A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times


When Joe was first wed, he was only nineteen.
And he said to his wife - “Listen Flo!”
“You don’t ask me, where the heck have I been -
And I won’t tell you, where to go.”

He’s lived by this maxim, for eighty five years.
That makes him a hundred and four.
And now we’ve found out, why he’s always in tears.
He can’t chase the girls any more.

Our Joe won’t be with us much longer.
Might be a week or a day.
He said to the vicar, “I can’t come no quicker -
So just put your hymn book away.”

Said our Joe – “I’m a wee bit deficient -
I keep getting boiled ham every meal.
It’s not the long queue that keeps me going on cue
It’s the fine lumpy stools I can feel.”

Our Joe won’t be with us much longer.
He’s twenty three stone with a cough.
He’s exercise mad, but he’s such a big lad.
And we can’t get his Hoola-Hoop off.

Last Friday we all thought he’d snuffed it.
Heard our Jack say to our Lil.
“He looks healthy and good.” Said our Mag,”So he should -
He’s just had a fortnight at Rhyl.”

Our Joe won’t be with us much longer.
The doctor said “Sshh - don’t make a row -
He’s asleep full of dope, but we mustn’t lose hope.
But do you think you could pay my bill now.”

The insurance man called and said “Joseph -
You’ve been out when your premiums were due.
But it wipes the slate clean, if you see what I mean.
You’ll be out when we call to pay you.”

Our Joe won’t be with us much longer.
It looks like his bolt has been shot.
It’s the love life he’s led, there’s been three that he’s wed.
And at least half a dozen he’s not.

I won’t say it’s boozing that’s done it.
But where you’ve got blood, Joe’s got gin.
You can tell – Last October, our Joe came home sober.
And his dog, wouldn’t let him come in.

Our Joe won’t be with us much longer.
Get “Best oak,” says our Joe, “some good stuff -
And see when I go, I’m on top of our Flo.
She was on top of me, long enough.”

We’ve made the arrangements for Friday.
With the lilies they’ve started to call.
And if he’s not gone. By a quarter to one.
The hearse goes without him. That’s all.

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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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