One of my pupils has been complaining that I haven't updated my blog for some time. So, Michael, this posting is dedicated to you, and as I can't think of anything else to post right now, here is a poem 'wot I rote'.


Green is for trees.
I don’t like greens with my dinner.
They make me feel rather sick.
Mum hides them beneath my potatoes,
But I always find them real quick.

Last week, outside in the garden
I had a taste of some snails.
The texture was just a bit crunchy
But I lived on to tell you this tale.

Now earthworms are something quite different.
They’re smooth and they slip down quite fast.
I found a whole bunch in the compost;
I rather enjoyed that repast.

The chalk from my blackboard is dusty.
It turns my mouth green, pink or blue.
It’s not my favourite munchy
‘Cos it’s very hard work to chew.

Some stuff on the beach is so gritty,
It gets in my mouth and my nose
It’s difficult eating a picnic.
It’s the sand which is there, I suppose.

But I’m still not eating that green stuff.
My mum says it’s good for me.
I say, give me fish fingers or pizza
And hold back on broccoli.