Day one hundred

You are not looking
At this. Please move along now.
It's an illusion

How very postmodern. So long.

Day ninety nine: I love you all

So tomorrow is day 100. I already know what I'm going to post tomorrow, and it'll be quite short, so I'll write more now. I actually feel quite sad writing this, as this hundred days project has been a great thing to be part of. I signed up for it on a bit of a whim, and to be honest I thought that I probably wouldn't end up keeping it up, yet here I am. The thing that's kept me doing it is partly the lovely feedback on it I've got on here, on twitter and from friends, but also the amazing things that other people are doing, which have proven to be genuinely inspirational. From Dominic McKenna’s smiley photos, Ade Brown’s London walks, Jen Brubacher, dinky darko and So-Shan Au’s picturesque snapshots, Siobhan B’s lovely drawings, Edward Ross’ amazing cartoons, to James Clayton’s brilliant mythical creature haikus, Nicola Masters’ funny limericks, Lizzie Poulton’s devotion to plagiarism, Chrissy Williams’ new words (some of which I have been trying to work into my own vocabulary), Daniel Weir’s lego creations, Gemma Seltzer’s evocative tales of speaking to strangers and so many more. The name of this whole initiative is 'a hundred days to make me a better person', and I genuinely think that the little community that's built up around it has helped to make us better people in some small way. And this is what I have to say to you all:

What a creative,
Lovely, funny, heartwarming
Bunch you really are

I hope to meet lots of you at the party tomorrow night.

Day ninety eight: London Loves

Excellent weekend this weekend (though I'm feeling it this morning). There's something I've loved about London for a while, but experienced it in action this weekend, where you're walking somewhere unfamiliar and think you may have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but then discover something great, whether it be a lovely cafe, a picturesque park, an amazing piece of architecture, or an appealing pub. Of course London's not the only place where this is the case, but it definitely applies here.

My favourite aspect
Of London is that you are
Never really lost

Day ninety seven: a big hello

To anyone who's come here after reading the hundred days article in the Independent on Sunday, firstly hello! And also, about my blog:

It's not all talking
About work. I also talk
About Masterchef

I'm an exciting guy. I do sometimes wonder what the pioneers of haiku, these deep thinkers who would compose concise meditations on the nature of the world, would think if they saw me counting out syllables on my fingers while writing about badgers. They probably wouldn't be too happy about it. Oh well.

This is my current favourite song:

Day ninety six: better, better, beeetter

With only a few days of the 100 left, I'm going to have to plan what to right about to close this project. But first, here's a little update to day 94.

As predicted, I
Feel a bit more settled in
Every single day

A suitable song for a sunny day:

Day ninety five: a new yawn

I'm very glad it's Friday. I was in a right daze when I got up this morning:

One sign of tiredness
Is almost getting in the
Shower with pants on

I realised when I was centimetres from the water, and once I did the cat-like agility with which I recoiled almost defied the laws of physics. It was like something out of The Matrix.

Have a good weekend all, see you tomorrow.

Day ninety four: silly me

I don't know why I
Make myself a lonely guy
When I'm not alone

To elaborate, I've found myself doing the thing I always do, and I don't know why I do it, so bear with me. It seems that whenever I move to a new town, I make an effort to make myself lonely. I'll, aside from my closest few friends, distance myself from people and go all quiet, spend most of my time in my room away from flatmates, and when I'm not in the flat just wander around aimlessly. It's only ever temporary (except for when I was studying in Spain, but that's a tale for another day), but I always do it. A case in point is this evening: I finished work at half 5, and only got home about half an hour ago. In that time I went to Oxford Street to pick up a couple of things I'd been meaning to get (ah, retail therapy, the old classic), and spent ages going to an unnecessary amount of shops, then inexplicably went to St Pancras station and sat in a cafe for an hour. When I got home I told my flatmates that I'd worked late then went to get some dinner with a couple of workmates.

The irony is that I do know plenty of people around here, and I'm a very sociable person normally, I love spending time with people and feel comfortable in most social situations; it just seems that this is some psychological hurdle I have to overcome whenever I move to a different town. The only explanations I can come up with are (a) that every time I've moved anywhere I've been at home temporarily beforehand, and when I go it always makes my Mum feel sad for a few days, which in turn makes me feel sad, or (b) deep within my psyche is the notion that I have to earn the right to enjoy living somewhere, and to do that I have get to an emotionally low point first, before building from there.

