The teapot sings but once a year and you never can tell when it might be. Many have studied the phonomenon but very few facts are known about this most rare of occurances. All people know is that teapots, when left unattended at least once in every 365 day cycle sing the most beautiful tune. Since this has become public knowledge many have tried to sit with a teapot for an entire year, swapping shifts in order to witness the event, but the teapots are wary and will always sing at the exact moment both people are either asleep or not paying attention.
In fact hearing a teapot sing is so rare that nobody has actually heard or seen it, but as nobody can ever say with absolute certainty they have watched a teapot for a year without any distractions or breaks, it must be a fact that teapots sing as we cannot prove otherwise.
Why they only sing once a year is unknown as well, the timings are seemingly random but maybe, if we lined up all the teapots in the world they would unite together in a continous song that would last all year and soothe our aching souls with it's tender lyricism.
I have begun then the daunting, but vital, task of collecting all the teapots in the world for such an event, I currently have three and am just off to raid my nearest Debenhams store so if you would like to be a part of this social and scientific experiment dear readers do send your teapots and any others that you find to 12 Crumble Avenue and help make teapot singing history!
- Toby
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
The Agoraphobic Astronaut
The agoraphobic astronaut wasn’t any fun,
He stayed inside the capsule,
Without a word to anyone,
The agoraphobic astronaut kept looking at the floor,
Diverted his eyes away,
From the view outside the door,
All of space surrounded, in wonder they did stare,
Not the agoraphobic astronaut,
For outside, he could not bare.
He spent his time in space, wishing he was home,
He missed out on the space walk,
Into God’s celestial home.
Those left on Earth were angry, they couldn’t understand
It’s unfair! They would cry
And protests, they were planned.
But in the end he made it, landing back to Earth,
Where everyone ignored him,
With their sounds of endless mirth.
He went back home that night, locked in the house he bought,
That was the last anyone saw,
Of the agoraphobic astronaut.
*This poem is dedicated to Neil Armstrong. He knows why.
He stayed inside the capsule,
Without a word to anyone,
The agoraphobic astronaut kept looking at the floor,
Diverted his eyes away,
From the view outside the door,
All of space surrounded, in wonder they did stare,
Not the agoraphobic astronaut,
For outside, he could not bare.
He spent his time in space, wishing he was home,
He missed out on the space walk,
Into God’s celestial home.
Those left on Earth were angry, they couldn’t understand
It’s unfair! They would cry
And protests, they were planned.
But in the end he made it, landing back to Earth,
Where everyone ignored him,
With their sounds of endless mirth.
He went back home that night, locked in the house he bought,
That was the last anyone saw,
Of the agoraphobic astronaut.
*This poem is dedicated to Neil Armstrong. He knows why.
Monday, August 14, 2006
The perfect cup of tea
'That is the worst cup of tea I have ever tasted!'
My boss will yell this daily, often accompanying this sentement by vomiting on the floor or throwing the cup at my face.
I just don't get it.
Day after day I try new ideas, he likes milk but no sugar so I've tried a slither of milk - vomit.
OK then loads of milk - that one gave me a six inch gash on my cheek.
I've tried semi-skimmed milk, full-fat milk, goats milk, baby's milk (don't ask), condensed milk (not a smart choice but I was desperate...)
Nothing works.
It's bad enough being demeaned to the level where you are literally the office tea boy but I am determined not to let this beat me. Apparently he is the reason eight other tea-boys have left in the past year. Four of them never made tea again.
Well not me.
The others in the office love my tea, they smile and offer me sweet sentiments, but none believe I can make one the boss won't hate. I see them glancing at the frosted glass of his office, his ominous shadow reflected strongly as I walk towards, the tea tray shaking in my hands. Their collectively bated breath fills the room with silence, and the inevitable retching or crashing accompanies their exhaling.
It is a demoralising situation folks, but for now I will not quit, I will struggle on until, one day when the vein in my head throbs so hard I burst a blood vessel, I waltz in their with a mug full of acid and throw in in my boss's smug, tea-hating face.
The sirens will inform you when that day comes, for my own sake as well as yours I hope it is not soon.
Crash. Vomit. Stitches.
... another day counts down.
- Toledo
My boss will yell this daily, often accompanying this sentement by vomiting on the floor or throwing the cup at my face.
I just don't get it.
Day after day I try new ideas, he likes milk but no sugar so I've tried a slither of milk - vomit.
OK then loads of milk - that one gave me a six inch gash on my cheek.
I've tried semi-skimmed milk, full-fat milk, goats milk, baby's milk (don't ask), condensed milk (not a smart choice but I was desperate...)
