Good Taste

Four years after I wrote the Taste of Rat, I thought I should extend it to discuss microbiotic food production. I didn’t get very far with the project, but there are a few nice lines here, the Kilgore Trout : Champagne reference for example.

The Taste of Rat

The first poem I had written in 36 years – see also “Good Taste”

Ode to a Short Bored Pile

The winning entry for the Maltings Free Press first edition poetry prize. The only entry so far as I know and the first poem I had written since school.

The Epic Tale of Ted and Brock

I can proudly say the un-illustrated version of this poem is complete drivel. The illustrated version however is a work of multilayered genius imho.

The Step Sweeper

We have outside steps at our house in Poland. We sweep them occasionally.

Then and Than

My missus mixes “then” and “than”She says that the ear of the EnglishmanMay hear different sounds but the Slavonic mindInterprets them both as a similar kind. “My darling sweet, I have a planBy the use of which I believe we canMake learning this thing much more more easy for you.”She said, “Oh brightest of men! […]

The Sink Plunger

March 2020: The girls and I were in a camper van in Sicily. Ania was on a cross country cycle ride with a group of bloggers. One day later Italy was hit by the first Covid panic. Severeal of Ania’s co-cyclists were stuck in Italy unable to return home. We rushed north and just got out in time.


I wrote this to complete the structure of my book, Lifehacks, and it turned out to be the most popular poem in the whole thing..

Coffee, Pinecones and a Toothbrush

This was a wife-challenge. We were on top of a mountain in southern Europe, running from Covid 19. Ania came out of the bathroom, glanced at the breakfast table and out of the window.
“Can you do me a poem about coffee, – or pinecones, – erm, or a toothbrush?”
But, you know – one thing leads to another. . .

The Coconut

Zoe asked me for a coconut poem. I wrote the first verse and she seemed happy with that. But then my mind wandered back to the wretched experiences of getting that gorgeous white meat out of the shell . . .