If they’re not sniffin’ they’re riffin, they’re siftin’  through

sniffin’  riffin, and siftin’  through

Collecting the pressed, injected molded

'Cos the only one they want is old.

The clicks and hisses turn them cold,

No-one listens to the music.

But 180g don’t make it sound

As good as the 252 to town

Buy it, bag it, turn around

Home to listen to the musi...

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Observation is one thing but nothing of any consequence is written regarding becoming a fisherman: The pursuit of fish is a different matter.

It is only through the pursuit of fish that one can truly become a fisherman. In time, pursuing fish becomes a redundant side effect.

Becoming a fisherman is a hands on affair, there are no shortcuts, you won’t get there by trying. Indee...

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I, for a short time

Was the worlds youngest person,

But not for long though.

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You know what?

Jane’s Fashions hasn’t been a clothes shop for years,

But everyone ‘round here still calls it Jane’s

See,

Jane’s shop had a wall that was just right,

We’d sit there most nights

‘cause

Jane never turned off her lights.

We were here when the giant hailstones came,

And when it rained

Jane looked on. 

Now Jane’s long since gone

But the ...

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See, my streets been in hibernation,

We’re a nation waiting for it to unwrap.

Shops, cafes and bars…..

Ours is a world that just fell asleep.

Do you remember the guy with the faded hat? the lady who never stops smiling?

These fixtures and faces all still there, there where we left them just lying.

And when the sign swings and these captains of  industry c...

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So, where I come from the rain never stops,

Drops on drops,

It props us up like a kind of identity.

You’re just like me.

When I was small I’d call out to my mum,

‘Look, look out, watch his thumb,

It’s the weather man, he makes it rain,

Look mum, he’s doing it again!

He’s making it rain’.

I was only young.

But, if you do get caught out

Or th...

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My Manchester

Free from a hipster to a hack, fake news

And alternative facts,

On streets where you get everything 

From a Tarantula to The Clap

That’s my Manc

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This was written after meeting an old mate.....

It was fair to say we had changed.

This is basically what i listened to for five hours until I left.

(BEST READ AT BREAKNECK SPEED WITHA TOUCH OF THE INSANE).

Friend to coked up bellend

I’m a money man me I’m a money man,

I’m a money man me I’m a money man,

I’m a money man, money man,  man, money, man,

I’m a money man me,...

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People with a beard

Are people without a beard

who have grown a beard

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       Theresa May may

but I wouldn't hold your breath

      she probably won't 

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First Crush (Germ Free Haiku)

She's the hard hitter

 the ear splitter,

A dayglow, spandex, out fitter.

3 feet tall, voice like a wall,

Marianne Said is having a ball,

That girl she’s having a ball.

Polly  on  the stage.

 On all fours, shout ‘Plastic bags’

Shout ‘bondage up yours’!

Balls and drains

Shit for brains,

I want to sing it all again.

Bring...

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Today we painted the shop door My dad and me.

I arrived early and started without him. Just after he arrives hangs up the bag mum has sent him with, hangs his coat and he’s ready to start.

Tall and dark as ever, tanned and clean shaven. When I think about him he always has a mustache although that went years ago along with the white cotton socks he always used to wear, a throw back to the 50...

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Kiss me I’m a misfit,

Fusing in a mass

Estimating human form,

Away from what the normal call ‘the norm’.

Kiss me, I’m a mismatch of ill fitting parts,

Head’s not small, more like a bowling ball.

My legs aren’t right,

Both right and left are left all wrong.

Kiss me I’m a misfit

That lurches to one side,

Giving a wide berth to curious eyes.

And my eyes...

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xplwWdyScOM

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gy945x79po4

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Don't think this is even a poem! It came about after I talked to what can only be described as, 'a hipster' who informed me that ,'tea is the new coffee'. Good to know, better start to stockpile it before the price rockets.

Hey Hipster, please leave tea alone.

You’ve had our coffee, beards and our seedy streets down the back of Shudehill.

So, with respect, fuck off and leav...

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Engage in preamble,

And ramble a bit until you see fit to begin.

Draw deep, close your eyes to speak.

Begin with thin withered lines,

Telling tales of times when life was worth living.