I don't know, it's weird, but I'll be okay.

It probably doesn't help that I was listening to The Smiths when I was out earlier

Day ninety three: introducing 'Clam' on bass

I went to a gig at a jazz club last night. It was just a small place, but rather than being able to sit where you liked they had (seemingly arbitrarily) alloted seats to people, which was disappointingly un-jazzy.

I had hoped that the
Seating arrangements would be
A bit more free-form

Day ninety two: on 6Music

No more Laverne; no
More Freak Zone; no more "STEPHEN!".
We can't let this pass

Day ninety one: I'm obsessed!

I've torn myself away from the new Joanna Newsom album to type this one up. I saw a poster for the Ideal Home Show earlier - exciting stuff. The usual suspects were on there: Barker; Allsop; Llewelyn Bowen...and Gregg Wallace! Or as I thought to myself at the time...

I'd recognise that
Big eggy head anywhere.
No puds at Earls Court.

Day ninety: robo-tory

I saw George Osbourne interviewed by Andrew Marr this morning. It was embarrassing, it's like he's some schoolboy playing at being a politician. And the fact that they're favourites to win the next election fills me with dread. It'll be like in Doctor Who when the whole country gets taken over by Cybermen or something. My only hope is that the current Tory front bench will soon be revealed as some kind of Eton prank, and they are all, in fact, 13 years old.

I say, chaps, here's fun;
Let's de-bag that dastardly
Cad Brown. Hahaha.

Day eighty nine: I just booked a hotel room

I hate decisions
That are, in retrospect, driven
Completely by booze

Day eighty eight: not long left

Cor, it feels like no time at all since we all started these 100 days pledges, and now there are less than two weeks left. In a strange way I think I'll feel a bit sad when it ends, but the night celebrating it as part of the London Word Festival should be a great send off.


I know I'll still be
Coming up with fresh haiku
Weeks and weeks later

Day eighty seven: an ode to London Popfest

London Popfest starts tonight, for all your indiepop needs in London. I couldn't go last year, but lots of people I know did, and there was an underlying theme in all the photos I saw from it:

I've never seen so
Many people smiling so
Much at the same time

Day eighty six: oh nostalgia

I saw an old friend on the train home earlier. We talked for a while, but it was clear that we weren't the same people we once were. I know it's sometimes inevitable that you drift apart from some people, but still...

It is a shame when
A great friend becomes someone
Who you used to know

Day eighty five: a lapsed Catholic education

I'm sorry Dad, but
Matthew, Luke and John never
Made a Mark on me

Day eighty four: take whatever you want but don't touch my face

This is fairly self explanatory.


I abhor violence.
Not that I'm a pacifist,
But I'm a coward.

Day eighty three: Hello E1

As you probably know, I left my last job just over a month ago with the intention of moving to London, yet without a job or anywhere to live there. Having got a job a couple of weeks ago, yesterday I found a flatshare between Whitechapel and Bethnal Green. I move in next weekend. So in a moment of smugness:

First I got a job,
Now I've got a place to live.
It's all coming good.

This calls for a song

I Built Myself A Metal Bird - Thee Silver Mt. Zion from Constellation Records on Vimeo.

Day eighty two: Masterchef haiku follow up

I hope that by day
One hundred, that gif will have
Dropped off the front page

I said gif. Not git.

Day eighty one: be nice to everyone

Flatshare hunting is very tiring isn't it. And if after meeting the people you'd be sharing with and end up not getting the room, there are numerous potential reasons why, but...

How can you not take
It personally when you're being
Judged as a person

Seeing three more places tomorrow. Phew!

Day eighty: Masterchef's back!

Shouty shouty men,
Criticising seasoning.
Gregg loves his puddings.

Day seventy nine: my favourite day of the year

Today, for the first
Time this year, I felt the warmth
Of Spring in the air

Day seventy eight: yeah mate, yeah mate

I'm generally quite well spoken (albeit a bit foul-mouthed at times), but I have noticed that at times I subtly alter my accent depending on who I'm talking to. For example:

I can't help going
All cock-er-nee when I talk
To taxi drivers

It's a bit embarrassing and I wish I didn't do it, but I'm sure I can't be the only one.

