A Bladder. An amusing explanation of a misspent youth.


As soon as I was born I decided that to become the most efficient bladder this world had ever seen, needed application and practise.

I set about my task, from an early age, with vigour and forthright intent. It was soon obvious to my parents that normal nappies (I think our American friends call the same thing, diapers) would just not do. 

In my world, number ones were less frequent than number twos. However, somewhat similar to the local buses, sometimes everything came along together! A drastic strategy was needed.

My father patented the first zipped, fly front nappy, and I was used as his guinea pig. Did I love it, or what!

Nothing was safe if within range. Flies were doused, spiders were attacked, walls were washed and a variety of pattens painted on the faces of unsuspecting admirers come to marvel at my expertise!

In order to achieve the status my talent demanded, range needed to be increased!

In order to accomplish this, I learned how to withhold more ammunition by drinking copious amounts of any kind of fluid and simply holding it in.

This of course required the building of muscle tissue. Bladder stretching is an art form that I perfected.

A brief summary: (I cannot give too much information away as my publisher, Mr Kidney, will flood me with a swamping deluge of unreasonable demands on my time)

1) Drink loads.

2) Hold your breath. Increasing the time held gradually.

3) Do NOT let loose your normal barrage. Small rounds at a time need to be fired off.

4) Constantly practise number three, leading eventually to firing off single rounds.

As I stated above, I am banned from providing more information, but there is more. Believe me!

I grew stronger and larger. At optimum times, I had enough stored ammunition to sink a small canoe. I know this to be true as during a couple of legs of the Devizes to Westminster International Canoe Race, a distance of some 125 miles, I sank two!

Not only was my capacity increasing, so was my aim! The four crew members of the boats I sank were not pleased. Not one tiny bit!

Hatred was beginning to appear, but so was admiration.

The Ministry Of Defence engaged me as the final weapon of war against low-flying enemy aircraft. I was stationed at the end of the landing runway at Heathrow airport and ordered to fire on incoming passenger jets.

The British Airports Authority soon changed runways, diverting air traffic to other airports. My aim was that good.

Soon, however, I had competition. An old adversary from school, Mr Blood, wanted some of the action. He invaded when my attention was elsewhere!

Slowly my stock dribbled, I mean dwindled. Blood was infecting, I mean affecting my supply.

As you can see from my typing, I have developed a life threatening illness….OLD AGE. Please stay clear of this at all cost.

I shall write another manual on how to stay young in the future, but for now you must wait, dribbling in expectation.

You will obviously be pleased to know that I am resisting Mr Blood as hard as I know how, but it is further weakening me. I now sleep a lot, and when not sleeping; feel excessively tired and empty.

I have a friend called Miss Twitter, who is pining for my normality and dexterity to return, but alas I fear this may take longer than she is willing to wait.

If you read this Dorothy Twitter, then know that my ardor for you is still there, and the intensity of feeling will flow again.

Written by that fool Danny Kemp whilst on medication for being insane.

© 2014, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved.


About Danny Kemp

I was at work one sunny November day in 2006, stopped at a red traffic light when a van, driven incompetently, smashed into me. I was taken to St Thomas' Hospital and kept in for a while, but it was not only the physical injuries that I suffered from; it was also mental ones. I had lost confidence in myself let alone those around me. The experts said that I had post-traumatic stress disorder, which I thought only the military or emergency personnel suffered from. On good days, I attempted to go to work, sometimes I even made it through Blackwell Tunnel only to hear, or see, something that made me jump out of my skin and that's when the anxiety attacks would start. I told my wife that I was okay and going regularly, but I wasn't. I could not cope with life and thought about ending it. Somehow or other with the help of my wife and medical professionals, I managed to survive and ever so slowly rebuild my self-esteem. It took almost four years to fully recover, but it was during those dark depressive days that I began to write. My very first story, Look Both Ways, Then Look Behind, found a literary agent but not a publisher. He told me that I had a talent, raw, but nevertheless, it was there. His advice was to write another story and that I'm delighted to say, I did. The success of that debut novel, The Desolate Garden, was down to sheer hard work, luck, and of course, meeting a film producer.
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8 Responses to A Bladder. An amusing explanation of a misspent youth.

  1. You are amazing Danny. Keep well and keep writing, and I will keep you in my prayer’s.

  2. Danny Kemp says:

    Thank you Patricia, that’s kind of you.

  3. gardenlilie says:

    Great! This sounds just like something my dad would recite and wait for our giggles or shakes of head. 🙂

  4. Danny Kemp says:

    You have just made me feel so old, gardenllle…. LOLOLOL

  5. Kaye Menner says:

    Gave me a laugh before going to bed… thanks Danny, look after yourself 🙂

  6. Kev says:


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