Biography

Alex was born to kind, loving parents who have supported him unswervingly and without question in his every endeavour. He has consistantly thrown this loyalty back in their faces by refusing to endeavour. At anything. Ever. Until now. A little while ago some fool told Alex he should stand up in front of a room full of people and have his already substantial ego massaged a little harder than usual. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. He liked it and he wants more of it please and thank you. Available for weddings, birthdays, funerals, bar mitzvahs and casual sex.

I'm based in Cambridge but will travel to the ends of the earth if there's half a chance of an audience for me to spout at. I've been gigging at least once a week for the last 6 months including Strawberry Fair, the secret garden party (5 sets across 3 stages and I wasn't even meant to be in there! - guerilla poet warriors 5, The Man, 0) and a storming set at City Roots Festival. I'm also booked for the Troubadour stage at Grass Roots festival in September.

Do please get in touch with me if you like what you read/hear. It gets bloody lonely sat here writing all day and pretending to look at employment sites. Tough job but someone's got to do it.

Samples

Snarls, Frowns and Eiderdowns or The Kathryn Poem

There was a girl named kathryn from Cambridge
Who returned from Ibiza to feel much umbridge
Her bed, her nest, her roost, her coop
Had obviously been sullied not onth or tooth
But thrice! she bewailed her stain-ed sheets
Before deciding to have out her beef
And so the stairs she thundered down
Bearing malice, snarls and frowns
And there she bellowed to all the land
‘whose been fucking in my bed?’

And...

Was met with glances swift and sideways
Everyone’s averted gazes
Left right and centre they look away
they can’t quite bring themselves to say
we’ve all been in it, we’ve all used your bed
it was the only spare kingsize in the A-Z
we’ve bounced and we’ve bundled and had our wicked ways
we’ve frolicked and fumbled and fondled for days

but really now Kathryn there’s no need for this bother
it was a crazy weekend just like any old other
one man in your bed and then next up his brother
then probably his dad
then why not his mother?

In fact it was mentioned, it was said at the scene
That the only real difference that anyone could see
was that you weren’t there grinning like a pussy full of cream
banging headboards off walls and broadcasting screams
of passion or pain?
We can never quite tell
Your voice goes so hoarse when you holler and yell
But we know we’ve been awful, we know we’re a test
We’ll get you new sheets and wipe down the bed
We’ll shampoo your mattress and clear up the mess
Now how was Ibiza, did you get any.....?

And so goes the parable of Kathryn of Ibiza
Lets have a think and see what it can teach her
Her lovers many and mere moments between
Come and go in a constant stream
As she uses their lust to boost low self esteem
She’s every girlfriend’s worst nightmare
A pornographer’s dream

But its not my place to criticise
how lusty youths live out their lives
legs akimbo, frigid or gay
have your fun and make your hay
but if kathryn had ever shown true self-respect
her friends may well have respected her bed


Jobby Bloody Jobline

I'm at the jobby bloody jobcentre ringing jobline
No jobby body's bloody answering
they've got more job than time
Maybe if I had a job, answering jobline
I'd be in there earning money
instead of wasting time
and maybe if I had a job answering their phones
more folk'd get the jobs they want
instead of staying home
but instead I'll sit here hanging on the jobby telephone
waiting for an answer from some bored old jobby drone
and when they finally pick it up
it's a jobby answer phone
thank you for your patience but jobby jobline's closed

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Last blog entry

Absolute filth - not for the old or infirm

Posted on Thursday 7th August 2008 11:54 pm

Plastic Sheets Wipe Clean

 

I can't stop chasing little old women

I'm after our neighbour at number  eleven

She says she's too old for me, an octogenarian

But she doesn't look a day over sixty-seven

 

I don't want your mumsy milfery

I want grannies, godless and wrinkelly

they're much more grateful for a bit of fun

than your average, middle-aged single mum

and they give you a proper cream tea with a home-baked scone

it only takes 3 seconds to make them... If you can

hotwire a pacemaker they're like orgasm bombs

and  you can play in their wheelchairs when the deed's been done

 

But I can't stop chasing little old women

The plastic sheets make it twice as thrilling

And I can't stop filthy dirty zimmer-zim-zimmin

With these two old girls from the local mission

 

I thought I had it made, thought I was really dead swell

Two hotties on the the go at once, thought I was doing well

But Esmee had a heart attack and down the stairs she fell

And landed upon Ethel, there's not much more to tell

 

But I can't stop chasing little old women

Not my choice, just the cards I was given

For 2 weeks now I've been seeing Miss Scrivens

Next door-but-one at number eleven

I went round one day for tea and whist

She lifted her skirt to show me her tits

I was expecting a nice quiet game of rummy

When what she wanted was some rampant cunny-she

Lingers on in my mind now still

Since she ran away with a bloke called phil

 

She thought the age gap too extreme

whence before it had not been

and I said to her, how could this be?

It was too small - phil's seventeen

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