Hello there. Here is a new, ridiculous poem about fannies and the joy of owning one. If you are reading this in the US, fannies means front bottom and it’s only ladies that have them.  Oh yes, I have published a real book made of paper; it's called Slightly Wrong, and it is full of daft poems. It's a bit rude. You can get it from Amazon here if you are desperate.

Fannies

Fannies arrive in all shapes and sizes,

Some are quite teeny while others win prizes,

Some live in Bradford, some in Devizes;

Fannies are great fun to own.

 

You don’t have to tuck them away in your pants,

They don’t jig around when you do Riverdance,

They make a great home for lost fiery red ants.

Fannies are useful to have.

 

When you’ve forgotten your lunch box it’s somewhere to stash

Your BLT sarnie, a Coke and spare cash,

Some leftover curry or sausage and mash.

Fannies are terribly good.

 

They don’t waggle about, they don’t make a fuss

Like penises do on the No. 4 Bus;

They don’t need Viagra or some kind of truss.

Fannies are simple, indeed.

 

If you’ve got a fanny, please don’t get a fright,

Nothing will ever climb up in the night,

Unless there’s a very cold vole to your right

When you are camping in Rhyl.

 

If you’ve not got a fanny, there’s no need to worry;

You’re either a man or a nun in a hurry.

You can buy one from Comet or Homebase or Currys.

They’re cheaper at this time of year.

 

You can whip off the woman fur, just like you feared it.

The fashion is baldy and totally sheared, it’s

Boring so try a Brian Blessed-style beard, it

Might be the change that you need.

 

But your fanny’s your own, so revel in its glory.

Paint it with goulash to scare off a Tory.

You might be a prude or a little bit whorey,

But your fanny will always love you.

 

You can buy my book of poems Slightly Wrong from Amazon in download form or real paper. Click this clicky bit!

Here's my other blog, although I haven't said anything particularly interesting for a while