Fat Ass

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Meditating

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Thinking I am Buddha’s besty

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Focussss…

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Focussss…
To think Brenda said that
Elaine said that Jenny said
that Sonia had been arrested
for doing naked yoga
with her saggy tits
on the London Eye
Focussss…

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Focussss….
Oh, I so want a fag
But John said I smell
like a discarded smoker’s lung
from a lung transplant
I could neck a bottle of Prosecco
I know I mustn’t crave
I’m like Satan
with a lighter fuel addiction
and a match
Focussss…

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Focussss…
Oh shit, did I switch
the hair straighteners off?
And did I clean the toilet
and get some more air freshener
cos Sophie’s coming round
tonight
with her Irritable Bowels
Focussss…

Fat ass on the chair
Breathing in the air
Focussss…
Oh good its Coronation Street tonight
Gail caught that Roy
putting weed in the
chocolate brownies
after she jumped off
the top of the viaduct
thinking she was
Harry Potter paying quidditch
Focusss…

And stop
And breathe
And open my eyes

Ahhhhh
That went well

©2020 Sarah Drury

The Diet

The diet

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, will I go all exotic and have a bit of couscous?
Do I want salad cream with that?
Mmmmm cream
Screw the salad bit
BUT I am beginning to look like
a giant marshmallow on steroids
With my belly that touches my knees
and my butt that says “OH PURLEEEEASE!”
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, shall I splash out and have some dressing with that?
Dressing
Depressing
Squeezing myself into death-wish dresses
Like a Zeppelin in a condom
Like a blamanche in clingfilm
Suffocating asthmatics
to a plus sized death
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO, Will I live dangerously and have a bit of beetroot?
OOO, beetroot
The colour of my cheeks when I
get on the scales
Or the gang of teenage girls
snigger in their size 10 knock off Nike trackies
And I want to scream
“I was a skinny tart too, once!”
Or the tsunami when I dive into the pool
and cause a few fatalities
SO

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
OOO that cake looks tempting
the chocolate is moist
and so am I
God, I’m bloody starving!
Just one bite…
Just another slice…
Oh, I’ve stuffed the whole cake!

Lettuce
Lettuce and tomato
Lettuce and tomato and cucumber
And KFC
And McDonald’s
And Pizza Hut
And Mandarin Palace
And Bombay delights
And

Big knickers
Big tits
Big me
Again

©2020 Sarah Drury

Bake Off

well I know it’s half a year away, but I was inspired to write a send up of the Great British Bake Off

WARNING: the odd swear word

Bake Off

It’s getting to that time of year again
When our screens are invaded by a farm load of corn fed, field raised, free range eggs
A flamboyant flurry of organic, gluten free flour
A gaggle of garish, gluten intolerant gastronomes
A marquee of muddling men and worrisome women, coyly craving culinary competitiveness
And an alert audience of deluded Mary Berry wannabees
Planning their abysmal attempts at:
Pavlova perfection when they hate the sight of strawberries
New York Cheesecake when they haven’t even been to Cleethorpes, let alone the USA
And those delicate little macaroons when they’re 6ft tall and built like a brick sh*thouse!

I’m not by far the world’s best cook
I can’t even follow the recipes in a pre school child’s cook book
Without burning the brulee beyond acceptable boundaries
(I got offered a job at the crematorium with that one)
Massacring the merengue and associating salmonera with scone

I can’t whisk an egg white till its stiff and peaky
I can’t nurture rice pudding until it’s thick and creamy
I can’t cook suet pudding whilst its hot and steamy
I’m about as much use as a chocolate fireguard and if there was such a thing I’d probably eat it.

The cooks on the TV mesmerise me
How can they be so creative?
How can they bake a cake the size of an Oompah Loompah native?
They sweat under pressure, with falling Tiramisu tears and tempestuous tantrums.
My three year old could whip up a trifle with more emotional stability
But these prodigies onscreen are making me doubt my ability
With their creative prowess and supernatural culinary agility.

They never cook chocolate sponge and pink custard, like at school, do they?
Or cornflake tart with custard as lumpy as a teenager with raging acne?
They never cook rice pudding with skin so thick you could wear it as a raincoat when you were a kid cos it’s all you could afford
Or Hot Cross Buns you scoffed at Easter and offered up to the good Lord.

