Song: “Monday Morning Mishap (Never Make Tea In The Nude)”

Going through my old files, and I found this absolute gem that I boshed off, apparently at exactly on the 1st of June 2008 at 4pm. Forgotten I had written it. This was classic me from around 2008; silly, surreal, nutty, smutty. Wish I had my blog then! In any case, despite not remember having written it, as soon as I saw it, I remembered the tune I came up with to go with it. Maybe I’ll post the tune in the future. In any case, this is a song, hence it is not 100% metrically consistent from a poem standpoint.



Got up feeling groggy,

Body somewhat soggy from the night.

Demons and devils, nightmares straddled me,

Screeching in me lugs when I was sleeping, wrapped up tight.


But now awake

I make a cuppa rosy in the kitchen,

This languid body’s twitchin’

‘Cos of warm, wet Rosy Lee it’s itchin’.


Fill the kettle with brown water from a rusted tap,

Seethin’ liquids, pour the water, kettle handle snaps,

I wouldn’t mind too much I swear but only for the fact,

That my John Thomas hanging out was scolded to the sack.



Never make tea in the nude.

Never make tea in the nude.

I ain’t a prude, just please, be shrewd,

And never make tea in the nude.


It really ain’t that clever

To expose your old fella

‘Alf a kettle tests your mettle

An’ leaves ya feelin’ yella


So never make tea in the nude



Several years long after that

My wife long-since departed

Not from her death, but death of sex,

My piston’s not since started


She said I stank, and drank a lot,

An’ was a useless prannock,

But worse disgrace, a waste of space,

Now that I could not fill her crannock.


If you ask me in the pub at five thirty I’ll say

That she’s a fuckin’ whore, a slut, an’ I left her that day,

But come the tollin’ of the bell at closin’ time pissed up,

I’ll tell the truth, an’ climb the roof, an’ threaten to jump off.


It happens every night, last night was no exception,

This morn a banging head, black eyes, and half a recollection;

So I take my medicine, half a pint of gin,

An’ an English fry up, to my dosser day begin.


A fryin’ pan of butter, sizzlin’ sausages,

Some rashers, mushrooms, and brown bread,

Just what old Frankie needs;

The chocka-block brown-rusted pan

I popped in there three eggs,

But I slipped, the handle ripped,

Fried sausage ‘twixt two legs.



Never make eggs in the nude.

Never make eggs in the nude.

I ain’t a prude, just please, be shrewd,

And never make eggs in the nude.


It really ain’t that clever

To expose your old fella

A full up pan sears ya man

An’ leaves ya feelin’ yella


So never make eggs in the nude

Never make eggs in the nude

Don’t be like Frank who’ll no more wank

Never make eggs in the nude.

Never make eggs in the nude.

Don’t be like Frank who’ll no more wank,

And never make eggs in the nude.



Bryan A J Parry 1st June 4ish pm. 2008

© 2019 Bryan A. J. Parry

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Wisdom Tooth Haemorrhoids #WisdomTooth #Haemorrhoids #Hemorrhoids #Dentistry


After six months of my face ballooning, and my diet largely being made up of antibiotics, I had all of my wisdom teeth taken out last week. I was really not keen on getting it done as I had a fear they were accidentally going to nick my inferior alveolar nerve nerve and paralyse my face. But it had to be done.

Seven days later:

  • Yes, my tooth socket areas hurt a lot.
  • Yes, they necessarily did a hatchet job on my gums, which also hurt.
  • Yes, my mouth is riddled with infections and what are known as “major” ulcers.
  • Yes, an extremely limited liquid diet, so as to not agitate the tooth sockets or the ulcers, is boring the hell out of me.

But the worst bit about having all of my wisdom teeth out? The haemorrhoids.

That’s a worry that didn’t cross my mind, pre-op.

But with a diet consisting wholly of water, yoghurt, ice lollies, and cold cream of tomato soup (the last turns out to be a no-no as it is making my infection worse!), I am simply unable to poo.

I’ve never had that problem before. A slightly excessive amount of coffee, chilli, and Jakeman’s sweets, has meant my bumhole has always been thoroughly lubricated, and my plop healthily medium soft.

But now I am laying actual bricks.

Yet I can’t lay them.

The lavvy routine is the same each time. The jagged, baby-sized turd very slowly creeps down my bot-canal. It stretches my rim till tears fill my eyes. Yet it won’t come out. My arse ring just contracts further and further, yet there’s no epidural to hand, and no sign of my red baby’s head.

The only way to get the crap packet out of my bleeding rear eye is to rhythmically clench my butt cheeks and breaks little pieces of dung off, and then suck the vitriolic little shit back up into my rectum. I’ve been chiselling away at this bum boulder in this manner for a day now.

Solutions? No idea. The laxatives aren’t working. I just never thought I’d get piles from having my teeth out.

© 2016 Bryan A. J. Parry

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