The Joy of Hexagons

Hello Readers

...and thanks for bringing tins of fruit, fresh vegetables and surplus food items from your pantries, cupboards, and larders. Unfortunately you have mistaken my blog for the Harvest Festival (again).

I have a miserable dirge for you to read and some complete piffle about my forthcoming book. You can read it or just skip this page. Maybe add a comment or just spit at the screen and watch the drool extend into a long frothy river of spittle that gradually rolls slowly down the screen before slowly dripping onto your desk, table or legs.

Indulgent and Maligned Pathos

They throw mud at him when he walks down the street,
whilst standing still they fire weapons at his feet,
In the post office they barge him out of the way,
The supermarket staff say that he is gay,
At home respect is not at hand,
Ugly faces are pulled and pants buried in the sand,
Strangers punch him in the balls,
and make disgusting prank phone calls,
but despite all this anguish throughout the weeks,
you can still read his blog called “Keith Doughnut Speaks”

I am a man with a Plan, OK it is a saving plan from the Nat-west (circa 1987) but it is still a plan and that is all it says in the book. [What book?]

If anyone is reading this...(I know you will Frank, otherwise you could not have known about the incident with the horse last Thursday) I have received some rather sad news this week. My “perspective” publisher decided not to publish my book titled “The Joy of Hexagons”. I am obviously devastated by this malicious and stupid behaviour.

For several months these idiots asked for more steam. I filled the entire book with steam. There were clouds of steam everywhere. The main character, a Roman foot soldier called Ikbhar had steam coming from his ears. I've managed to pen one final line to complete the saga, it is slightly tongue in turnip and directed at a certain book publisher with a crooked nose and wonky eyebrows, you know who you are...

“Where is my freakin' book deal” said Ikbhar as he pushed a hand cart of sprouts up the hillside. His bladder was full to bursting and he ventured behind a large tree. After a short time a dense cloud of steam billowed over the landscape like an old man's hairstyle.

I'm crying into my cornflakes...

I've got some other stuff to do now so... “MOVE IT, FATTY!”

Keith Doughnut