

Words & Vid Cut Up: Ian Nisbet

This Dimmest Day

This Amazing Day

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun’s birthday; this is the birth
day of life and love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

~ e.e. cummings

A well known poem from a well loved poet.
But did you know that Mr e.e. had a cousin? And that this cousin – Mr i.i. – was also a poet?
Not just a minor poet it seems. For a whole drawer of astonishing poems by i.i. cum. minge has been recently discovered.
And nearly all of i.i.’s poems bear a striking resemblance to e.e’s.
It appears that i.i.’s poems were written several years earlier than his more illustrious younger cousins.
This has prompted many learned critics to speculate that the poems originally attributed to e.e. might in fact be copies of cousin i.i.’s poems.
Several critics have even suggested that e.e. may have plagiarized i.i.’s work as a result of a fatal family vendetta.
It’s now possible to compare and contrast every poem e.e. supposedly ‘wrote’ to see to what extent they are a complete rip off of poor cousin i.i.’s oeuvre.
Read the poem below ‘This Dimmest Day’ and see if you can detect any striking similarities with the poem above (‘This Amazing Day’)

This Dimmest Day

i damn You Bob for most this dimmest
day: for the bleaking meanly friggits of freeze
and a grim skin squint of sky; and for every fing
er which is numbed which is inwithered grotesque

(i who have flued am i rate again today
and this is the slums serfday; this is the dirth
day of strife and strewth and curse; and of the grey
ache snapping unbareabearably worst)

how should moaning groaning woeing whining
behinding any shitted from below
of bald noggin-moron merely breeding
louts clout unincredibly You?

(now the bits of my balls break and
now the knots of my nuts are broken)

– i.i. cum. minge

It is uncannily like ‘This Amazing Day’ is it not?
And I’m sure you would also agree that ‘This Dimmest Day’ is by far the superior version of the two.
Hopefully, one day soon, Mr i.i. cum. minge will get the long overdue recognition and respect he undoubtedly deserves.

Poem: Ian Nisbet

Beside the Seaside

By the seaside edit.JPG

Oh!….. I do like to be to beside the seaside
Oh!……I do like to be beside the sea
Where the gulls snatch your food
And the sailor boys are rude
Your sandwiches get chewed
Yet it gets me in the mood
As the Brass band plays…Tiddly on pom Pom
Oh!… I do love to be beside the seaside
Oh! …I do love to be beside the Sea!!

Words & Drawing: Hazel Brown

Woody v Dovey

Woodie and dove edit

Illustration: Hazel Brown

I am a Wood Pigeon                                                              I am a Collared Dove
I am usually much bigger than him                                  I am a bit smaller than him
In this picture I have been misrepresen                        (Hee Hee Hee!)
ted by the drawer
In other words, she (H Brown) has cut                            I might be smaller but I can
me too much down to size                                                  box your ears mate!

You will hear me                                                                  You will hear me
Outside your window                                                         Outside your window
All summer long                                                                 All summer long
I will probably drive you bonkers                                  I will definitely get on your tits
With my incessant drone                                               With my insistent coo-coo-coo

What I am saying is                                                            What I am telling you is
“My name is Freddy”                                                              “I’m-hun-gry”
“My name is Freddy”                                                              “I’m-hun-gry”
“My name is Freddy”                                                              “I’m-hun-gry”

We go on and on and on and on                                    and on and on and on
Droning on                                                                         Droning on
Sorry about that                                                                I sincerely apologise I really do
I simply can’t stop it                                                       I really can’t help it
Because I’m trying to                                                     Because I’m wanting to
Drown the other bugger out                                           Drown the other bugger out
By boring him to death                                                     By boring him to death

If he would stop                                                                 If he would pack it in
And go away                                                                          And fly back to his wood
I’d leave you sleepy people in peace                             I’d shut my cakehole

But instead we are locked in                                             Interminably in
This stalemate                                                                      This stand-off
And I will continue                                                             And I will persist
To state my case                                                                  To assert my right
To perch here                                                                       To squat here

Droning on and on and on                                                and on and on and on

“My NAME is Freddy”                                                     “You-AIR-head’
“A loud Wood-PIGEON”                                                  “YOU!-fred-head”
“My name is FREDDY!”                                                    “You-ARE!-dead”
“I’m DULL! and deadly”                                                 “You-are-DEAD!”
“My NAME! is FREDDY!”                                               “You’re-DEAD!-fred”
“My name is FREDDY!!”                                                “You’re-DEAD!-FRED!!’

