Secret soup

Phil just admitted, I quote: "The extent of cooking of the vegetable stew first time round means that when re-heating from frozen, it's pretty much soup."

I knew it.

Secret soup

He said it was a stew
But I knew
All along,
That it was in fact
Soup.

Because Phil LOVES soup.
He 'eats' it daily.
He enjoys spoons,
I assume,
And dunking
Bread.

So I knew
As he added more veg,
'This is just chunky
Soup!' I said.

But no, he replied,
It's stew.
Now let's leave it to soup
- I mean stew -
In the juice
For a while,
Until it's blender
- er, I mean tender.

Whatever it was,
Was delicious

(It was soup).

10/12/10.

I wore these today

New Trousers

So I've got these new trousers
They're green
And tapered,
Shaped
Kind of like jodhpurs
(Very 'in').

They accentuate my bum
And come
Up to where waistlines used to be worn
Back when mum
Was younger.

They're good for cycling,
Ready clipped-in
Round the ankles

And they make me feel thinner,
I think.
(They do make my bum bigger,
But it's really
My tummy
I worry
About.)

Well, ok,
So I may not have the figure
To really pull them off
But fitting in
(In them, not in fashion)
Is the main thing, I reckon.

And size 12 is alright with me
(Who wants to be a 10?)
So thank you, H&M.

22/11/10.

I heart... cycling

Got a flat tyre today. Rubbish. : (
I wrote this on a day when I was feeling happier about my transport situation...

Cycling

Thank goodness for cycling

In London

At nighttime.

The city,

All lights,

So pretty.

Later the better:

Clearer roads

Clear my mind.

Known routes soothe

And views

From bridges

Make me stop

And look

For someone to tell or show

Then aloud to myself,

"Too beautiful, too much"

And off I go.

26/11/10.

In memory of The Lost Bag

Hindsight

'I've got a safety pin
In my pocket
Do you want it?'

Is what I could have said
But instead
I just stared
At the large hole
In his bag.

I really did have one,
Too.


3/12/10.
Also true.

Because...

Because Phil has a blog and now I want one too! Also, like many other people I feel the need to validate my own experience by constantly updating my status. Except currently, this means writing in a notebook that no one else reads. So this is like my notebook online. With some of the more depressing bits removed (I'll try to keep my poems about feeling rubbish on Sundays to myself...)

See, this poem is about a duck! Ducks aren't depressing, right?

The quay

Brr-brr-brr
Brr-brr-brr
I cracked one eye open
Like a dragon
Guarding gold
Was it the phone?

No
It was a duck
Doing an impressive imitation
Of a phone.

4 Dec 2010
True story.