Category: That’s write! (page 1 of 4)


This is the tale, the most terrible tale,
Of some salt and the sea and one Suzie McVale;

Now Suzie was pretty and popular, too;
A sweet little girl, always happy and who

Loved to sing in the morning and dance before bed,
Till her poor mother died and her father re-wed;

Now, Stepmother Stephanie hated to cook,
And refused to consult any recipe book,

So Suzie survived on convenience food,
Which paled her complexion and blackened her mood;

Crisps in the morning and bacon for lunch,
Fried eggs for dinner and peanuts for brunch,

Chips from the chippy, the fat of the ham,
Ready-meals, sausages, butter and spam,

And Sue scoffed the lot, and why not? It was yum,
But she started to swell round her neck, round her tum,

Round her legs, round her hips, and round hands and round feet,
But Suzie just laughed and continued to eat;

Her face was all spotty, her hair dull and dry,
And because of her temper her friends said Goodbye,

So poor little, sweet little Suzie McVale,
Became lonely and sulky and shaped like a whale,

And Dad said ‘Och, Suzie, you must eat some fruit,
Your blood pressure’s high and your heart will give oot’,

But Suzie did not make an effort to halt
Any part of her diet of nothing but salt,

And any suggestion to stop made her wild,
And she’d gorge on more crisps like a bad-tempered child,

And outside the world kept on turning around,
And inside Big Suzie was now sofa-bound,

And winter arrived and the storms they got stronger,
The downpours came daily for longer and longer,

The sea it got angry, the waves they got mad,
And Suzie ate everything salty and bad,

A tidal wave formed and the terrors began,
And the villagers panicked and all of them ran,

And they shouted at Suzie “Get up, girl, get out,”
And her dad took a moment to give her a clout

And then head for the hills, saying “God bless, my love,
But your fate’s in the hands of Whoever above;

I told you, I warned you, it’s nobody’s fault
But your own, that you never ceased swallowing salt,”

But Suzie stayed put, couldn’t budge, couldn’t move,
Her bum was too big and too stuck in the groove,

And the waves came and claimed her as part of their sea,
And they took her away on a saltwater spree,

And all that was left was this cautionary tale,
‘To take with a wee pinch of salt’ (S. McVale).

The Stairly Bears (by Amanda Hyatt)


In every multi-storeyed home
Across the globe, Beware!
Under the stairs there surely lives
A family of bears.

‘Cause bears live under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs are bears,
Behind the umbrella, beside the broom,
They rummaged around and made some room,
Yes, under the stairs are bears.
And Aunty Fi, she laughs at me,
And says ‘What nonsense! Bears, indeed!’
And Uncle Stu, he hasn’t a clue,
But I don’t care, I know it’s true
That under the stairs are bears.

And bears play under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs they play,
From hide and seek to Peek-a-boo,
Think leapfrog, tag – and skipping, too,
Yes, bears play under the stairs.
From What’s the Time Now, Mr Prowls?
To ‘Grizzly Says’ and Musical Growls,
Don’t open the door till after 3,
(They’d love a six-year-old for tea!),
Yes, bears play under the stairs.

And bears eat under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs they eat,
While waiting for a child to munch,
They help themselves to bugs for lunch,
Yes, under the stairs they eat.
The time they’re hungriest is 8,
So get to bed and don’t be late,
Don’t pass close by the cupboard door,
Small feet make treats for Baby Roar,
Yes, under the stairs they eat.

And bears jog under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs they jog,
It’s vital for their health, you see,
To be as fit as they can be,
(I think they’ve even got a Wii),
Yes, under the stairs they jog.
As soon as breakfast’s cleared away?
Bear-obics! Half an hour a day,
And then 10k – (and that’s for fun?
That’s more than even Dad can run!)
Yes, under the stairs they jog.

And bears sing under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs they sing,
I heard them once, quite late at night,
They got their harmonies just right,
Yes, under the stairs they sing.
From jazz to folk to opera,
I think they know the lot-tera,
The dad sings bass, the mum sings top,
The rest sing till they’re told to stop,
Yes, bears sing under the stairs.

And Bears sleep under the stairs, you know,
Yes, under the stairs they sleep,
So if you’re asked to tidy toys,
Or hang your coat, just don’t make noise,
‘Cause bears sleep under the stairs.
Take all the time you need and more,
Best wait until you hear them snore,
I’m told the best time’s nine fifteen,
Or ten – or sometime in between,
(And if you whistle you won’t be seen),
Yes, bears sleep under the stairs.

In every multi-storeyed home
Across the globe, Beware!
Under the stairs there surely lives
A family of bears.

Pssssst! Have you checked for bears today?
Just listen up! You’ll be okay!
Tip 1: First thing, turn on the light;
Tip 2: They don’t come out at night!
Tip 3: Don’t show them you’re afraid.
Tip 4: They’re fond of lemonade!
Now smile, relax, no need to run
‘Cause stairly bears are just for fun!


Small stone 31-1-2012

From Grrrrr to Brrrrr – seeing Red to seeing White – hot temper to brain freeze … outdoors, indoors, outside my body, inside my head. Such a thin, thin line between extremes. Poles apart … yet the ground can be covered in less than ten minutes!

Small stone 30-1-2012

Reading aloud an excerpt from your autobiography. That sudden and unmistakable look of surprise on your face is a dead giveaway that you didn’t write it!

Small stone 29-1-2012

Quietly proud. Training on the beach with a group of wonderful people who three months ago wouldn’t have been able to keep up with the session. Secretly thinking ‘A little bit of that is down to me!’ It feels good to make a difference.

Small stone 28-1-2012

That moment when you realise you are listening to Rolf Harris on your iphone and you hope to God nobody stops to ask what music you’re listening to that’s making you laugh while you’re running!

Small stone 27-1-2012

I pull myself up short; stop the words ‘You might as well not be wearing a skirt for all the good that piece of thread is doing!’ from tumbling out of my mouth. Mantra for the day: I will not turn into my mother I will not turn into my mother I will not turn int……

Small stone 26-1-2012

Smart trousers, polished shoes, long-sleeved pressed shirt, no tie … regular clothes tipping my world into a different era … worn by my baby boy heading for his first university interview! Magic.

Small stone 25-1-2012

Sounds of Grieg gently probe each nook and corner of the room, surprised occasionally by the intermittent percussive snoring of the Golden, stretched out and dreaming; ever-so-light rhythmic clunking noises emanate from upstairs, evidence of a boy’s piano practice, headphones on; no pings or crashes, thumps or yells, not even a voice … Home … in the middle of a deep sigh.

Small stone 24-1-2012

‘Snow’ sounds cold and somewhat negative, don’t you think? Shnee (shne-eh) sounds a lot more fun. There’s something about that word that always makes me smile – maybe because it sounds like Snow plus a couple of G&Ts.

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