Monday, 22 December 2014

Christmas Robin Red Breast...

Dear Christmas Robin Red Breast

Perched upon my sill

Whose morning call awakens me

With its song so shrill

Oh how my heart does flutter

And sweet colour flush my cheek

When I think of sitting you

In my palm

And duct taping your bloody beak!

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Tuesday, 16 December 2014

Grumbling Gargoyle and Mother Gargoyle's Big Bite Out!.....**BLOG POST**

Went for a bite to eat with MG ( Mother Gargoyle ) recently, where, over a hot, frothy coffee, she reflected upon her childhood, eighty plus years ago, and the delightful simplicity of play, in a time when paved streets were the canvas upon which your imagination painted its own landscape of fun.

Engrossed by her tales of yesteryear, of her growing up in a gas lit, terraced street of the 30's, I gradually became conscious of a warm glow filtering through the chilled atmosphere of winters trappings to rest upon my heart, as I delighted in watching MG's face brighten with her happy reflections.

That's when MG casually chucked into the conversation how her and some of her friends would knock upon a neighbours door and ask if they could view the dead! "Ah those were the days"

I thought I'd misheard her, and I told her so....

"Oh no" she answered with a warm smile " It's what you did back then, we always did it!"

"Hold on mum, you 'always' did it? What do you mean? Did you just knock on random doors and hope there'd be a dead body inside or was it part of a tenancy agreement that you kept one? Was this a weekly occurrence, you know, like was there a specific day set to one side for it, like wash day or shopping day, did you have 'visit the dead at home day'?"

She did that thing with her eyelids, you know, that thing you do when you half droop them like a narrowed shutter to filter the amount of stupid coming at you!

And then after a swallow of coffee she continued...

"It was the custom, back then, that when someone died in our street we'd go round to the house and ask to see the body" she paused here, for another little slurp, before finishing with "and then we'd kiss it"

Instantly I regretted just having taken a huge gulp of my own coffee, as my flabbergasted state caused me to spray most of it over myself and everyone within a 1 metre radius of our table.

"Oh for God's sake mother!! Kiss it!!! Why the hell would you do that???" I asked incredulously

With an exasperated 'tut' she went on...

"Because that's just how it was! Anyway, I stopped doing it when old Mrs Green from over the road died, because seeing her gave me nightmares. It was a struggle to kiss her, I can tell you!"

My face went through a series of expressions worthy of gymnastic merit, each displaying varying levels of repulsion, before asking "Why, what was it about Mrs Green, in particularly, that scared you?"

Sitting back in the chair in the eatery, after a lengthy sigh and with a little bit of a shudder, MG sat forward, somewhat conspiratorially, to share with me in quieted whispers...

"She was a small grey haired woman, tiny and withered. Her eyes were wide open and staring. Her mouth was open too but they'd stuffed cloth into it, REALLY stuffed it in! 

She had a surprised look on her face and hollowed cheeks!". Reclining back into her chair she shivered with the memory and drifted into a contemplative swig of her coffee.

My mind considered the possibility that given Mrs Greens post-mortem state (bulging staring eyes, rag stuffed into gob) maybe natural causes wasn't much of a truism to have etched onto the Death Certificate!

And then another thought grabbed my attention involving a series of business cards that would have come in handy at the time advertising the services of a most industrious partnership called 'Kiss A Corpse Inc'. And the slogan? 'You Snuff It ~~ We Snog It'.

Hm, I think there's room for a revival here!

Anyway, just as I was mentally sifting through the possibilities for merchandising this, cups, T Shirts...Lip Balm!....our food arrived...

I'd ordered a Chicken Caesar Salad, which, by the look of it, had been designed to represent the death of Julius Caesar himself!

The lettuce lay across the plate in a theatrical state of withered collapse, like a disassembled laurel leaf crown, bearing the scars of a frenzied knife attack!

This being apparent by the profusion of brown, wounded leaves which were evident. The 'brown', as I'm sure you know, occurring due to the oxidisation process caused by the reaction of metal upon the lettuce (impressive eh? *smug grin*)

As for the rest of the ingredients, as sparse as they were, well, the chef must have flung them onto the plate via catapult whilst to-ing and fro-ing, at some speed, from his lofted position on his mood swing!

