Summing Up

Things been ok lately, apart from having a cold. It’s not a full blown cold but I know it’s there. The book launch I went to was good, if not as exclusive as I had thought. The readers were very good, but it was quite funny when people kept trying to get in the bar when the door was locked and the fire alarm repeatedly went off. Was a very cultural night for me and we ended up sipping cocktails in the apartment, avoiding being spotted by angel eyes in the process. The book is great, check out

This latest offering is a kind of haiku, I get sick of people asking how my training’s going, it just happens, I do what has been planned and it’s the planning that’s more important than training. An old woman once said to me as I left the gym, looking worse than most local tramps, ‘did you have fun playing in the gym?. And I thought, we aren’t moving forward at all as a society, but we can always take comfort in our own truths even if we can’t express them to others. Personal goals are the key.




Ok, I should start making this blog more interesting by posting some journal-type stuff (thoughts etc.) before my poetic attempt. Reasons for this being, it will hopefully dilute the ‘poetry’ and it will get me back into some construstive writing, which I used to be quite good at. I’m probably knicking the idea off one of my favourite websites at the moment ( which is also a blog site, but the guy posts some interesting cartoons and then goes on to talk about tailored suits or something.

Been an interesting time recently and lesser men would have crumpled into a fit of suicidal depression, but I’ve become an expert in letting it wash over me and finding it humourous. After all I need material for my poetry fettish.

Firstly, went to Belfast with some mates for a long weekend, we actually got 3 electric wheelchairs on an Easyjet plane. The highlight of the weekend, apart from becoming best mates with the night porter (to ful fil beer needs) and trying to find a pizza place at 4am, was whilst in the pub on Saturday afternoon, we were having a flutter on the horses (my new obsession) with some success. There was a group of old men at the next table to us, they looked the kind that would say ‘you’re in my seat’ even if the pub was empty. Peter made the fatal mistake of asking one of them, who incidentally had a bleeding head, if he had any tips, to which he just nodded and obviously didn’t understand a word. He later leaned over to Peter and asked ‘Do you take them out once a week?’ to which Peter replied ‘No, we’re just over for the weekend’, again the guy just nodded and praised Peter for being a great person. Now, there’s two ways you react, create a scene and put the guy right, which will probably be a waste of time anyway, or let it go and have a good laugh about it, the guy was too old to care anyway. Besides, I think he realised I hadn’t escaped from the local home when I got 2 winners in a row and had the whole pub asking me for tips.

So then it was off to Whitley bay for Roman’s birthday, quite a good night got better when glen fell on some guy whilst trying to stand at the bar. Then got more interesting in Time (good music in there) when someone started drinking one of Glen’s 2 for 1 pints, Glen tried to kick him and he was a big bloke, I jumped in and asked the bloke what he was doing and he recons he picked it up by accident even though he was on vodka coke. It’s one of those situation though, as a guy in a wheelchair do you start a fight, Glen might have been beaten up (although I recon the bouncers would have sorted it) but do you stick up for yourself? A fine line indeed.

Now, onto women. A great personal topic of mine. Recently I’ve had fairly brief interaction with a couple, the key grey areas to consider, are they being patronising, are they fascinated by your disability, are they being genuinely friendly or are they chatting you up. In both cases it was hard to tell. At the CP Sport awards dinner, a girl who was with Barclays and was a policewoman came over and started telling me how great I was, she was pretty young and niave about what to say, Danny reconned she fancied me but I let her go anyway, unsure. Then at the quiz a woman came over near the end, she said she thought she’d seen me before walking her dog at night. I thought hello, but she was quite drunk and started inquiring about my disability, I’m never shy about talking about cerebral palsy so I think she was taken back by my honesty, before asking one of the most interesting questions I’ve heard – ‘What’s it like?’. I don’t know the answer to that one.

Off to a book launch tonight, woo I’m a celeb. Check my proper site

Woke up with this poem in my head, would make a good monged dance track I think.


Two colours.
Gently fading.

Two colours.
Fading gently.

Two colours.
Fading into me.

Two colours.
Fading with me.

Two colours.


Through this focus,
a sort of
I have to cunjure up.

Why do I go out?
People just patronise, sympathise
and materialise with,
I pitty you eyes.

Please don’t cry
through that stare
of yours,
stencilling my contores.

False tears are
liquid-wrapped lies
falling on deaf ground.
Tis my truths that should be falling.

My Bloody Valentine

She touched my space.
Everytime everytime.
Left the leaves lying,
that she’d blown off.
Everywhere everywhere.
Innocently scared soul,
scrambled in essence,
by ghostly fragrance.
Evermore evermore.
Burning scalded skin,
sizzles with desire,
frozen without direction,
a will in tatters, it hides.
Evenmore, even more.

The Organisation

Facilitate my hate.
Red herrings can still bounce when dead
apparently, this technical tosser recons.
Beta bollocks and cyber crap.

Network my thoughts.
Stagnant and exploding in this stale sandwich,
ducks in a row with i-words and e-conversations.
Java juveniles in empty suits.

Truncate my understanding.
The action plan is to multi-slack
and zero-task through these agenda items.
Duck shufflers, prioritising pricks.

Blog me till I burp.
Please reform your communication pathways
and integrate speech strategies
in line with the policy and procedure of…

Speaking Fucking English.

Soldier Soldier

This job will be the death of me.
What price one hundred inocent lives,
the cost of pseudo political/econominal gains.
They scuttle like beatles, in the war zone,
of course some get squashed.
They all have names.
They all had dreams.
What price one innocent life.

May Day

Another ginger hair day,
climbing down the stairway.
The traffic bearing highway
takes centre stage this morning May.
At last the sun shines with rays,
and we celebrate that which remains
of British summertime that begins.