Download it, fold it up and play with it yourself. Don’t know how? Here are some instructions.
Of all the events and groups I am associated with, this is my favourite, and I’m honoured to be asked to be the main attraction.
I know, I know. But I considered it important enough to blog twice.
you turn sadness into salt
and stand buoyed up by sin
flanked by your army of outcasts -
you will walk the world,
and i will follow.
-
i stand, besmirched by sin
an insult to your father’s house
but it is us you say you’ve come to call -
you will walk the world,
and i will follow.
-
Limits
You are the miracle of my adult life,
The very best thing that I made,
But affection is fragile, it cracks in the living,
And there will be things I’ll have trouble forgiving.
I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
I will support your chosen career -
As long as you’re happy, it’s good;
But if you take up banking, and screw over us all
I won’t talk to you again, I’ll be out when you call.
I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
I’ll whisper to you as I tuck you in bed
That I will always be here,
But if you join the army? Disregard what I said.
I’ll pre-empt the worry and consider you dead.
I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
I will try to teach you what’s right
And I will always stand beside you.
But if you ever forget us and start voting Tory
That’s you and me done, I’ve no son, end of story.
I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
I don’t believe in corporal punishment.
I’ll never lay a finger upon you.
But if I find you’re a bully you must understand
I will beat you unconscious with my bare hands.
I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
Disappointment is toxic. It chokes us to death,
And I never meant to inherit it.
I swear, I swear I’ll do my absolute best
To rise above this, but I must confess
That I haven’t told you the limits of love, my son.
Oh, I haven’t told you the limits I’ll place on my love.
A responsible adult schools his child on issues of conflict resolution
In life, my child, you will be faced with extreme provocation,
But know that nothing solves a problem like direct retaliation.
Forgiveness is the trait divine, but honestly you should do
Unto others at least twice as hard as they have done unto you.
My child, in life you will have access to a myriad means of aggression,
But right now I want you to hold this one thought: baked beans are not a weapon.
Now some prefer to get their own back with vicious streams of invective,
And personally, I think a well-placed knee in the nuts is infinitely more effective.
Subtlety is better still, and one day, you too, when alone
Will scrawl the number on a toilet wall of a posh boy’s mobile phone.
Some folks deserve it. They need to be got! And when you gotta get ‘em
Do what you like! Knock yourself out! But baked beans? Not a weapon.
Now I understand I’ve said it twice, and although I don’t want to harp, it’s
An absolute bugger to get on my knees and get the bloody things out of the carpet.
And I loathe them! I really do! I think they taste like vomit —
It makes me retch to bring you a plate with the bastards piled upon it.
Honestly, I wouldn’t mind so much if you actually ate’em.
I know you like them, kid, but take it from me: baked beans are not a weapon.
felixculpa asked: Wow, you made Fireman Sam gay! :D lololololol
“made”?
Anonymous asked: I like the attention you pay to detail.
Thank you. I wish I paid more.
A Brief Scene in the Existential Crisis of Fireman Sam
He’s always on the scene
And his engine’s bright and clean
And you cannot ignore, cannot, cannot ignore
That he is the hero next door
But now he lies awake, unsettled, pondering
Wondering about these things and more
Why no one listens, why no one
In the whole idyllic village of Pontypandy
Knows one single fucking thing about fire prevention
After twenty years of pointing out overloaded sockets
And overfilled chip-pans and carelessly placed bunting
And slow-burning fireworks,
To which you must never, never go back -
And they always fucking do.
“Is it me?” he thinks. “Am I a failure?”
“Is my life worth living at all?”
The universe, cold, uncaring, offers no answer
Save the plaintive baa of Woolly the sheep,
Who gambols long after his bedtime
In the moonlight In Dilys Price’s back garden.
Station Officer Steele stirs under the duvet and finally, wakes;
He puts a hand on Fireman Sam’s naked shoulder.
“Darling,” he says, “go to sleep.”
