Hairyears @Hairyears@mastodon.technology

My beloved @Artsyhonker has just baked the first loaf of sourdough bread with wild yeast captured from elderflowers.

It's lovely, tart and light and zingy with an amazing perfume of elderflowers.

For those of you appalled by today's clownish absurdity from Boris Johnson: today is décadi 20 Prairial in the year of the Republic CCXXVI, celebrating the pitchfork:
https://twitter.com/sansculotides/status/1004875670223085568/photo/1

Out for a stroll with @Artsyhonker in Epping Forest, and I can see Cinnabar moth caterpillars - they turn up mob-handed, and some of the ragworts they are eating have been munched down to the bare stem:

I do these things so you don't have to: Google image search "Sausage Recursion"

I have fled from the Central Line, and I am continuing my journey by bus.

I am suffering from Radical Armpitation

I am suffused with pride at our collective contribution to shareholder value at Great Western Railways

I am suffused with pride at our collective contribution to shareholder value at Great Western Railways

I have boarded the 18:14 from Bristol to Paddington, which will depart when enough of the 'customers' have been evicted from the vestibules to allow the train doors to close.

It is the last train to run to London without rail replacement buses.

Our train just loaded hundreds of sunburnt teenagers and families with children at Weston Super Mare.

*Of Course* Great Western Railway only run 2-car trains to the seaside on a bank holiday

Day eighteen of National Poetry Writing Month, and the ignominy of Boris Johnson.

While Boris talks out of his arse
His office descends into farce
The haystack from Eton's
A racist who cheats on
His promises, friends, and his class

Mere vituperation has a place

Apologies for the delay on day 18 of NaPoWriMo: the subject proved challenging.

The result has a minor typo...

The flock knows a fellow called Gove,
For oft in his wellies he strove:
The fruits of his thrusting?
Acutely disgusting!
His sock has gone yellow and mauve.

Day 17 of National Poetry Writing Month - past the halfway mark! - and it's time for something with a note of optimism:

We're ruled by the dark horoscope:
Cthulhu's awake, give up hope!
  His tentacles curled
  At the scent of our world 
And he blew outta here with a 'Nope'

Day Sixteen of National Poetry Writing Month, and I've had a truly terrible day at work. 

So:

Young Grayling was told "Don't eat those!" 
When picking his nostrils and toes
    Regrettably some
    Wouldn't fit up his bum
So he'd stick 'em back into his nose.

Day fourteen of National Poetry Writing Month, and nobody has begged me to stop. Yet.

A gentleman knows when to burp, 
To gargle and swallow, or slurp:
    The peak of his art
    Is to sneak out a fart
And to blame it on some other twerp.

Day Thirteen of NaPoWriMo, and I've only got five minutes to go...

A Limerick entitled: 'Remembrance of Tines Passed':

A virtuous lady from York
Gave birth to three spoons and a fork
She referred to aspersions
Of furtive insertions:

"I prefer to just say it's the stork"

Day nine, and the Limericks are winning at NaPoWriMo, the National Poetry Writing Month:

Our cat is the king of the house:
Whenever we grump and we grouse, 
He'll show us his pleasure 
Bestowing his treasure, 
And bring us the head of a mouse.

Day 9 of my continuing campaign to lower the quality of the Nation's poetry, under the pretext of National Poetry Writing Month: 

Rees-Mogg is the boss of the herd
Defiantly posh and absurd
   He boasts and dissembles
   And closely resembles
A giant unflushable turd

Day 8 of National Poetry Writing Day, and here's a previous work, a competition piece for Mick Twister:

A King who was bored on the throne 
Would wring for his pleasure alone;
   A nosy young courtier
   Proposed something naughtier:
"I'm thinking, my Lord, Hide The Bone!"

Day Seven of the National Poetry Writing Month. Today, we celebrate the financial services industry:

A gentleman broker from Surrey
Went out on the coke and the curry
He brayed and he snorted
The waiters retorted:
"That's chilli not coke, not to worry!"