After a busy day campaigning, she sat on the edge of her bed, and kicked off her heavy shoes.
"Shit," she said, out loud to the room.
"Shit, shit, shit!" This time directly at the Ottoman.
Her campaign manager knocked sheepishly at the door. "Come in Nigel, for fucks sake!"
Nigel opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room.
"I know, Nigel, I know! I shouldn't have promised them all free quinoa, but it's done now!"
Glancing over the trench, he counted.
"Thirty, I think. Twenty nine now. Twenty eight."
It was getting worse.
"Twenty si-five! Twenty five! Two at once!"
Half a day passed. They were down to the last one.
He looked round at the remains of his once strong army.
Refusing to accept defeat.
The Cockrill crowed again.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo" it taunted my sleep. There was no point I was going to have to get up and face the day.
"Cock-a-doodle doo." Again. "Alright, I'm up! are you happy now?!"
"Cock-a-doodle-doo." This time, smug. Like he had won. "I'm GLAD I'm awake actually. I'd rather be awake than be a stupid chicken!
"Cock-a-doodle-doo... You hate your job and your wife left you for Gary C. from work."
I thought "encroaching" was a rule in kabaddi, so I did some research on it.
Aiming to write a poem about raiders and stoppers and the majestic ballet between.
Fond memories of channel 4 in the 90s flooded back and made me feel young again.
Alas, it's nothing to do with it. No idea what sport I was thinking about. Maybe ultimate frisbee or ten ball.
There are hundreds of stars I can see from my room, that drown the monotony and hide the gloom.
Each one shines like Tinkerbell's near, overwhelming the sadness, submerging the fear.
Pinnacles of light millions of miles away, that make things better by the end of the day.
"Are you sure?" came the voice from the postbox.
Phillis was sure.
"Ok. But only for the long weekend."
The door of the postbox opened wide and the pale monster clambered out.
Phillis gave the monster her clothes. Then her thick coat and tartan bag.
Off he went down the street to Mecca Bingo.
Naked, she got in the postbox, laughing her fucking head off.
I got a chain for my 16th birthday.
A golden chain, a sovereign ring and a full length leather jacket.
I was quite the man about town.
Mustard flares sticking out the bottom, and a centre parting and an undercut to top the lot off.
The 90s were weird.
I'd got rid of the lot before the Euros even started.