Day seventy seven: week of plagiarism

From days 72 to 78 Josie proposed a week of plagiarism, and this is my contribution. I've been loving looking at the photo projects that a number of the hundred dayers have been doing, they're frequently beautiful and inspiring. This isn't so beautiful and inspiring, but it says what it needs to say. It's called Monday morning 7am:

Day seventy six: other people's cats, part 2

Sam and Lisa live in Nottingham, they've got a lovely boy called Ted, and a strange cat called Phil. Phil's got a tiny head, or as I said when I first met him:

It's like if you put
A cheese triangle on a
Microwave oven.

This is Phil

Day seventy five: grrrowlo!

My friends Rachel and David live in Florida, home of the manatee. Rachel has a cat called Rowlo, which not only is a great name for a cat, but he is also a fine looking beast, so...

If Rowlo met a
Manatee, he'd surely floor
It with his beauty

Here's the little fella:

Day seventy four: in hiiiigh speeeed

I was going to write about how SHIT Southeastern trains are, but who wants to hear that? So here's a positive message (as positive as damning with faint praise can be anyway) about the Southeastern highspeed service:

It's almost like being
In a country with a real
Infrastructure: France.

I may have had a drink.

Day seventy three: muggerlugs

I got a request from marancat to unleash hell on muggers. I hope this doesn't mean that she's been mugged, particularly because space restrictions meant I had to descend to frivolity:

Can I write about
Muggers without rhyming it
With buggers? Um, no. 

Muggers are buggers though, clearly. They're motherfuggers. I was mugged in Madrid once - I was asking for it really, but it was still traumatic.

Day seventy two: WAKE UP!

The daily commute;
Early morning sleeper train.
Alone with music.

Day seventy one: I'm on my way...

No matter how much
You need to leave somewhere, the
Leaving's always hard

Day seventy: ch-ch-changes

Wow, day 70, that's mental.

I started day one of this hundred days project as someone who'd worked in Scunthorpe for a few years, but with an aspiration to go "home" to London. Today, day 70, will mark my last night living here, I start my new job on Wednesday, and by day 100 I will be a fully paid up resident of London (staying at my parents in between - groan!). It is all really exciting, but I'm pretty nervous and daunted at the same time. Plus I haven't done nearly enough packing yet, to the extent that I might have to be up quite late tonight finishing it off. I'll still keep doing the haiku but I'll more often than not be e-mailing them to blogger from my phone, so I apologise in advance for the crappy formatting. Packing is really horrible isn't it, I find it so hard. I was just staring at a wall for a good few minutes instead of doing it. And you get crazy thoughts going through your head, like:

Maybe instead of
Packing, I'll set everything
On fire and leave it.

An appropriate bit of Bowie

Day sixty nine: a study in procrastination

I should be packing.
I just paired up all my socks,
Singing to Bowie.

Day sixty eight: ingredients for a session

London Pride, Duvel,
Budvar, Cava, Hoegaarden,
Lunch: mashed potato

Day sixty seven: too much thinking

Laying in the dark.
Tick tock tick tock, beats my heart.
Brain hamster-wheeling.

Day sixty six: oh happy day

On day sixty six
I got a job in London.
I start on Wednesday

That's right, it's all go from here. I'm dead chuffed.

Day sixty five: and so to bed

One of the great things about the human body is (in my opinion) the ability to adapt to sleep patterns so quickly. To that end I'm off to bed:

I have taken to
Going to bed early. Yes,
I'm nearly thirty.

Of course I don't really attribute it to age, just temporary habit. This time next week I could be saying "pfft! Going to bed at half 10? Whatever". Words to that effect anyway. Bit of a potential future haiku tease for you there, dear readers. Or should that be reader?

Have a song

Sorry I've been a bit lax for the last few days. Here's a lovely song.

Day sixty four: confessions of an unfulfilled mind part two

If you say "badgers"
Instead of "badges", no-one
Bats an eyelid. Fact.

Day sixty three: confessions of an unfulfilled mind

I sometimes say "jizz"
Instead of "cheers". No-one seems
To notice, or care

Day sixty two: the lark ascending

I got a comment on a previous post requesting a bit of hope that the winter will soon be over. I can totally empathise - I like every season in its own way, but it's when you get to around this time of year that you really get sick of winter. Still, it's February now, so we can reasonably expect that within 6 weeks we'll start to notice the onset of Spring.

If I want to feel
Spring-like, I just listen to
The Lark Ascending

here:

Day sixty one: dinosaur jr

The final haiku in my triumvirate of Jenny requests is about dinosaurs, and what better way to resurrect my favourite joke as a kid:

They've just discovered
A blind dinosaur. It's called
Dyouthinkhesaurus

Boom, and indeed, boom.

