Cuddle Hunter

Some people hunt Africa’s big five, others seek the elusive Big Foot, while still others go in search of treasure, hidden in shipwrecks, lying on the floor of the ocean.
Me? I just look for cuddles………


I am a cuddle hunter,
Now be careful how that’s said.
If you get it mixed up,
It could be very rude instead!

I search for cuddles daily,
I search both near and far;
They can be hiding in my bathroom,
Sometimes waiting in my car.

Sometimes they’re on the sofa
Or even on the stairs;
I can be standing in the larder
When suddenly one appears.

I like it when they creep up on me
And take me by surprise,
And when I feel them squeezing me
It makes me close my eyes.

I like cuddles in the morning,
And after lunch as well.
But those cuddles in the evening?
Well… I’m not supposed to tell!



Mother-In-Law’s Annual Visit

Just when I thought it was safe to come out of my garden shed…….!       



The house has now had its final inspection,
Just back from the docs, I’ve had my injection.
So we’re all geared up now for what’s in store,
The annual visit of the mother-in-law!

Three weeks is how long she usually stays;
That’s a very long time, it’s twenty one days!
When each day can seem more like a week;
It’s an awful long time to watch how I speak.

She’s not too bad really, and at ninety years old
It’s amazing how much whiskey she is able to hold;
(And it’s my whiskey she’s drinking, the Famous Grouse,
An appropriate name when she’s in the house!).

She arrives on Monday on a budget airline,
Her broomstick’s been sold, on E-bay, online.
Far too old anyway for that form of travel,
With the wind in her hair, her perm would unravel.

Her room is all ready, the bed has been made,
It hasn’t been used since the last time she stayed;
We left it alone so that the spiders could breed;
Well she frightens me, so I’m returning the deed!

I’ve just painted the cauldron, so now she can brew
Her potions and lotions, her toad and newt stew;
It’s a specialty of hers, of which she is fond;
And that reminds me, I must look for her wand.

I do love her really, she so sweet and so kind,
The best mother-in-law that you’ll ever find;
That is, of course, while she’s a long way away,
It’s a whole different ball game when she comes to stay.


Not long now! I’m having a panic attack;
Need calming down with a good slug of Jack.
There, I can see her now getting off the plane,
Wearing that black pointed hat once again!

TPOTG Copyright 2016-2019


Rhyming Recipe #1 Creamed Cabbage And Brussels with Bacon

This is one of my favourites! It’s so easy  to make you really should try it


Take one cabbage that’s white,
Take one cabbage that’s red,
If you can’t get a red one
Use two white ones instead,
Heat some oil and butter
In a fairly large pan,
Finely slice the cabbage,
Be as neat as you can,
Add sliced onions and halved brussels,
Place them into the pot,
Add some diced fried bacon and cream,
Now stir in the lot.
Salt and pepper to season
And some garlic too,
A little mixed herbs,
Now, I think that should do;
Cook on a medium heat,
But don’t overdo it,
Cook cabbage too long
And you can easily stew it,
As soon as it’s cooked
You can serve straight away,
But better still refrigerate,
And serve the next day.




A Snooze or a Brew….Which is Best?

Perhaps the top of the hill is the best place to be?


I’m over the hill now,
Soon I should be picking up speed,
But a life somewhat faster
Is not something I need.
Most things are still working,
Have my own teeth, my own hair,
And at a finely turned ankle
I still like to stare.

I should really be grateful,
There’s no need to complain,
Old age has its benefits,
There’s so much that you gain;
If you sit there a minute,
Then I’ll write you a list;
But … perhaps a little snooze first,
They’re so hard to resist!

OK…. I’m back again,
Just a short power nap,
Too much thinking these days
Makes the energy sap;
Now something about a list?
First …. give me a minute or two,
I think I’ll just put the kettle on,
It must be time for a brew!

OK that’s better!
Now what were we saying?
(Memory’s not at its best,
At the edges it’s fraying.)
You were going to give me a list
Of what I would need
If I wanted to go faster,
If I wanted to speed?

No…. that won’t be necessary,
This slow life is fine,
I’ve found the top of the hill
To be a good finishing line;
So I think I’ll just stay here,
Not go over the crest.
Now …. a snooze or a brew?
Which do you think is best?




How I Wish I Could Paint

Is a writer an artist? I like to think so, but every once in a while I wish for a more physical artistic skill, sometimes I just wish I could paint…

Old Writer Artist Frame 1How I wish I could paint, how I wish I could capture
On canvas those sights that fill me with rapture.
Such wonders that have the power to evoke,
If I could record them with an artist’s brushstroke.

Oh! how I wish I could hue, from some solid rock,
A statue of a goddess, to which crowds would flock,
And marvel at my sculpture, how proud I would be,
There for all time, a reminder of me.

I wish I could turn on a potter’s wheel,
A lump of wet clay, crafting purely by feel,
Then firing that clay, creating fine pottery.
How I wish I could do that, how I wish that was me.

I wish I could shape glass held over a fire,
Using a skill of which I’d never tire.
Creating fine glassware with an artist’s touch,
I know I would like that so very much

I wish I could sit down in front of the keys
And play a piano with consummate ease.
Maybe some jazz, or maybe some blues,
Now that is an art I would certainly choose

I wish I could sing, a voice full of emotion,
Have sell out world tours, cross every ocean.
A voice to be savoured by all different ages;
And in the music press filling so many pages.

But I have been blessed with a much different skill,
No concert hall or gallery will I ever fill;
It’s a vivid imagination, at work all the time,
Composing my verse, rhyme after rhyme.tootg-copyright-2016-2017