The Biscuit Man Is Gone

We’re lucky enough each to have our own methods of attaching to the internet here at Chez 6000, but that doesn’t mean that we don’t stray into each other’s territory every now and again.

I guess that’s what must have happened today, because I came back to my laptop this morning to find someone had been using it to write stuff. Both of the kids denied it was them, which isn’t great because it clearly was one or other of them (I guess they’re just a bit embarrassed because it’s “uncool”), but creativity – especially during the school holidays – is always to be applauded.

Anyway, one of them has written a poem called The Biscuit Man Is Gone – I’m not quite sure what it’s about, but I’m going to share it here anyway.

The Biscuit Man Is Gone

The Biscuit Man Is Gone.
I went to where He was, but found the
Gate closed.
I cried for Him, but there was
No sign.
I searched all of the rooms, but He is
Not there.
The Biscuit Man Is Gone, and I am
So sad.

Interesting cadence, and an almost religious slant to it.
Presumably ‘The Biscuit Man’ is any given deity and the writer is struggling to keep faith in the absence of evidence, answers or support.

Wow. That’s quite deep. My kids are only 12 and 10. I’m impressed.

Right. Anyway. I must get going: lots to do today, starting with getting all this dog hair off my desk chair. Weird.

Back to work with Brian Bilston

So… how was your Christmas?

I thought that we’d got a lot done in a couple of weeks, but Brian’s break seems to have been far busier. Gardening and painting, by the sounds of it.
Golly. I’ll bet his wife will love the new look when she gets back from visiting her sister (or wherever he said she’d gone).


Brian Bilston’s (you may remember him from such posts as Brian Bilston) CV in poem form might just be one of the best things I’ve ever read…


A selfish, self-centred, self-effacing self-starter.
A team-playing, dragon-slaying, modern-day martyr.
A blue sky thinker whose ideas are a vapour trail.
A proven communicator with a kean eye for detial.

Poet – 2012-present
Duties included: being deluded,
finding myself from parties excluded,
writing sonnets on love and despair,
Netflix, and falling asleep in my chair.

Various positions – 1991-2012
Chartered Accountant. Lawyer. Cashier.
Building Site Lackey. High Grand Vizier.
Inhuman Cannonball. Scullery Maid.
Skilled Chicken Sexer. Guitarist In Suede.
Postman. Dustman. Class A Drug Dealer.
Dog Trainer. Tea Strainer. Carrot And Spud Peeler.
Batman. Batsman. Bowler. Head Chef.
Doing odd jobs for my Uncle Geoff.
Goalkeeper. Zookeeper. Dandelion Tamer.
Pilot. Hotelier. DJ. Boogie Blamer.

University of Life – 1988-1991
My time at university saw diminishing returns.
Studied Scottish poetry. Got third degree Burns.

School of Hard Knocks – 1981-1988
School for me, I must confess,
proved to be
an unqualified success.

In my spare time, I like to ponder
the fragility of existence
as it hangs,
like an industrious spider’s
silk-sewn threads
blowing in the late afternoon breeze,
with the delicacy of death.

I also enjoy ten pin bowling and the films of Bruce Lee.

Sadly, my references
have altered their preferences;
their words are harsh and

Even mother and father
have said they would rather
not comment.

Clever hidden meanings and opportunities for reading between the lines galore. Here is it on his site, which I have now added to the blogroll.

Poetry, ne? I’m suddenly feeling all cultured, innit.

Brian Bilston

Some interesting stuff is to be found via Brian Bilston’s twitter account.

This poem, for instance, describing his response to the social anxieties of New Year salutations:

Or a link to his DIY-themed reworking of the Arctic Monkeys’ I Bet That You Look Good On The Dancefloor [youtube].

But perhaps my favourite was this poignant verse entitled Frisbee.


It’s also given me some great ideas for the beagle on our next visit to Struisbaai beach.

Lies I’ve Told My 3 Year Old Recently

A poem by Raul Gutierrez. Quite fun.
Life, as seen through the eyes of an adult, reimagined and translated into child’s language.

And then that sickening kick of reality at the end. Ouch.

“Lies I’ve Told My 3 Year Old Recently”
Raul Gutierrez

Trees talk to each other at night.
All fish are named either Lorna or Jack.
Before your eyeballs fall out from watching too much TV, they get very loose.
Tiny bears live in drain pipes.
If you are very very quiet you can hear the clouds rub against the sky.
The moon and the sun had a fight a long time ago.
Everyone knows at least one secret language.
When nobody is looking, I can fly.
We are all held together by invisible threads.
Books get lonely too.
Sadness can be eaten.
I will always be there.

As parents, we always strive to be a constant for our children. Their foundation. Their rock.
I guess it’s only reasonable that sometimes, as human beings, we fall short of our goals.

From here.