They were just measly, scattered offerings of chicken that wouldn't have provided sufficient nourishment to feed the actual chicken in the first place! (had that bizarre situation ever occurred).

MG had ordered fish and chips which, unfortunately, had also succumbed to the effects of the chef's psychotic break!

To be fair his mindset, despite its meltdown, remained loyal to a theme, and on this occasion he had seen fit to cook my mothers fish as a tribute to the victims of the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, AD 79.

Indeed, looking at the fish, which lay preserved in an impossibly curled position upon the plate, it was obvious that it had been subjected to the same pulse of thermal energy that the poor residents of Pompeii and Herculaneum had suffered on that fateful day!

All that was missing from this pseudo-biblical tableau, was a layer of ash from the chefs fag!

Well, whilst the culinary trip through the dark annals of history had been an engaging affair our grumbling stomachs demanded to be fed and so, after voicing our complaint, the previous disaster was replaced with fare of such equally disastrous content as to convince me that the chef had finally managed to attain a level of psychosis never before known to man nor lobotomist!

The chicken, and whatever other unidentifiable scraps which accompanied it, were even more stingily distributed than before and whilst the lettuce was more fresh this time,  psycho-chef had used enough of it as a filler on the plate as to feed the entire cast of Watership Down for several sequels to come!

This time MG 's fish  had taken on a mummified appearance, dry and tightly bound in breaded wrappings, applied haphazardly in such a style as to suggest the chef had worn boxing gloves!

It was at this point myself and MG, our appetites now depleted, decided to admit defeat and so, after acquiring a well deserved refund, we made our escape from the restaurant with a backdrop of clanging pots and pans as an accompaniment.

Lunch hadn't quite been what we'd expected and we wondered what we could do to bring some cheer into the rest of our day.

"How about a nice walk around the cemetery?" suggested a smiling MG

"Mother, I can't think of anything more perfect" said I.

And with decision made, off we went, with a jolly step, to canter with the cadavers.

                                 © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Saturday, 29 November 2014

Ding-Dong-Soddin'' all that!!...

Just to most recent vent, which you are about to suffer was written following my having been cruelly subjected to a certain 'Festively Heartwarming' video recently....I'm still trying to un-clench my fists!!...

Well, it's that time of year again whereby it's generally accepted that if you stuff a random, dodgy looking white-bearded fat guy into an equally dodgy looking red suit and ram a supposedly 'tear-jerking' script down his throat, amidst a backdrop of snow-capped bullshit and then stuff him in a musty old shed with some suitably maudlin merry-mind-f**k music attempting to subliminally manipulate your emotions....

...he will regurgitate a heart-rending story of such condescending bollocks as to have you racing to your computers to order industrial sized quantities of tissues in between clicking on 'virtual' orphans to pity during the festive season.........but not beyond it!... 

Obviously, that elevated feeling of...'Good Will To All Men'' all that shite, will dissipate the moment the video is over, allowing you to cancel your tissue order and replace it with whatever garbage the Yuletide advertising industry is insisting you can't live without this they themselves "HO-HO-HO" all the way to the Bank of Ding Dong Merrily & Kerching!!...


What am I going on about?...

I'll show you if you can strain yourself to be a little more patient...*points above to 'Good Will' etc...sighs*....

Right...before you read further, it is ESSENTIAL that you take a look at the video below...this should help you understand the rant which follows...

Okaaaaaaaay...let's put this into perspective!..

Where the kid could have offered to fill the universe with love and kisses for her 'daddy'...(albeit as a verbal gesture...I'm not expecting miracles, we'll leave those to the Catholics).....she selfishly chose to use ALL the paper and VAST amounts of 'Scotch Tape' to pointlessly prove her affections via what is, essentially, a box full of spit, lies and deceipt...(3 hours blowing air into a cardboard void?...I don't effin' think so)... AND at the cost of the partial demise of yet ANOTHER rain forest!!...*arches brow*...

The real meaning behind the conversation......