Day sixty: Hugh-bee-do

As part of Jenny's previous (yesterday's) request, she also asked for something on Hugh Laurie and dinosaurs. I am a fan of both of those things. I would have liked to have combined the two, but space didn't permit. Still:

Hugh, you are lovely,
Even your Spanish Schweppes ads
Have a boyish charm

And here's one of them



And here he is in one of my favourite scenes of my favourite of his roles

Day fifty nine: The Three Craws

On Tuesday I mentioned Monday's fantastic Three Craws gig, and my friend Jenny has requested one specifically about it for today. I'm more than happy to oblige.

Blue bleezin' blind drunk;
Home taping is killing Fife;
Beautiful voices

Here's a clip of those beautiful voices in action at Green Man 2008.



Fence Records.

The Beach Boys - Til I Die (alternate mix)

It's probably 10 years since I heard this song, but it still has the capacity to be completely disarming. Those voices!

Day fifty eight: being not there

Lizzie Poulton's just been in Barcelona, and needless to say it's a bit of a bummer being back in the UK. Can't say I blame her, but hey, it's good to look forward to things, and have good memories of places. And on that note:

Not being there means you
Can appreciate the best
Memories of there

Lizzie's 10 weeks of plagiarism blog is quality, and it's here.

Day fifty seven: city at night

Went to the super Three Craws & OLO Worms gig at the Luminaire last night, after which I stayed at Ade Brown's place - Ade's been doing a walk a day for his 100 days project, and a map of the routes he's taken so far are on his blog. It's very impressive, and of course it stood to reason that we should take a brisk stroll between night buses

Walking the West End
I had a slice of pizza
And a quick jimmy

Day fifty six: an ode to pooches in the park

Not much in life makes
Me happier than seeing
A dog having fun

Day fifty five: bladdered

When I asked for any haiku requests the other day, the lovely and talented Chrissy Williams said, and I quote, "I read your tweet just as an ad came on the telly for "...bladder and pelvic weakness...". Any good? Alternatively, dogs!"

So...tomorrow there will be one on dogs, but in all seriousness...

It wouldn't be right
To take the piss out of a
Bladder problem. Oh...

Happy now, Chrissy? Happy now?!

Day fifty four: the taxman

You may recall me writing about Neil's move to Warsaw. Now here's one for Heidi, the other half of we sink ships. She's been having tax return issues, and this is an ode to that.

Tax doesn't have to
Be taxing. It doesn't have
To be, but it is

Here's a song. I've been listening to lots of Brian Eno lately.

Day fifty three: first an earthquake, now this

Rod Stewart, Leona Lewis, JLS and Michael Buble have all agreed to take part in the Haiti charity single, which has been organised by Simon Cowell.

What did those poor souls
Do to deserve this? Bublé?
Rod Fucking Stewart?

I can confirm that 'Rod Fucking Stewart' is my favourite line in the 53 haikus I've written to date.

Day fifty two: Wild Party

I was queuing at the supermarket earlier, and the below photo on the front of one of those magazines covering celebrity gossip/mum stuff/grizzly murders caught my eye, in particular its caption.



You should've been there.
So fucking wild. At one point
Ronan went "wahey!"

Now, I would never claim to be some kind of non-stop party tearaway, but if Ronan Keating going "wahey" behind someone with a ropey facelift* is what constitutes a wild party then I'm like Keith Richards!

*I have been informed via comment that it is not a facelift, for legal reasons.

Day fifty one: No explanation necessary

I'm never banking
With Halifax, due to their
Horrendous adverts

And I think their latest one is the worst of the lot

Day fifty: Amelie Cleary

Wow, halfway through the 100 days project thing. That reminds me that I must buy a ticket for the thing on March 10th. And I suggest that you do too.

Anyway, someone calling themselves 'marancat' left a really lovely comment on my day 49 post. I've had a mega busy day and when I saw read it while speeding northwards from Kings Cross it genuinely cheered me. She also said that her friend Sue was unhappy at the moment, so here's one for her.

Hey Sue, don't be blue.
I don't know you, this is true,
But I bet you're coo(l)

I hope it works. I like the idea of simple acts to make people happy. Maybe I'll do an Amelie and hop on a Eurostar to give chicken to Parisian winos or something.

ps. just checked out marancat's blog. It's here and there's lots of lovely stuff on there for your perusal.

pps. I'm totally listening to the Amelie soundtrack now.

