Seven

I am ill. I should warn you of that now because this limerick is whingy. I like to think I brought it around at the end, but it's still pretty whingy. Sorry about that. It's just an example of what I've been doing all day. I basically have Girl Man Flu.

While I'm thinking about it, I would like to point out that when I say I went "hours in the cold in the street" I was not doing anything even remotely prostitute-y, although that is how it sounded on a second reading, hence the clarification!

I would also like to say that just to avoid days like today and at least 5 of the other days so far, I am now willing to take suggestions for what I should do limericks about. I don't think I have 100 ideas in me.



My head hurts and so do my feet.
I croak and I cough - it's a treat!
But I guess now I know
That I shouldn't go
Hours in the cold in the street.





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Six

I'll come right out and say it. I used to be a cheerleader. And not just as in a "at a distant point in my past" kind of way, but all the way up to his summer. I went to watch my squad compete today and they did brilliantly! I got very jealous:



I used to throw girls in the air,
And wear pretty bows in my hair,
And get battered around,
And knocked to the ground.
I don't anymore. It's not fair!




I'm off to sulk now.

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Five

Ugh. I can see how maybe it'll be a struggle to keep this up what with the fact that Christmas tends to have me working pretty flat out. This'll probably work out fairly well for the people who actually look at these because there'll be less time to ramble first. Anyway, today I had a weird conversation with my Dad (I often do.):



If you chop up a badger it's true
That he's black and white all the way through.
And this is of course
Where man first found white sauce,
At least, that's what my Dad will tell you.





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Four

So, today I was walking down the high street in New Cross and I saw a new tattoo parlour that had just opened up. I always end up staring at tattoo parlours because 10% of me would like a tattoo at some point in my life, while the other 90% is terrified of everything about them. Also they are just about the least posh places ever to involve the word "parlour". You have to admire them for trying though.

In the window of this particular tattoo parlour was a sign that said: "No Pushchairs". I don't know if this makes me a snob but it had honestly never occured to me that someone would take their child when they get their tattoo done. I mean, it's not exactly your usual errand is it?

Anyway, it made me laugh. I did a limerick.



Please do not take your kids through
To the room where you'll get your tattoo
Unless you can afford
As a kind of reward
To get them inked up just like you.




.

Three

I was planning something special today. It was going to be a searing indictment on the wasteful society we live in, inspired by the Cafe Nero at London Bridge station where they wanted to give me two cups for my coffee.

It didn't quite work out:

Not enough words rhyme with 'coffee'.
The only one I found was 'toffee'.
Two hours I tried,
I was dying inside.
It's enough to drive one to the offy!

Two

Maybe this hundred days thing will actually make me a better person purely by virtue of the fact that I'll be able to articulate my annoyance with people in whole new way. Of course, if this is anything to go by, it will also ensure that I get beaten up on the tube:


It's a truth universally known,
Public transport is not just our own.
So why did you four
Leave an old apple core,
And neglect to use any earphones?

One

OK, so, limerick number one. I suddenly realise that writing 100 limericks means writing ONE HUNDRED of them. Oof.

But here goes:

So today is the day I start writing,
In the hope that it might be enlightning.
There'll be "no, not quite" rhymes,
And irregular times,
But my gosh won't it all be exciting?