Daddy : "You haven't saved any of the paper for me have you Katy"

Katy: "No Daddy...'cos F**k you Daddy"

But that seems to be acceptable to 'Santa' who used the Scotch Tape to mock the Titanic tragedy when he said "Katy's used so much of the Scotch Tape she could have repaired the hull of the Titanic with it...HO-HO-HO"!.............How seasonably sensitive of him!...

What lessons have we learned from this festive message?...

Well, one is...that nothing puffs Santa's cheeks up with cheer as much as the misery and heartache which follows a good ol' human catastrophe...

In fact, there's many a Christmas scene depicting a red-faced jovial Santa in the forefront, as the very iceberg which sank the Titanic drifts chirpily along behind him!

But mostly, the lesson learned is that the kid is a spoiled brat who, despite her father's requests to be frugal with the paper AND the reminder that it was 3 days before Christmas so present opening wasn't on the agenda, stamped her feet 'till she got what she wanted! Well, more fool daddy....God help him during the teenage years!

And where's mummy through all of this? Rehab I suspect...driven to drink by her dysfunctional family and the white-bearded psycho who is obviously stalking them!...This could explain why a four-year-old would be 'toddling' into the room to speak to her dad rather than walking with a gait more usual for a four-year-old!.....'cos she was off her face on the booze her alcoholic mother had failed to successfully hide!... 

ANYWAY......don't let my little rant on the moronic bullshit we're drip-fed at this time of year, PARTICULARLY this time of year,  tilt YOUR  world....If this is how you enjoy a Merry Little Christmas....then feel free to do as Santa says and....

"Be The Santa In You"..........yeah....then see how YOUR family react when you give them a great big box full of f**k all on Christmas day........

Merry Christmas ....:)

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Monday, 27 October 2014


Tell us the story


Of how it used

To be

Before the voices

Told you

To slaughter your


Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Saturday, 25 October 2014

Brenda...**BLOG POST**...

Ted's a character I introduced in a series of writings I penned a while ago...He's a thirty-something young man of best intentions and dubious outcomes with an insufferable old granny whom he loves very much despite her terminal irreverence to everything!...

I'm sure Ted will share such goings on with you some other time but for now, he has a few things he needs to say about his friend...


I first met Brenda at Slimming World...I helped open the double doors to let her in. 

It was a beautiful summers day which was perfect because a little party was being held outside in celebration of one of the members losing an amazing amount of weight in a very short time...(personally, I thought cancer was cheating but...hey-ho! a party's a party I suppose).

Me and Brenda got chatting over a low-fat pork pie at the buffet. Well, I say 'chatting'...she was trying to wrestle it out of my hand. Nevertheless, I couldn't help thinking how eye catching she was...not every woman could carry off a muzzle. 

To break the ice I asked her how she'd got there that day...(I suspected airlifted)...and before we knew it we were nattering away like old pals. I'm glad to say that that's exactly what we became.

Our relationship's always been platonic and that's nothing to do with her be fair she does offer a discount for's just how it was and there was no one as happy as I was when she met Barry through the 'Syphilitics On-Line Dating Agency'.

Brenda said it was uncanny really because she remembered Barry from when he was a little lad. Him and a few of his like-minded mates, each keen violinists, formed their own little group called 'The Kiddie Fiddlers'.

Apparently, they were very popular too in their youth and used to perform a lot at children's parties but sadly, for some reason, they weren't as well received when they got older.

Electric Chair Whoopie CushionAnyway, me, Brenda and Barry have all been pals together now for many years and in that time, I'm proud to say, I've got to know their families very well. So much so that I even got an invite to Barry's Dad's execution in Georgia last Christmas. It was a warming affair, I can tell you. 

As for Barry's Mum, well that woman always makes a particular effort to make people feel at home...indeed she never fails to welcome everyone with open Brenda's Dad will attest most fervently.

But enough of all that! I think it's time we got on with the celebration of the all that's left to say now is......

"Ladies and Gentlemen...without further ado...would you please be upstanding and join me in raising your glasses, to the Bride and groom....Brenda and Barry...........hip hip......hoorayyyyyy"

Ahh, I do love a good wedding...

©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Friday, 24 October 2014

Dancing Dead...