Don’t shuffle into nostalgia.

Still, throw in that line that tells how you used to be a free spirt,

Not a bogged down middle aged git

Unfit to wield a mic and talk like this,

Amo...

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If I love you with all my heart will my heart stop beating,

Sometime it's hard to sleep, afraid I'll miss that meeting.

If I follow you to the end of the earth, will we fall and die,

I’ll love you instead with all my heart if you’ll let me try.

If you push me down an escalator, shove me from the tower

To burning pits and barber wire fence and leave me for an hour.

Will you l...

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If Cameron came to my house I'd ask him in for tea

I’d say that I am honoured that he’d talk to me.

We'd talk over some tea and toast, I’d ask the burning question,

Like how the fuck he managed to win that last election?

And if he started chatting on or tried to sell me short,

I’d quickly counter his reply with a well thought out retort.

If Cameron came to my house we'd...

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This is a song but I thought some of you may like it as it's a bit of a tribute to the Miners 30 years on. I'm no expert, I wasn't there, I was just 18 but the scenes I saw on the news affected me and remind me that letting your guard down and believing the news and politicians tell the truth can be a mistake.

 (If you’re not outraged, you’re not paying attention).

 In 1983 Britain had 174 w...

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Bookshop owners are in essence collectors,

Word hoarders.

Suspening thoughts, encased, ordered

And set in space and time.

Booksellers don’t want to part with their collection.

But they'll let you sit and drink and lose and hour,

Scouring the dogged edges of

Space and time.

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Here's a poem I wrote a while ago, I never realised that in time it would become dated so I've decided to push it before it becomes redundant after the next election.

I even considered changing my vote so I could use it for longer, but, as I'm working class, northern, short and slightly over weight they have deemed that i can only have one vote.

So here it is...

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This is a recording of my poem Deansgate Bridge. It gives a very brief account of something i witnessed a number of years ago that left an impression on me.

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This one was inspired by my mate who, unwittingly, compressed all my thoughts into one short line.

We lived in a small town and the only way out was by bus, the last bus home was at Midnight and the journey to town took a long time, hence the journey became part of the adventure. Then into our teens it was a life line to the city center gigs, clubs etc.

Years later we were speaking about the...

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Recorded at Cuckoo Calling 29/1/15. 

transcripts on earlier blog entries

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Possibly the best comedy on TV is to be found late night/early morning on the shopping channels...if you've never watched then I suggest you take and evening out of your life and dedicate it to this pursuit.

 Last night a crazy dream came to me,

I dreamt I bought a comfortable settee.

When I sat down the very next day,

All the springs on the bottom gave way.

I guess i...

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I was Inspired to write this remembering my friends and I vowed we’d never change and that music would be the one thing that we would hold on to. Then, after some years, I felt that I’d grown up and this wasn’t true, it was childish. Then later I realised that the one thing I only ever wanted to hold onto was the music. It formed me and my mates and it bound us together. It is the one thing that w...

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Dedicated to my first crush Marianne Joan Elliott-Said aka Poly Styrene- (1957–2011)

Poly  on  the stage.

 On all fours, shout ‘Plastic bags’

shout ‘ bondage up yours’!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2sl-7RSiRXE

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I lingered at the door,

What the hell do I do?

I’d never found it difficult to buy myself a brew.

So, in I went,

hell bent on doing this thing.

I queued by the food and stewed.

I reached the altar,and the man in black addressed me.

'Sir?'

I think his name was Ed.

 I said

‘Can I have a pot of tea?’

In a foreign twang I thought he said

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(image-Liam Spencer)

Deansgate Bridge

The rain runs through the gaps in the metalwork

And makes its way onto the blue brick.

Running in the veins along the mortar creases of the giant supports.

He was sat slumped on the card

Like a washing load tipped out.

Head up and looking to me,

With hands out, he straightened a cig.

 Unnoticed, nudged and kn...

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If Cameron came to my house I'd ask him in for tea

I’d say that I am honoured that he would talk to me.

We'd talk over some tea and toast, I’d ask the burning question,

About his parties complex plans to win the next election

And if he started chatting on or tried to sell me short,

I’d quickly counter his reply with a well thought out retort.

If Cameron came to my house...

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