Now that I have a chance to show the discerning Stockport public what a brilliant poet I am, I can’t get anything on paper. On Wednesday I’m going to be reading out the following epic poem:
Ican’tthinkofanythinIcan’tthinkofanything
Ican’tthinkofanuything(spellingmistake,great!That’llimpressthem)
Ican’tthinkofanythingIcan’tthinkofanything
Helphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelphelp
Ireallycan’tthinkofanything
I am a little fat. I like food; what can I say? I have dull hair: mousey. I don’t wear much make-up and have no need of a dressing table. If I look like a bag lady, I chose my own clothes. If I look nice, the Hub picked them for me. Despite all this, I am a little vain. This photograph is from 2003. I had to go back that far to find one of me that I liked. But I don’t really care: my husband still thinks I’m beautiful and if he doesn’t, he loves me enough to lie about it. I’m lucky. I have two boys. They never lie to me. Still, you can't have everything.
The Laughing Housewife 
Ahhh, sorry to nitpick but wasn’t there a missing ‘help’ in line four?
I’ll get me coat!!
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Aaaaghhhh! Grab mine while you’re at it!
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