When a midnight moon

Smiles on them

And there's no one

There to see

The dead rise from

Their earthy beds

For a night of gaiety

Poem only  ©Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Tuesday, 21 October 2014

Grumbling Gargoyle & Mother Gargoyle on Tour: Week One!... **BLOG POST**

Neither myself nor my ever present neuroses travel well, preferring instead to congregate within the confines of the haunt we call home where we can enjoy the tumultuous discomfort of endless bouts of prolonged misery in a familiar unsettling setting.

In this Shangri-la of derangement and mental maudlins, random panic attacks, general wailing and sudden bursts of hysteria roam free, unfettered by the judgmental arched eye brows of those who walk beyond this curious sanctuary and would question the bizarreness of such unorthodox 
behaviour...them being so perfect an' all... 

So, all this being considered, you'll probably find it strange that moi and the aforementioned neuroses..( who for the sake of this journal shall lovingly be referred to as 'friends' )...took it upon ourselves to accompany my octogenarian mother...( or MG as she's fondly referred to 'Mother Gargoyle' )...on her travels to Spain, as part of her ever expanding bucket list.

The reason I had to do this, despite my peculiar mindset, is quite simple...I love this woman. I want to savour whatever time we have left together and she is completely unaware of the odd company I keep in the darkened corners of my raddled mind...and that's how it shall remain.

To discuss the matter further would evoke far too many intrusive questions and require answers that I myself simply do not have nor bear to consider... so it is that, me and my curious pals continue our relationship in best we can...

Over the course of these chunnerings about mine and MG's travels you'll meet many of my little 'friends', though not all...some are far too disturbing to disclose even unto myself!!......Right...let's get on with it...


Arrive at airport inwardly screaming 'cos am terrified of flying

Board plane - watch MG settle down in seat with book and barley sugar sweet - cast envious glance at her brazen nonchalance - swallow an inaudible sob.

Mentally revisit inane statements of recidivist flyers who bleat supposedly soothing comments - "Oh nothing to worry about, it's not a long flight" - also revisit fact that length of flight has f**k all to do with time it takes to dive bomb into oblivion!

Look around plane to determine if anyone looks dodgy - catch sight of own reflection in window - realise I qualify!

Fellow catastrophist thoughtfully 
prepares for post-crash situation
Listen as cabin crew go through emergency procedures - only  hear " we're all going to die"

Quickly scan rest of passengers excited, smiling faces just before take off - wince as mind replaces this idyllic scene of rapture with graphic images of blood, guts and general post-crash carnage 

Spend entire flight covertly monitoring every nuance of cabin crew's body language, looking for signs of masked panic.


Miraculously survive flight - eventually identify advancing alien feeling as hint of optimism

Travel from airport to villa - discover villa is up a f***in' mountain - stare wide eyed into cavernous maw of impending doom which straddles either sides of car as it crunches its way up precarious, rugged path of cataclysmic possibilities - commence to quietly shite self - spot MG casually reapplying lipstick previously licked off face in a barley sugar sucking frenzy - waves bye to former hint of optimism

Survive ascent to villa - survey all aspects of breathtaking, beautiful scenery surrounding temporary home - enter perfectly tended and welcoming abode - pause to greet onward return of approaching optimism

Notice steel bars firmly attached to every window including door - feel speedy retreat of aforementioned optimism as it's replaced by disembodied, strangled cry of claustrophobic terror

Spend night covertly hugging fire extinguisher 'just incase' - awake and shuffle into lounge with hooded eyes - spot soon-to-be-83 year old mater relaxed and freshly showered on settee reading

Notice stifled titter she affords me - shuffle off to get ready for trip out to buy provisions - remember this involves road of impending doom - fail to remember applying for Survival Course - die a little inside

Rest of time spent accompanying MG in exploration of beautiful town of Nerja, where we're based - struggle to suppress omnipresent want to rush back to villa to hide and adopt foetal position until time to go home to England - constantly bob and weave through assault course of people and noise of their ceaseless babble - avoid eye contact with anyone, especially with MG who has the ability to see through my soul 

