Tag Archives: coffee

Time Management

– You really should start work, it’s twelve minutes past nine.

“I’m very well aware of the time, thank you very much. It’s just that, well, I was going to finish my coffee before I start really working.”

– You won’t though, will you? The dregs of your coffee are already stone-cold. You’ve had it since eight thirty. When you finish it, or realise you don’t want to finish it because it’s too cold and ‘bitty’, you’ll just end up getting out of your seat and making tea.

“Why do you keep writing the time like that?”

– Hush. Are you going to start work now or not? It’s thirteen past nine, now.

“You’re weird.”

– I’m weird? You should check yourself before you wreck…

“Don’t say that. You sound like a complete penis when you say that. Besides, I’m just about to start work. Right………. nnnn…….”

– For crying out loud. At least open Word, or Excel, or perhaps the website you’re supposed to be working on. At least look busy.”

“I am busy. I’m planning.”

– Planning what? It certainly isn’t your day.

“Stuff. I’m planning stuff.”

– You’re planning on going to the toilet aren’t you? You’re planning on wasting another five minutes by walking downstairs and draining the so-called lizard. Pfftt. More like pinching the worm.

“I wasn’t.”

– But?

“But I am now.”

– I despair.

“I hate you.”

– I know.



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Come wake me.

Omit the dreams and start my day.

Forgive the grump, I’ll soon be with you.

Forever my morning drug of choice.

Ever long I hope you’ll last.

Enraptured each time you kiss my lips.


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Polly put the kettle on

“Polly put the kettle on.

Polly put the kettle on.

Polly put the kettle on.

We’ll all have tea.”

Polly picked up the kettle and walked over to the sink. She turned the tap and began to fill the chrome kettle with fast, splashing water. The weight of the kettle increased as the water began to spill over the brim and sploshed away down the plug hole.

With two hands she heaved it up and out over the sink, past the stove and over to the long-backed chair where Lawrence was sitting. The top of his head was clearly visible and his right hand swished through the air as he continued to hum the merry tune he’d so cleverly created moments ago.

“I say,” he called, not knowing that Polly was standing mere inches behind him, “where’s my te…”


With both hands held tightly around the handle, Polly swung 360 degrees, her arms outstretched and brought the kettle crashing against the side of Lawrence’s head. Blood pumped through the gash in his temple, spilling over the once pristine doilies on each arm of the chair. His torso slumped forward, first his chin hitting his knees, before falling completely to the waxed oak floorboards in a folded mess of human.

Polly stood watching, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. The blood stained kettle pouring water from the spout to her feet as it dangled in her trembling hand.

“Bossy Dick”.

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Sometimes when the sun shines and the shadows form upon the blinds,
I wonder what I’m doing here, sat at work without a beer.
A coffee in my hand instead – I mean it’s nice and all but like I said –
a frothy beverage with a head on top would really satisfy and not
just make me hotter on a Summer’s day instead of chasing the blues away
with an ice cold lager and a bag of nuts, the sun on my face and eyes tight shut.

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Who want’s coffee?

Living life behind a two way mirror.
Can’t see out but they all look in.
Staring at the monkey as he peels his banana.
Trapped inside his false blank grin.


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