Falling Greenhouses and Digestive Biscuits

This is FREE from 20/07/2017 until 24/07/2017…. It is a 15 minutes read comprising of eleven pages.

If you understand the principle behind the proverb of ‘see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil’ then this short, three-part tale is not for you. My story is an irreverent take on something that many cultures value.

Sometimes there is a fourth depiction of a monkey who symbolises the principle of ‘do no evil’. I’m sorry; I have paid no heed to that advice and although I have not packed these pages with evil doings there is nothing to worship if you read on.

However, at the risk of alienating a prospective reader by further revelations of my shortcomings, I would add as a final comment that between the few pages that await you, lie many moments that a monkey would find hard to understand.

Danny Kemp



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Today’s News


Projectile Malfunction

Freddy suffered badly from projectile malfunction.
No matter what method he used his rocket would not work.
He tried this and he tried that, without any satisfaction,
Always ended up, feeling like a jerk!


What’s In a Title?

If The “Nut” never needed the “Cracker?”
Where would the “Lake” be without the “Swan?”
Did that “Duck” always remain “Ugly”
And why did it take so long for the “Pea” to be gone?
Supposing the “Amazons” had swallowed the “Swallows,”
Then where would we all be?
Perhaps in a “Boat” with “Three Men” drifting out to sea.
If there had only been the best of times,
Then would“The Tale Of two Cities” ever have been told?
And I hope I get some “Artificial Intelligence”
Before I get too old!


The Semi-Colon Who Wanted To Be Laid

The little semi-colon sat with a conscience heavily weighed.

In the corner, he waited patiently with the hope of getting laid.
(don’t jump to conclusions)

On a page not written but gasping to get out,

From the writer’s mind as he struggled with the form

Of emphatic emphasis beyond the common norm!

The colon had its list of one, two, three and four,

But as of yet the semi had not found an open door.

Full stops and commas were splattered across the page,

Whilst little semi waited patiently for his chance to be laid!

Could you aid his deliverance and answer his call?

Would you be his partner at the local grammar ball?

Could a dot above a comma be the thing that rocks your boat?

Or, does his old-fashioned usage still stick in your throat?

Some achieve greatness, some have it made,

But what fate awaits the semi-colon who wants to be laid?



If a tree didn’t grow upright,
But grew upside down.
Then the roots would be on show
And the branches underground!

If that was the case
No longer could one say
That on a gentle breeze
The leaves did sway!

If grass was not green,
But was a shade of brown
Then those who walk in cow pastures
Should take care when they lay down!

If the day wasn’t the day
But it was night instead
Would I get the day as well
To spend my time in bed?

If the sky was the ground
And the ground was the sky
Would we measure things by depth
Rather than how high?


I Don’t Want To Get Wet

Rid me, rid me, rid me of insanity.
Drive me, guide me towards all that is sane.

Show me, take me along the path to purity,
But not right now as it’s just about to rain!

Clear me, clear me of all signs of lunacy.
Make me rational and sound of mind.

Save me, haul me onto the road to clarity,
But take an umbrella if you’d be so kind!

Fill me, fill me with words of obscurity,
So no one reads them and can tell what I mean.

Load me, burden me with utter verbosity,
But if it’s still raining send a limousine!


My Pet Mouse

Some days I get confused
And on some, I forget my name
But that’s not my mouse’s fault
Nor is the whisky to blame.

My mouse’s name is Harry,
But he doesn’t know that.
He has a personality complex
And he thinks he’s a rat.

I thought I’d bought an elephant.
The salesman said he would grow.
But he’s been that size for years
So I don’t think that will be so.

Some neighbours said I was mad
I should have bought a frog.
But I had a lead already
So it was a mouse or a dog!

I’m off to take the pills now
As my head has a pain.
Be sure to take an umbrella
On days that are due to rain.

That was my mistake.
I forgot mine one day
And the rain got to my brain
At least that’s what they say!


Never Be Ordinary

Never grab a bull where it hurts

And don’t dunk a crumpet in your tea.