Nothing works.
It's bad enough being demeaned to the level where you are literally the office tea boy but I am determined not to let this beat me. Apparently he is the reason eight other tea-boys have left in the past year. Four of them never made tea again.
Well not me.
The others in the office love my tea, they smile and offer me sweet sentiments, but none believe I can make one the boss won't hate. I see them glancing at the frosted glass of his office, his ominous shadow reflected strongly as I walk towards, the tea tray shaking in my hands. Their collectively bated breath fills the room with silence, and the inevitable retching or crashing accompanies their exhaling.
It is a demoralising situation folks, but for now I will not quit, I will struggle on until, one day when the vein in my head throbs so hard I burst a blood vessel, I waltz in their with a mug full of acid and throw in in my boss's smug, tea-hating face.
The sirens will inform you when that day comes, for my own sake as well as yours I hope it is not soon.
Crash. Vomit. Stitches.
... another day counts down.
- Toledo
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
The chicken that was afraid of jelly
Bill Wilderness was a chicken known for miles around. Brought up on a farm in the countryside he made his escape when he was still young and carved out a niche for himself in the hustle and bustle of the city.
The youngest of twelve chickens on the farm Bill was always curious and unsettled. Whilst the other chickens would be happy to peck at corn or sit inside their cages Bill would always be trying to break out and explore the wider world. He was brave and fearless and stood up to the farmer, something no chicken would ever dare do. The rooster would warn him:
'The ways of the farm are not for a chicken to know Bill. You should keep your beak out of it. You think you have no fear but everyone does, I just want you to be prepared'
But Bill would ignore his advice and once had broken free he even tried to release the other chickens as well, but none would follow for the outside world scared them. So it was with a heavy heart and tear in his eye that Bill left the coup and headed for the city.
Over time Bill built up a living running a grocery store. It started small, selling everyday things, and quickly grew in size and popularity. 'Bill's' became a famous name and soon all the supermarkets around the the town were struggling to keep up with it's success.
But there was always one thing you could never buy in Bill's.
Jelly.
When asked about the product Bill would freeze up, his shoulders rigid and a glazed look in his eyes. If you persisted he would start to flap and peck wildly at the ground.
People soon learned not to question him and even the staff ceased enquiring about the product. Somedays Bill would sit in his office and stare across the road at The Jelly Emporium for hours, unable to move or look away lest the Jelly come for him.
In his later years Bill was cared for in a special home where his refusal to eat the food was misinterpreted as a hunger strike. Soon the glazed eyes would return and as Bill sat in his leather chair, his stomach aching and his claws dug into the seat, the words of the rooster would float by his mind and he would curse the day he left the safety of the farm.
The youngest of twelve chickens on the farm Bill was always curious and unsettled. Whilst the other chickens would be happy to peck at corn or sit inside their cages Bill would always be trying to break out and explore the wider world. He was brave and fearless and stood up to the farmer, something no chicken would ever dare do. The rooster would warn him:
'The ways of the farm are not for a chicken to know Bill. You should keep your beak out of it. You think you have no fear but everyone does, I just want you to be prepared'
But Bill would ignore his advice and once had broken free he even tried to release the other chickens as well, but none would follow for the outside world scared them. So it was with a heavy heart and tear in his eye that Bill left the coup and headed for the city.
Over time Bill built up a living running a grocery store. It started small, selling everyday things, and quickly grew in size and popularity. 'Bill's' became a famous name and soon all the supermarkets around the the town were struggling to keep up with it's success.
But there was always one thing you could never buy in Bill's.
Jelly.
When asked about the product Bill would freeze up, his shoulders rigid and a glazed look in his eyes. If you persisted he would start to flap and peck wildly at the ground.
People soon learned not to question him and even the staff ceased enquiring about the product. Somedays Bill would sit in his office and stare across the road at The Jelly Emporium for hours, unable to move or look away lest the Jelly come for him.
In his later years Bill was cared for in a special home where his refusal to eat the food was misinterpreted as a hunger strike. Soon the glazed eyes would return and as Bill sat in his leather chair, his stomach aching and his claws dug into the seat, the words of the rooster would float by his mind and he would curse the day he left the safety of the farm.
Friday, August 04, 2006
The final chapter
It is quiet at 12 Crumbe Ave. today. Maybe too quiet, but it gives me the opportunity dear readers to offer you some more wonderful advice on living a happy and fulfilled life.