Stand aghast at speedy approach of nun carelessly assaulting all in her path with scandalous flappage of bat black habit - grimace as scar tissue from convent education tears open to expose still  smouldering embers of pain, guilt and fear of 'all loving God'

Notice nun has face like an empty duffel bag, collapsed in a constant state of disapproval, scanning for souls to devour and lives to f**K up - shudder all way back to villa

Plan day around pool - sleep marginally better knowing not going beyond hideaway this day - follow sound of MG's voice calmly sharing "must have been raining through the night, take a look at this" - quickly put bathing cossy on as prep for pool - exit bedroom - enter hallway - spot MG by open door, adorned in vibrantly coloured Gallabaya, breezily sipping coffee from china cup

Smile and saunter over to see what SHE'S smiling at - follow her perfectly manicured talon to point of interest - instantly mind- f***ed by sight of thick carpet of slithering, squirming, pulsing, writhing, bowel motivating worms leading from path to pool, around pool and IN THE POOL!!! which greets my now bulging eyes

Remain rooted to spot as MG turns, smiles again, with a mischeivously arched brow before asking "fancy a coffee before your swim then"? 

Scream into the following week!...

( to be continued )...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 

Friday, 19 September 2014

Resisting A Rest!... **BLOG POST**

At some point in our lives each of us will suffer from stress. Some more than others...and anyone who says they have never experienced stress...are either liars....or carriers!  I'd probably suggest the latter in most cases.

Given the nature of my numerous neuroses I practically live on a diet of fingernails and chocolate, spending each day with a brow so furrowed as to render me Klingon in appearance!

So on occasion, when nervous energy is spent, you'll find me flopped upon the couch trying to prise my clenched fists open, in an attempt to relax with a milky coffee and a Prozac sandwich.

But I don't always manage to achieve this state of reverie, as was the case the other day.  I'd barely un-knotted my eyebrows before the phone started ringing!

Some hysterical, hyperactive individual, with a voice not dissimilar to what I'd expect if you'd hand reared a chipmunk on a diet of helium and crack, squealed an enquiry as to my well-being, before assaulting my senses with a garbled mention of changing energy suppliers.

I listened politely for some time before interrupting his monologue by saying...

"Well this has been lovely...but now I need to go and spend some 'me time' ramming the fridge door into my head"...and thus we parted.

That over with, I settled down again and gradually, I could feel sleep creeping up on me...and if it hadn't been for the door bell ringing it would have caught up!

Wearing the twitch of discontentment I dragged my reluctant body up from the settee and opened the door to find a dreaded Jesus Preacher standing there, dressed like an auditionee for Men in Black, with his obligatory child accomplice!

These people must get to choose their own side-kick before they set off for a days worth of knocking on doors pissing people off!.

Sometimes it's a kid, sometimes there's a person in a wheel chair with them...and if they're REALLY going for the pity-party jugular...the kid will be in the wheelchair!

Still, on that particular day, for all I cared, he could have been accompanied by a choir of weeping orphans singing Old Shep, clutching tear soaked photos of their poor deceased mother, to their consumptive little chests ...I simply didn't care!...I was far too worn out and agitated to give a shite...and that's why I told him I was a Satanist.

These interruptions were really getting to me now and ruining the day. I was sick of the phone ringing...sick of the door bell constantly ringing...and then I was just sick.

I was about to attempt to lie on the couch again, when I heard something being pushed through my letter box. Instantly, the neurosis I carry which enjoys catastrophising every innocuous situation in my life kicked in, compelling me to run to the door in a bid to quickly assess whatever life threatening object had been thrust upon me!

It was a plastic bag with a note attached asking for clothing donations to help the starving.

Now I am not an unreasonable person and I applaud all of the charities for the work they do need to understand... I was on the edge of my wits here!...I'd been pushed to the limit!...and that's why I opened the front door to confront the startled guy who'd posted the bag by shouting at him...

"If they can fit into my clothes they're not effin' starving are they????"...and then I ran in...ashamed.

For the millionth time I returned to the sofa. I could feel myself drifting again...ahhh yessss...gently beginning to float upon a bubble of bliss...lids folding over sleepy red eyes...drool welling up in the corner of my gaping gob...and then the phone rang again!!!...