Day forty nine: an excuse to use the word 'moustachioed'

I'd been growing a beard for the last month or so, with the intention of seeing it through, but I've got a few potentially significant appointments tomorrow, and the beard was looking really quite messy, so it had to go. However, shaving a beard off does always have a good side effect.

Shaving a beard is
An excuse to see what I'd look
Like moustachioed

And the answer is: like a sex offender

The culmination of this post was due to be posting a photo of myself moustachioed, but the one I took was so bad that I couldn't even consider revealing it to the world.

Day forty eight: on subtlety

Bianca requested a haiku about subtlety, and here it is:

Some understated,
Brief tirades lead everyone
To your conclusion

Here's her blog, with her 100 days updates and plenty of other things too, and a very aesthetically pleasing blog it is too.

Day forty seven: smiles and trees

I got a request from So-Shan Au on Twitter to write a haiku about smiles and trees. I was going to do two separate ones, but then got the image in my head of marking the bark of a tree with a smile, then leaving it to grow there after I'd gone away. I might actually do that. Anyway, it's a nice thought, so I thank her for that!

I'll carve a big smile
Onto a tree, so it stays
There longer than me

Here is her lovely blog

Day forty six: an ode to leaving

The haiku requests will continue tomorrow, but I just wanted to do a special one in reference to it being my last day in my current job today. Corus has been good to me overall, but things have gone so quiet in the last few months that I really had to go. And also I've been pretty desperate to get out of Scunthorpe for some time now. So I'm making the move to London early next month - haven't got a new job or anywhere to live yet, but I'm working on that. The strange thing is that, while I'm usually not afraid to show my emotions, I feel oddly emotionless about leaving, even though I've been with the company for 5 years, and in my current department for 2.5 years. I don't think I'm in denial either, I just don't really feel anything. I guess this may be evidence that I'm doing the right thing by leaving.

I feel neither joy,
Nor sorrow, just indifference.
Kind of says it all.

I am, of course, going to have a fair amount to drink with my colleagues tonight, which is why I wanted to write this now and not later for fear of drunkenly using the "c" word. Yes, "cry".

Day forty five: mission to Warszawa

Neil, one half of the wonderful We Sink Ships asked me to write a haiku about his imminent emigration from Glasgow to Warsaw, and I was only happy to oblige. Moving to a different country is an immensely brave thing to do if you ask me, and I wish him the best. As for the city he's going from and to...well, I love Glasgow, it's a fantastic place, but...

Bowie named a song
After Warsaw, not Glasgow.
Ergo, Warsaw wins




Edit: ok, it's not imminent, he's actually already gone it would seem, but the sentiment remains the same on my part.

Day forty four: it's a love/hate relationship

I find that whenever I have gin, I could just have one along with a load of other stuff, but if I'm hungover the next day there's only one flavour that's stuck around. It reminds me of the time I had a vegetable curry which contained juniper berries while suffering from a monstrous hangover, and when I eagerly bit into one my mouth was filled with the taste of gin. It was weird wild stuff. Will it stop me drinking it again (and again)? NEVER.

I love gin, but if
I have gin, all I can taste
The next day...is gin

I don't know what the deal is with ellipsis/a dramatic pause in a haiku, whether it's allowed. Oh well, screw you, the rules!

Oh, and the gin haiku was requested by Siobhan (wigglymittens on twitter). Check out her 100 days sketches and drawings here. They're very sweet.

Alasdair Roberts - Willie Leonard

I'm in the mood for some Ali Roberts. That guitar, that voice! Whewee.

Day forty three: haiku on haiku

Disrespecting centuries of Japanese culture by saying

A haiku is to
A poem as twitter is to
A blog or something

But it's not really. Some more requests would be good, as I enjoyed doing that, but failing that I'll work on some kind of theme for a bit from tomorrow.

Day forty two: BADGERS!

A few weeks ago my friend Jenny requested that I write a haiku about badgers, which I said I would do, but then forgot about it (I think I may have been drunk). But she reminded me the other day, so here it is...

Badgers have stripy
Tadgers, and when they talk they
Sound like Bob Hoskins




I can't believe I just used the word "tadger".

Day forty one: an untrue story about a fictional cat

Ok, I got a haiku request from Kate in Melbourne on Twitter to write about black cats. It turned out a bit darker that I had planned.

