[Cyclefrance]

A short poem I can definitely relate to from Mr Robert Rankin (I've just reached the point in his book, 'Sex and Drugs and Sausage Rolls', where the Cellar gets a mention BTW - how odd....)

BAD MEMORY

By the bound Victorian gasogene.
By the black slate memory board.
By the swish French cooking calendar.
By the shutters I secured.
By the rows of hanging plant pots.
By the slightly dripping fridge.
By the wibbly wobbly worktop.
By the dust along the ridge.
By the rack of grey enamelware.
By the strangely angled shelf.
By the larder door that does not close
That I also fitted myself.
By the celing lights that don't light up.
By the dimmer that does not dim.
By the waste disposal unit
That bit my uncle Jim.
By the nasty Kenwood blender.
By the red tiles on the floor.
I'm obviously in my kitchen.

But what did I come in here for?

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