I jumped up and snatched it with the dexterity of a demonically possessed Ninja, with a temper to match!...

"Whatever you want to give me I don't effin' want it!" I bellowed

 "What I want you to do with whatever it is that you want to give me that I don't effin' want to stick it sideways up your mithering, intrusive, bug bearing arse. Do you think you could do that for me? Do you?"....

There was a slight pause, followed by...

"Well, I'll give it a go but one of the library books you've ordered is a hardback so there could be a bit of a struggle!"...

The most peaceful happening to follow that, was the small funeral I held in the garden for my library least one of us got to rest in peace!...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Thursday, 11 September 2014

Ranting an' Raging.... **BLOG POST**

Life found me wandering the streets at daft o'clock, the other morning, on my way to a hospital appointment. 

You see, I suffer from a chronic condition known as Premature Evacuation, whereby I am compelled to leave the house much earlier than necessary 'cos the fear of being late acts as an overly powerful laxative, the results of which can prove quite limiting to ones travels!!

Anyway, fancying a carefully timed coffee along the way, I was lured by a fluorescent 'Cafe Open' sign and, based upon this invite, made my move to enter. I'd barely put my toe beyond the open door when a disgruntled voice spat...

"We're not open yet" 

Honing in on the source of this melodious welcome, my eyes met with a face whose expression was as warming as a blast chiller and decorated with enough paint to suffocate a clown!!

"Erm...your sign says 'Open'...and your open door confirmed this!" I offered, with a raised challenging brow.

"Five more minutes yet" came the response, said through teeth gritted so violently I worried I'd suffer shrapnel from her fillings!

I quickly construed that the cause of her monosyllabic mumblings was partly due to the weight of her make-up having semi-paralysed her face and partly due to the fact that the enormous effort of dialogue was, obviously,  way beyond the limitations of her cognitive ability!

So, without wishing to complicate her day any further by putting more pressure on her brain cell to formulate a coherent sentence...I left her to enjoy the company of her mental void and continued on my way.

Well, things didn't go any better at the hospital. Without affording me any eye contact whatsoever the receptionist continuously botched my name and details up because she hadn't taken the time to read my particulars properly.

As a result she was looking at someone else's file...and she repeated this cock-up three effin' times with three different files belonging to three different people!...and all with the gaiety of a death row inmate.

Furthermore, behind the desk where she stood, in full view of the public, rested a notice taped to a computer which served to remind staff to 'Smile' at patients, especially when talking to them on the phone 'because they will hear it in your voice'.


It's worrying enough that it was deemed necessary to implement this 'Idiot's Guide To Common Decency' but knowing that the person dealing with me needed diagrams and maybe a DVD to demonstrate this complex soddin' tragic! 

Whilst I'm having this rant I'll tell you what else is pissing me off...

Why do we over-complicate things which are best understood in simple form?...

Some time ago, a colour coded weather warning system was introduced by the Met Office...

GREEN...No severe weather.

YELLOW...Be aware.

AMBER...Be prepared.

RED...Take action.

Is the weather forecast sponsored by Crayola?

What do you do if you're colour blind?

Wouldn't it be easier to ask a Sailor or a Shepherd?

Why are weather presenters so bloody patronising?

What happened to a succinct weather forecast which simply stated whether or not it was going to be a shitty day?

And what's going on with all these different titles to weight issues?

Obese...Super Obese...Morbidly Obese...Super Morbidly Obese...

An 'expert' even defined one group as being...'Extreme Super Morbidly Obese'...there's no need for this!!! It's almost encouraging people to upgrade!!...

Oh ok ok...I'll shut up now!! I could go on, but I'll save that for another time. You'll be glad to hear I've given myself a headache and nearly broken my typing finger through pummeling out my rage on the keyboard!

But then of course...I'm not called The Grumbling Gargoyle for nothing!!...

© Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012

Wednesday, 10 September 2014


His words

Promised eternity

His touch

An assuring caress

But his soul

Belonged to

The devil

And his heart

Was a serpent's nest

Poem only  © Copyright Lynn Gerrard 2.8.2012