To be continued….verbatim……                                 the same old…. same o….
ad infinitum……..                                                             ….. endlessly…..
ceaselessly……                                                                    ….. incessantly……
pesteringly….                                                                     …… unquestioningly…..
mo  not   on   ous   ly…….                                                   mo   not   on   ous   ly……

                                              Till someone loads that gun!

Words: Ian Nisbet

…… Bimbling …….

Bimbling is a state of being not applicable

to hecticoffices   frownyvisages  franticpassages   squeakyorifices nervyrushages   panickypushages    pointlessstoppages   shoutysnappages  headlessflappages

To bimble

…….is to flow…..

as to …..go with….. as to…. be with……

(whatever) (whenever) (wherever) (however)

…….without alarm…….

…be a model of modicum……



To bimble is to have a noddy head on……..

Bimbling tunes in your inner whistler…….

When you bimble you make friends with your teapot…..

A Bimbler is always flippin crumpets out of the toaster…..

You pat your own head and rub your own belly with bimble ease……

To bimble is to spread butter on all the dreary dry places……

To bimble is to pull silly faces…….

A Boogie Bimbler rocks – in shiny latex slipper socks……

To bimble is to not mind what might, or might not, happen next…….

To bimble is to be happy enough to be going along like……….this………………

To bimble is …….

…….to always be dreaming of jam sandwiches…….

Written by Ian Nisbet

Spot The Shag

Various interested parties – including us – were out all Sunday afternoon scouring the length and breadth of Torbay: for any sign of a shag.

There was a shag search party up on Berry head.

Berry head figures

These boats in the bay were all searching for shags too.

Sail boats on the Bay

Could a shag have lodged itself up in one of these pines perhaps?

Marine Pines

I mean, funnier things have happened.

If you can detect anything that remotely resembles a shag in the above pictures could you indicate by means of a cross their exact location.

Then please forward your form (with a £5 submission fee) to : Mr Watnit, c/o Spot The Shag Competition, North, North-West of Thatcher Rock, nr end of Torquay Pier.

Mr Watnit really needs to know. Where the elusive shag might be. Or if it even exists. He has his doubts. Thank you.

Mischievous Messages

Here is the message I put in my bottle. It’s meant to be a bit cryptic (the vodka bottle its sloshing about in gives the game away really)

Message in a bottle edit

Haze wrote this version out for me. My less lovelier copy is in the bottle. And here is my typed version

I was Alive once

I lived the life of a

I saw how ± could be overcome by Қ

I kissed foamy Ͽ from the mouth of a Ố

I caressed Ộ out of Ѽ with my velveteen tongue

I tasted the sweet nectar of slippery ѯ Goddesses

I sauced the secret § inside a bottle blonde Angel

I tipsied and tippled upon the Ỷ of her Tiddly

I corked Ŭ and Ế with dipsy dark ČĉĉČ

I lashed and monstered a row of 12 ÅÅ

I ≈≈≈ upon a rosy glowed bevy of Θ

In high spirits I communed with a skinful of ∫ ŠŞ∫

I heard occasional ♪ interspersed with ≈ silences

I experienced Ѽ torrents of white brilliant ecstasy

I was sometimes abashed but never a Щ Ƹ

I felt often amused and rarely !!

I made amends in lieu of ⱶⱵⱵⱵⱶ

I knew every ₸ of every Ԏ in the kingdom

I understood that to be Ấ is to become λ

I realised I could never thread the Ĭ through the Ń

In minutiae I marvelled, in great Ⱳ I gasped, and fell φ ing

I wished for ζ but got ₪ instead

I sought Solace instead of ¥ Surrender rather than Ҩ

I stayed true to my ∞ remained ∆ and speechless

I loved } ± Ѽ ± { dearly

When I, finally, lost my Ĩ I totally went ₲ Ấ Ğ Ä

And now I am here ŘїїÞ

No more •

To φick up the ₱ieces

Read the Яunes Ұ

Mix the Мєέessages

Sea the ŚĬĞ₦š

Make the MischiҼҾҿ f

Unfortunately we didn’t make a copy of the message – and 2 little sketches – Haze put in her bottle. But anybody who rescues either of these bottles from oblivion and lets us know who, and where, they are – will be rewarded with a Devon cream tea!