Ode to trainers


Americans prefer the softer sound

of sneakers; a word on tip-toe,

silent, unfitting. As pathetic

as its English counterpart.

Occasionally, they are head collectors

of bunnies made of dust;

they lurk dormant

waiting for the next exercise burst

that will set them back on track,

for God knows how long.

They hate the ground, and like fists

push their way above it,

until gravity brings them down

in a thunderous whoosh.

They come and go, they ebb and tide

and wait for the next round

to get them out of their comfort zone:

The snug spot below the bed

needs some serious dusting.



The pathetic sum of my vacation thus far:

  • Tissues: On box number 3 currently.
  • Pills: A great variety. Have had Ponstan for fever, Panadol extra, some basic flu-related ones and the mandatory sore throat lozenges.
  • Thermometer: A useless one that keeps pointing out I have hypothermia when I don’t.
  • Sleep: I have forgotten state of wakefulness.
  • Tea: I sleep too much to drink it.
  • Food: What is food again?
  • Dreary English weather: Non-existent. Like a bad joke, it’s sunny every goddamn day.
  • Farnham: I know the way to Sainsbury’s, but otherwise since I’m home all day I might as well be anywhere.
  • Beads: 0

A visit to the doctor today is inevitable. Would you believe that I’m actually looking forward to that?