I eat spiders

Well actually, no I don’t
I said that so that you might read
This story about a pig
A hopeful pig, a strong-willed pig,
A pig who’s life’s an adventure
It’s quite a story but it needed
A snappy, catchy title.

So, one day Barry
(‘Twas piggy’s name)
Was walking slow he tarry
Once again along the way towards the butcher’s door
Come on you dolt said other pigs
Hurry up you loser
If you’re last you may not get
The bacon they said was here.


* No, dear reader, I wasn’t drunk when I wrote this but I was sleep-deprived. I wrote it early one morning in the dark and I only just found it again. Poem? Saga? Crazy? Brilliant? All of the above? I have no idea what is going on here. At all.



The attack of the goatst!

One day, many centuries ago, an evil goat died. This goat was not allowed into heaven and so had to spend the rest of its life scaring the children of the town he was a ghost in because now he was a ghost!



One day, the goatst came across a lizard in a lunch box. ‘Pardon me,’ said the lizard, ‘but are you a goat or a ghost?’
‘I am both. I am a goatst.’
‘Don’t you mean a ghoast?’
‘I don’t know,’ said the goatst, ‘because there’s not exactly a precedent here.’
‘Don’t you, mean precedence?’ asked the increasingly annoying lizard.
‘Hey, who are you, the president of precedence?’ snapped the increasingly annoyed goatst.
‘Ooh, I like what you did there!’ said the lizard.
‘Shuddup,’ said the goatst, ‘or I will start a new precedent of beating the snot out of you.’
Then the goatst toddled along, until he met a snake.
‘Hi, I’m like the lizard,’ said the snake, ‘only I have less legs and I smell like Barry Manilow’s auntie.’
‘Not interested,’ said goatst, and he hopped along the path.
Next he met a newt. ‘Hi, I’m a newt,’ said the newt. ‘I’m sort of like the lizard and the snake, but I’m…well I don’t know exactly what I am, but I have heard of me existing in books and such. Perhaps I am amphibious? I dunno.’
‘Well, whatever you are, you are cute and I shall take you home and nail you to my door.’
‘Wait! What? Why?’ shrieked the newt.
‘Well,’ explained goatst, ‘the angel of death is coming, and if I nail you to my door it will pass over my house.’
‘Uh, that’s lamb’s blood, not a newt. And you don’t need a nail, just a brush.’
So the goatst went home and painted his door with said lamb’s blood, and the angel of death did indeed passeth over his house and so did a parrot.
Bless you, bless you for reading my story.
Publishers may email me and offer me their best offer.

The story of the horseshoe crumpet

Yesterday was a slow day at the monkestry. I decided to look in on Des as he cleaned the toiley, just after 10am. As I approached the toiley, Des’s voice came echoing out into the hall…

It’s a hard-knock life for us, it’s a hard-knock life for us.

I looked in, and with each push of his Steam X2O mop, Des was repeating the line from the famous song. It looked truly depressing and I told him to…


Des looked straight at me, before handing me a crumpled up paper. I was disappointed to discover it wasn’t his letter of resignation, but a story.

Why are you giving me this?

I asked. Des put his head down, continued to mop, and said…

I want to be a writer. What do you think?

I protested. My books were only popular in monkey catholic circles – I had no idea how to judge popular fiction. As a tear dropped from his eye and a tear appeared in his overalls, I looked down and read…

The story of the horseshoe crumpet

Stop right there,

I said,

Drop the ‘the story of’ bit – it sounds unprofessional.

Des ignored me and went back to his song so I continued.

The story of the horseshoe crumpet

One day I went to eat me crumpet after eating me lunch after cleaning the toiley after eating me breakfast after waking up after going to bed after eating me dinner… I skipped two pages …And lo! What should me eyes see, but a crumpet on me plate that looked like me auntie’s horseshoe! I looked at it with astonished bewilderment. Then I realised it looked like a horseshoe because I had forgotten that I had already taken a big, big bite out of it just before. I took the big, big bite out of it just after I sat down to eat it but before I realised I was about to eat it. In that little bit. The crumpet was a bit sticky because the butter and honey I spread on top soaked down through the crumpet and made me hands sticky. The end of the story of the horseshoe crumpet.

Des looked up with his eyes at my eyes and asked what I thought with his eyes. I said…

If you could clean the toiley as well as you wrote that story I would need to replace you.

As I left the toiley, I walked towards Doris who was singing tunes from ‘Pete’s Dragon’ which everyone knows is a much better musical than ‘Annie.