I want to switch off the telly in abject disgust
I want to knock off the smarmy presenter’s crown and his teeth with my fist to adjust
I want to throw away my cookbooks or burn them on an enormous fire
I want my cakes to caress hearts, I want my scones to inspire
But they’re dire, my toffee like a tyre, my meringues like barbed wire
All they are good for is a funeral pyre

So I’ll stick with my cake mix and add my eggs and flour
And leave the creative, innovative, stimulative contestants
To their magnificent, macaroon, f*cking towers.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Hello

Bit of fun about being plus sized:

Hello

Hello
It’s me in my plus size knickers
Nothing to do with my obsession with Mars Bars, Twix, Dairy Milk or Snickers

My plus size knickers
Black satin, double gusset, masquerading as sexy, toyboy pickers
Tailored for the Chinese takeaway, fish and chips, pepperoni lickers

Hello
It’s me in my plus size bra
Looks like two sturdy zeppelins, fighting for justice in the second world war
Nothing to do with my glasses of chardonnay, bottles of prosecco, Bacardi and more

My plus size bra
Come people, my milkshakes bring all the boys to the bar
With cups like these my rebellious bosoms will never spill out, will never go far

Hello
It’s me in my plus size dress
Nothing to do with my strawberry trifle, extravagant cheesecake, chocolate roulade or Eton mess

My plus size dress
Emulating a number made for the slick and svelt and thin
Makes me look like I’m fighting in Syria to confine my flesh and squash it all in

Hello
It’s me in my plus size body
Nothing to do with the fact that I am happy and don’t care what you think
That I’m not stick thin, that I love to eat, that I love to be free, that I love to drink

My plus size body
Big and beautiful and blossoming and resplendent and worthy
And I don’t need your pity and I don’t need your criticism and I don’t need a trophy

My plus size body
For me means love
I don’t need no judgement
From below or above.

©2020 Sarah Drury

Shit Mum

WARNING: SWEARING ALERT!

Yesterday was a tough day where I felt like a totally bad parent. I felt like rocking with a teddybear, sucking a dummy and banging my head on a wall!

I must defiantly admit it
I didn’t think as a mother I would be so shit
A northerner, a salt of the earth working class brit
But I’m about as patient as a toddler who’s been asked to sit
Through twenty episodes of Coronation Street with a lip that’s bruised and slit
But I’m building him up for a spell at her Majesty’s in the nick
When he’s fifteen years and a bit.

I think I’ve just had enough
I didn’t think as a mother it would be so tough
I didn’t think the days would be so dreary, nights so rough
I never knew CBeebies was such torture til I’d had enough
Of Mr fucking Tumble and his Makaton special stuff
I want to get the fucker into everlasting handcuffs
Let’s see him last five minutes in this ruff and tumble neighbourhood.

I think I need a fag
I didn’t think as a mother I would lose my rag
I didn’t think I’d turn into a bloody vicious nag
Thirty years ago I was a stunner, a looker, a stellar shag
And now I’m looking rougher, like a no fag, no shag, hag
And I slob around in PJ’s like a degenerate, depressed bag
With my Primark/Lidl/Aldi/Iceland cheap ass price tag.

I know I’m no Barbie doll
I didn’t think a mother’s life would seem so bland and droll
I didn’t think I’d end up with the amusement shortfall
Playing games of banging heads against a council concrete wall
Wishing I could stab a knife into my bleedin kid’s football
My kid acting like a gangsta when he’s only 5 foot tall.
Saying no she don’t live here when the hard debt collectors call.

I didn’t think that as a mother I would be so shit
I didn’t think that as a teacher I would be so bad at it
I always thought that I would be a Supernanny big hit
But now I’m slumming, tunes a hummin, leggings that my arse don’t fit
My kid’s a screaming, social worker’s looking at my home pit
And making snotty comments about the mess and bloody state of it.

But I try my best, each shitty day to be a better mum
But it’s hard when you’re bipolar and the moodswings always come.

©2019 Sarah Drury