I had a black cat
Called Lucky. He got hit by
A truck - unlucky

Here's a picture of my sister's cat to try to make up for it.

Andy Cleary: idiot non savant

I was walking back from the local shop earlier when I saw some footprints that were recognisable as being the same as the prints from my shoes, so the rest of the way home I went on a big flight of fantasy about how this other person and I may have had the same shoes, but could be wildly different people, going to completely different places, yet our paths literally converged on this stretch of snowy suburban road, and there was a certain romanticism about that. It was at that point I realised that the prints were pointing in the opposite direction to the way in which I was heading, and were, in fact, most probably my footprints from when I went to the shop. Felt like a bit of a wally after that.

Day forty: eranu, umami

It was only a matter of time before I wrote a haiku about cheese, and Jen B requesting one gave me the perfect excuse to do so. I love cheese. In fact, one of the things I am known as among my friends is a great lover of cheese. I'd rather just be known as a great lover, but you can't have everything.

Cheese plays on the fifth
Basic taste, or umami.
"Ooh yummy", more like

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umami

I'm enjoying this request a haiku thing, so I want more - go on, you know you want to!

Day thirty nine: a penguin request

It was requested by Jen B, and now it is done:

I reckon that if
Penguins could talk they'd sound a
Bit like Groucho Marx




Check out Jen's lovely 100 days photos here!

New directions - request a haiku!

Hello!

I've been thinking for a few days that it would be nice to have some kind of theme to what I write about, even just temporarily. Something that I will probably do later on is to write made up stuff about countries of the world, but for now I'm asking people to request for me to write about something - literally anything, the weirder and more wonderful the better. Whatever pops in your head. So either comment on this post or tweet me at http://www.twitter.com/accleary100days

Let's go!

Albums for walking through fresh snow

I have, somewhat perversely, been walking home from work a lot more often since it's been snowy. The main reason for this is that my route in is a bit off the beaten track and through a big park, so the snow has been really good to walk on, but a really lovely side-benefit has been discovering what albums sound perfect in those dark, icy cold, crunchy footed conditions. Here are songs from a few of the best ones:



Mount Eerie - Wind Speaks (from Wind's Poem)




Nico - Ari's Song (from The Marble Index)




John Renbourn - The Moon Shines Bright (from The Black Balloon)




No doubt I'll encounter more snowy albums, considering how long it's due to stick around for!

Day thirty eight: considering Gerry Francis

A mullet like this, in this day and age, beggar's belief. I've almost got a bit of respect for him for it.




Really, why would you?
Cut the sides don't touch the back!
The Beastie Boys said

Day thirty seven: Stop press - weather event

I prefer it when
The news reports the news; not
Weather happening

Day thirty six: trente six fois

I like the number thirty six in French - they use 'trente six' like how we would use tonnes, or millions, to signify a lot of something. I don't know why they settled on 36, or what happens when they are describing something which actually happened thirty six times, but I like how a specific number is used to represent a non-specific amount. So I started writing something in French, and typed the words as they came into my head. It doesn't really mean anything.

Je t'ai dis trente-six
Fois, qu'il y ont trente-six lunes
Dedans trente-six boites.

Day thirty five: back to work

I know it's a bit of a standard thing to moan about going back to work after Christmas, but it is shit isn't it. Things have gone a bit tits up at Corus (see here in particular, here, and here) so I've decided to take a redundancy package that is on offer. It is a risk as I haven't got anything else lined up, but I've got so little to do and my department's going nowhere, so every month I stay is damaging my career (not that I'm particularly career driven, but it's nice to do something you enjoy isn't it), and I've been wanting to get back down to London for a while now, so that's what I'll be doing at the start of next month. Gulp! Apologies for the mangled sentence structure of the majority of this paragraph.

Anyway, back to the haiku - I had a load of e-mails this morning, but after going through the meaningless rubbish ones all I had to do was post a brochure to someone. I really don't need to be here.

After deleting
Irrelevant e-mails, I
Was left with one task.

Day thirty four: aren't seagulls horrid

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/8438249.stm

Poor whales. Blasted seagulls. We've all been there.

The whales in question
Were carrying bags of chips
On a promenade.

Gentlefolk

After two weeks away, it is good to be home. Here's a very pretty song.

Day thirty three: musical muse

Great artists inspire,
But I try not to compare
All my songs to theirs

Day thirty two: my stepfather, not so much

I love my Mother
But I am tired of "home" now.
One more day to go