Otherwise, you’ll be in a mental home

In the padded cell next to me!

When it is cold wear a hat

To keep your brains in your head.

And never be ordinary

Until the day that you’re dead!

© 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

Danny Kemp






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Today is my official day of retirement from writing full-blown novels. Well, almost!

I have done the reread and the read of my last contribution to the literary world.

Tonight, or first thing tomorrow, I’ll parcel it up and send it to my proofreading lady to deal with the commas, with’s and but’s as she sees fit. Then, when I get it back, I’ll read it again before sending the manuscript to my agent to see what she thinks of it and what she can do with it.

It was certainly the most exacting of all the four I’ve written over that 100,000-word target I like to set myself and stands as the longest at 115,668.

When I send it to the agent I’ll expose its title and if ever I can compose an intelligent, well-crafted synopsis I’ll post that too.

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The Hope Of Hope: Part Four

Never allow the Devil to undervalue you

Suddenly Belief recovered and dragged Faith to his feet.
“Come,” he said. “We must go find Hope and Will. But we must be discreet!
“But aren’t they both dead?” Faith uttered in surprise
“No,” came the reply. “Hope is eternal. Hope never dies!”

The four were reunited and slowly spread the word
Hearts were rekindled as inside passion was stirred.
Despair was cast aside and Depression faded away.
But the Devil is still out there and will be every day.

Belief and Faith are now together. The two one cannot divide.
And Hope can conquer the Devil with Will at his side.
Love is their strongest ally, it can stand at your side too,
But only if you remember; never allow the Devil to undervalue you!

© 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

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The Hope Of Hope: Part Three

As the death bell of the apocalypse sounded noisily above life’s trembling tree!


Pain sat in the room waiting for his friends to arrive.
He carried no antibodies as he knew how to survive.
Despair was an ally but he hadn’t been seen for a while.
When Pain thought of Despair he fashioned a wide sinister smile.

Grief arrived in splendour dressed as a mannequin queen.
With nametags of those she had visited and places of where she had been.
Their tears hung like earrings, their sorrow hung around her throat.
Her smile was not as Pain’s, hers was a one of smugness, a wide sickening gloat!

Misery called from behind the closed-door – “I haven’t fetched my key.
Please let me in. You know you will have need of me.”
Pain’s smile did widen and as Grief took hold of his hand
The stain of mental anguish began to spread over the disowned land.

The three affected millions sending them tumbling to their knees
The infectious strain blew strongly as a gale amongst the leaves.
Pain was in his element as his anguish he bestowed
Adding his torment to the rivers and watching as it flowed.

Grief clung to Misery and a wandering they did go
Scything down the people who simply moved away too slow.
The torture of the innocent was the cry of the three,
As the death bell of the apocalypse sounded noisily above life’s trembling tree!

© 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

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Cemeteries Are Full Of Bodies That Despair Has Enslaved

Following on from The Hope Of Hope.

Now Hope had joined the others and forward they did stride

But their mission seemed impossible as access was denied.

Minds had been infected by the forces of evil and dark.

The Devil had come a calling and had left his haunting mark!

Despair and Depression were his main weapons of control.

When they struck they pushed their victims deep down a slippery hole.

That hole was stacked with bodies waiting for their death,

Whilst walking through their life breathing suffering as their breath!

Hope aspired for more and offered dreams as a cure

The Devil cried out in a mocking voice – “Are you really sure?

Dreams are illusionary they can lead one to believe

That the nightmare of life can somehow be relieved.”

“No!” he had not finished, adding in contempt

“There is no forgiveness it’s only something that is dreamt!”

Hope and Will had the centre, Belief and Faith on the flanks

And there they stood bravely against the demonic ranks.

Despair drove into battle his weapons armed and primed

Hope was behind the barricades; weakened and begrimed.

Will hid in the shadows not daring to show his face

As Depression hovered above looking down on the place.

Depression led the next wave and Belief took a heavy blow.

The end was not fast coming, death would be slow.