Obviously living a perfectly happy life it not as easy as it sounds. You can't just walk up to someone and yell at them to 'STOP BEING SO MISERABLE AND BE HAPPY' as often they will hit you with their handbag and spray you with mace.
However there are principles than can help you live a more happy existance. Principles such as avoiding unhappiness (I'd say thats top of the list generally), seeking things that make you happy, not doing things that make you unhappy (again obvious but vital), and lastly buying my book.
Hang on did he just...... yes I did dear reader. You see I could write pages and pages on this blog about how to be happy, but why bother when I've already written all those pages for my book! Surely a few of your heard earned pounds is a fair price for a lifetime of guaranteed bliss? (not a guarantee)
You see today I sent my book off to the publishers. There was much rejoicing and generally merriment amongst the 2 of us at my party. Hopefully soon I will hear back with a positive response and a huge wad of cash (because thats the other thing that you need for a truly happy life.)
So until then I bid you good day and be sure to keep an eye out at your local book emporium for the name Toby Greenway, you know you will!
- Toby
Obviously living a perfectly happy life it not as easy as it sounds. You can't just walk up to someone and yell at them to 'STOP BEING SO MISERABLE AND BE HAPPY' as often they will hit you with their handbag and spray you with mace.
However there are principles than can help you live a more happy existance. Principles such as avoiding unhappiness (I'd say thats top of the list generally), seeking things that make you happy, not doing things that make you unhappy (again obvious but vital), and lastly buying my book.
Hang on did he just...... yes I did dear reader. You see I could write pages and pages on this blog about how to be happy, but why bother when I've already written all those pages for my book! Surely a few of your heard earned pounds is a fair price for a lifetime of guaranteed bliss? (not a guarantee)
You see today I sent my book off to the publishers. There was much rejoicing and generally merriment amongst the 2 of us at my party. Hopefully soon I will hear back with a positive response and a huge wad of cash (because thats the other thing that you need for a truly happy life.)
So until then I bid you good day and be sure to keep an eye out at your local book emporium for the name Toby Greenway, you know you will!
- Toby
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Mary-Sue
When I was young Mary-Sue used to call for me every wednesday. She would knock on the door and wait for me, well she did at first but, in time, she learned that my father would tend to shoot anyone that disturbed his alcohol induced sleep and so she would, instead, throw small stones at my window and call to me softly.
Together we would play in the fields and on the roads. She would run and her golden locks would dance in the sunshine. Her radiance haunted my dreams and her smile would brighten my day.
'Lets run away'
She would cry as she weaved across the country lane.
'Where would we go?'
I would always reply, a smile on my face.
'The south pole!'
Was always her answer,
'we can swim to the south pole and live with the penguins'
No matter how many times I explained to her the flawed logic of her plan, it was always the same, and in time her beauty and attention won me over and I too began to long for the company of penguins and the freedom they would offer us.
One day as we lay under the apple tree Mary Sue reached for my hand. As she took it in hers I trembled. A warmth spread around my body and I knew then I would go anywhere with her.
***
Pneumonia can set in after just 10 minutes in icy water and I know that it wasn't a warm day when she left. At the last minute I had lost my nerve. I was too afraid and never made it to the beach. Instead I stood at the top of the cliff and looked for her, a small shape, lost in the vastness of the ocean, intended for Antartica.
Now when I think of Mary-Sue I imagine her with the penguins, laughing and playing. I see her curled inside an igloo, her dreams come true and a smile on her lips, waiting for me to join her.
- Mr Winston
Together we would play in the fields and on the roads. She would run and her golden locks would dance in the sunshine. Her radiance haunted my dreams and her smile would brighten my day.
'Lets run away'
She would cry as she weaved across the country lane.
'Where would we go?'
I would always reply, a smile on my face.
'The south pole!'
Was always her answer,
'we can swim to the south pole and live with the penguins'
No matter how many times I explained to her the flawed logic of her plan, it was always the same, and in time her beauty and attention won me over and I too began to long for the company of penguins and the freedom they would offer us.
One day as we lay under the apple tree Mary Sue reached for my hand. As she took it in hers I trembled. A warmth spread around my body and I knew then I would go anywhere with her.
***
Pneumonia can set in after just 10 minutes in icy water and I know that it wasn't a warm day when she left. At the last minute I had lost my nerve. I was too afraid and never made it to the beach. Instead I stood at the top of the cliff and looked for her, a small shape, lost in the vastness of the ocean, intended for Antartica.
Now when I think of Mary-Sue I imagine her with the penguins, laughing and playing. I see her curled inside an igloo, her dreams come true and a smile on her lips, waiting for me to join her.
- Mr Winston
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