Toilet dreams

It’s three in the morning, I want to go but I’ve become uncomfortable aware,
That I need to wake up from a reoccurring lavatory nightmare.
I dream that I’m in toilet heaven, every bog is free,
Every lavvie says use me, come in sir and come in and have a pee,
But there’s something wrong, the walls are made of glass
People shopping in the street outside can clearly see my…
I pull the chain and find another toilet you’re still desperate for a wee,
But it’s overflowing with… I’d rather not say – in case you’ve just had your tea.
There are lots of toilets, but each one is broken just like all the others,
I want to go, I want to wake up, but it’s cold outside the duvet covers.
“Will you stop your fidgeting, give me the duvet and mind your bloody feet,”
It’s Linda! “What’s wrong with you? Stop twitching, I want to go to sleep.”
Now she’s got all the duvet, I’m still bursting, but awake and completely bare,
So I get up. Go. Hardly worth it. But it ends my reoccurring lavatory nightmare.

Harry Mottram 2016



Will you be my FaceBook Friend?

"It's been some thirty years last March..."


Will you be my Facebook friend?


Will you be my Facebook friend?

My former flatmate from Bridgend?

It’s been some thirty years last March,

Since you called my then girlfriend a tart.

And we fell out over the washing up,

The milk, your socks, oh… and my puking up.

But that was when we young, healthy and hip,

Smoked forty a day and lived on battered sausage and chips .


I typed in your name and fifty were listed.

Including an expenses MP who’d been convicted,

A Glaswegian catwalk model who liked her Mars bars deep fried,

And a UKIP councillor who swallowed 50 euros and died,

A cross-dressing hate preacher who called himself Denise

And a vegan health guru who’d become morbidly obese.

There were lots of people with your same name

Including a transport minister who’d never caught a train.


Free spirits with cover photos of tropical islands or mountains in Canada,

But some worked in marketing, two even did shifts in Asda.

One had a profile picture of his Labrador Sheebah

Others of fancy dress stag nights in Dublin and Riga.

Is that you? The eyes, the nose, your knobbly knees?

Oh it’s a very fat arm, a rather badly taken selfie.


I’ve assumed that you’ve changed, I’ve assumed that you’ve got old,

I’ve assumed that you’ve got fat, I’ve assumed that you’ve gone bald.

So it’s a choice between that one or this,

It’s take your pick, it’s hit or miss.

Well here goes, hope for the best,

Right, I’ve sent a Facebook friend request.



I’d like to meet up and chat as there’s a lot to cover

Did you become an RE teacher or sleep with your girl friend’s mother?

Do you remember when we pinched women’s under wear from a charity shop

Actually there’s a lot of things we did which are best forgot

My Rolf Harris painting of a little girl in Rhyl

And Gary Glitter albums and signed photo of Jimmy Saville.


It’s gone now, which if you reply

Will take my list of friends to five,

My garden gnome, my kids and litigating ex,

Not quite the number you might expect.

I’m not competitive about Facebook, I’m not a bore,

But I’ve got to beat my pet gold fish’s one hundred and fifty four

I admit it, in truth I won’t pretend,

I simply want more Facebook Friends.


Accepted! What’s this pornographic email?

A webcam? No I’m not a thirteen year old girl.

No, I’m not a milf, a swinger or into dogging,

I’m won’t be groomed or change into stockings.

You’re not Taiwanese, you don’t live in Gibraltar

Delete! I definitely don’t want a Facebook stalker.

Look at the time. I could have sent an old fashioned letter,

Social networking, huh. Although… perhaps I’ll have a go at Twitter.


Harry Mottram 2016