Am I twirly?

I’m an aging woman who’s too old to see

Why sex was once forbidden and is now compulsory

Couple of lines from a poem I wrote a while back.  The other day I  caught sight of a bloke’s t-shirt on the bus.  Most t-shirt slogans don’t make any sense – this one unfortunately did.  It said:

It ain’t gonna suck itself.

I thought about it for a second, then wished I hadn’t.  After I got off the bus, I thought of my reply:  You suck.  By the time he’d worked out the anatomical impossibilities, he’d have got the message.

Am I twirly?

There are just too many short story competitions.  I can’t decide which one to go in for.  Yesterday I read the winning entry for one and instantly decided not to enter (I won’t say which one it was).  But from the judge’s comments it was clear to me that they hadn’t got a clue.  Sorry if that sounds arrogant – it’s what I think.

But am I twirly?

In London, they are called Wombles, in Liverpool, Twirlies.  What are they?  Pensioners with passes.  They get on the bus at 9.25 and say, “Am I twirly?”  Which all goes to show that bus drivers are poets under the skin.  Oh, and that they have an awesome respect for members of the community they serve.

(see post Jan 17th 2010: High Taw Tawk Propah-leah)

Got to go – the bus won’t wait!

Oh – one of my favourite poems about buses – Wendy Cope (see

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