Faith fought on until he thought he could do no more

Then just as Despair aimed his gun Hope gave a mighty roar.

“I’ve seen the will in others die before its time.

They then hide in shadows as if they’ve committed a crime.

I have no desire to hide, nor wish to conceal my face,

I am the sun that warms all heartstrings. I cast light on every shadowy place.”

Depression laughed loudly which in itself caused Depression’s demise!

Despair search his soul wondering why he’d told so many lies.

“I am defeated. I cannot kill you Hope when you are so strong.

I have lived a life of disenchantment. I now know I have been wrong.”

Hope dug a grave and filled it with Despair.

He then sucked the blood from Depression and stripped his bones bare.

From the bones, he made Despair’s headstone and on them he engraved:

Cemeteries Are Full Of Bodies That Despair Has Enslaved

© 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

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The Hope Of Hope


Hope got lost when he was very young
Faith was waiting but he just wouldn’t come.
Will came instead and with Faith made a team
They don’t say very much, but what they do say they mean!

Belief joined the club so off the three did go
Searching for Hope but the search was very slow.
Trust sat and watched from his view on the wall.
Choice was sitting next to him but Choice was very small

Trust never saw Choice so he never took a chance.
As the Three passed below him without a second glance.
Next came a cemetery with a billion holes in the ground
From where the screams of Hope echoed all around.

The three stood perplexed as they looked up to the sky
Waiting for the wrath of God to strike them down to die.
A single bolt of lightning struck the ground at their feet
As a voice declared – Hope doesn’t die! It’s in everyone you meet!

© 2017, Danny Kemp All rights reserved

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The Shade Of A Tree

If you lay me beneath a tree

Then the seasons I’ll watch come and go.

The birds will nestle merrily

And serenade me as I sleep below.

Choose a tree that’s full and tall

So in it is shade I can lie.

Scatter my ashes where they fall

When comes the time to die.

© 2017, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved

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My First Days As A Public House Landlord

The first pub I took as a tenant of Courage Brewery was in the picturesque village of Headcorn in the Weald of Kent. It was a run-down establishment, commercially just surviving.

I was in my early thirties, as fit as I’ve even been with a good physical build obtained from pumping weights three times a week. I had packed-up rugby a few years earlier, but conditioning was my hobby. I looked good and that’s not being vain!

To become a first-time ‘tenant’ one had to apply to a brewery chain showing both the financial capability of running a pub, the physical ability and most important the ambition to turn one of their outlets around, giving an increased profitability on any future investment they chose to make.

List’s of potential locations were sent to those who qualified on a regular basis leaving the prospective tenant to look over the sites and apply for any thought suitable.

If a pub is subsequently applied for, an interview board must be attended where a series of questions are asked by senior management officials of the brewery all aimed at selecting the right tenant for the bottom line figure of profit for the management company i.e. Courage.

The agreement between tenant and brewery is one where the brewery holds the freehold of the building whilst the tenant pays rent on it being tied to purchase all beer from the brewery and all wines and spirits from a wholesaler nominated by them. All other items for sale were purchased at the discretion of the tenant. Profit from all of those sales could be kept by the tenant.

Fixtures and fittings inside the property were bought at market value by the tenant and remained his or hers. If they were ripped out and replaced in order to improve the ambience and appearance, then it was a cost the tenant endured, but the improvements could be sold on when the tenancy expired.

The flat above the pub was entirely the responsibility of the tenant and never viewed before the occupancy. It was considered private with nothing of relevance to the business. On my arrival at the White Horse, the carpet on the upstairs landing was covered by dog faeces left to be cleared away!

The pub tenant is called the Landlord and bears his/her name above the entrance to the premises. He/her is the only person legally allowed to sell alcohol on, or for consumption off, the premises, but the law recognises that staff are employed and waive that restriction.

However, it’s the Landlord’s strict accountability to acquaint the staff with their legal duties in relationship to the age restrictions within the pub, allowable behaviour and the customer’s personal condition in a licensed environment. If there are infringements to the various laws then it’s the Landlord who is prosecuted.

