I Wish I Was A Cat

So, at last, here it is then, my blog: of words, commas, colons, oblique slashes and many other forms of inappropriately used punctuation; poems, updates of forthcoming performances and other 'George tit-bits' (but not like that).

I really should have set my own blog up donks' ago but unlike spiders, (because I eat them) I'm still a bit scared of computers, or rather doing things on them because (like spiders) I find that one (when "one" is me) tries to do the simplest of manoeuvres, with a rather precarious sweep of the cursor and then a left "click" and (not unlike spiders) this spider-stamping like left "click" will cause my lap-top to explode and simultaneously my right kidney to fly out of my arse. Anyway, thankfully that hasn't happened yet. So, I think we've covered that and so here is the blog of George Chopping. Please, read at your leisure and not whilst running, for example. Unless you run in your leisure time.

I will endeavour to post regularly although currently with very limited access to the internet whilst I reside, (temporarily) in a shed (that oddly doesn't have Broadband) I keep my computer at a good friend's house and use it there (when convenient, I hope?) rather than paying £40 for five minutes of internet time at Coffee Rip-off Republic where there Charles Babbagesk machines require tent peg mallet to depress the fucking keys. They might as well have the old BBC Acorns with fully functional keyboards and just charge £39 for five minutes instead. "AND AS FOR YOUR DAMN MARSHMALLOWS AND WHIPPED CREAM AND YOUR BLOODY million pound MOCHAS. I'd rather drink Agatha Christie's breast milk for free, thanks."

Lovely use of capital letters I thought. Anyhow, I 've calmed down now and as I mentioned spiders earlier I'd like to share with you, a poem about Cats (who also like to eat spiders). This poem is from my second book, Shelf-Life and is entitled:

I wish I was a Cat

Can't say fairer than that.
Sleeping most of the day,
winding up dogs,
pissing in litter trays.
Shitting in the soil,
-no stress,
flipping up dead mice
on my back legs,
like ping pong balls, perhaps?
Jumping from heights
and breaking the fall.
Being stroked by girls and sitting in their laps.
I just want to be a cat
-can't say fairer than that.

I wish I was a dog.
Being taken for walks when I say,
having the house to myself
when they're at work all day.
Pissing up lamp-posts,
shitting in the park,
-no stress,
flipping up dead cats on my back legs
like basket balls perhaps?
Being stroked by girls that I don't know,
sniffing at their crotches
and getting away with it.

-----------------------------

I've got to go now and hand the keys back but I'm performing in a Comedy night upstairs at The Wheatsheaf on the High Street, (opposite the Covered Market) Oxford this Sunday night. £3.
Might see you there?

Goodnight,
g