And so to the beginning of my eight-year life in the licensed trade. At this stage, all I knew was how I wanted to run a pub, not how a pub was run! I was, thankfully, a quick learner.

The White Horse in Headcorn was one of four pubs in the village; one other Courage pub and two Whitbread ones. All had reasonable footfall. I immediately set about taking trade from those pubs and any others in a travelling distance. Within a year I had almost doubled the sales figures of that pub, but it was far from an easy journey.


Under the previous Landlord, an ex-boxer, certain customers were virtually in charge of the pub. They decided when it was time to close, not the Landlord, who by the time he left was beyond such control. I never met him nor knew this about the place. It was in the first week when I found all that out when ringing the last orders bell and then the bell sounding Time. A dozen or so youngsters (aged 20/25) in the public bar laughed on hearing my new bell ring.

The White Horse was designed in such a way that two drinking areas were designated. A public bar: pool table, dart board, stone floor and little in the way of comfort. A saloon bar: carpet, soft bar stools and seating. Over the eighteen months, I remained there I kept it as a two bar pub, but improved both….More of that perhaps later. For now, back to the night when those young locals didn’t want to go home!

Obviously, I tried to reason with them whilst I cleared the empty tables, stacking the chairs on top and trying to make them feel as uncomfortable as I could. To some extent it worked. Eight left! I carried on like this for ten minutes or so in the other empty bar until the clock showed 11:30. Drinking up time in those days was ten minutes. The glasses on their table should have been emptied twenty minutes ago!

To be honest, their type of trade was not something I wanted in the long term, but I have always tried to avoid animosity if I could.

“Come on chaps, enough is enough. The rules have changed. I’m now in charge, not you. You’re all welcome to drink here in the future, but your hours of going home are now earlier than before. If you don’t like it then feel free to go elsewhere with no hard feelings on my part.” It wasn’t working. They stared defiantly at me.

I picked up the four remaining half full glass of lager, walked to the front door and poured their beer in the street gutter. I then placed the now empty glasses on the bar. I was on my own, there were four of them. Although as I’ve said I was fit, I was no pub brawler, but circumstances demand certain actions.

Perhaps here I could, and maybe should, have acted differently. But I was what I was then, that’s my excuse if that’s what’s needed. I grabbed a fistful of hair of one of them and another by the collar and pulled them both from their chairs and dragged them to the open street door. The two of them complained noisily and were joined by the other two. No blows were exchanged and after the expected verbal I closed for the night.

Sadly, that incident stayed embedded in all of those four minds leading to an altercation of far greater magnitude a few months down the line.


If you want me to continue the story of my life as a Pub Landlord in this pub and the others then I’ll gladly write it up. But for now I’m going to continue doing what I love best; the writing of fictional stories. I’m a mere 10,000 words into what I think might be my final novel. I have miles to go yet, so, please, bear with me whilst I indulge myself in pleasure.     

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Walking On Graves

Darkness releases the shadows to hide.

The battle’s been fought, thoughts have died.

Mindful of steps that beckon beyond

The graves with no voices that cannot respond.

Pain surrounds and walks close at hand.

Only agonising madness is left to stand.

Escape is fiction, there’s nowhere to abscond.

Except to silent graves, that cannot respond.

Trapped within a mind that sees no good.

Now only suffering where happiness stood.

A sorcerer is needed with a magic wand

To give voices to the graves that cannot respond.

Once there was beauty where now ugliness stands.

Time was a treasure that ripped through the hands.

Imagination was suffocated by billowing fronds

That grow on the graves where no-one responds.

No-one was someone one sunny day,

But life came along and swept them away.

Dreams vanished as the guns were fired

And the graves swallowed the bodies of those that expired.

Pass not a grave with the head bowed down.

Salute the dead with a smile, not a frown.

Graves hold the living along with the dead.

We all walk on bodies wherever we tread!

© 2016, Danny Kemp. All rights reserved

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