Darts in soap operas, oh, so wrong, oh so wrong

No-one’s scoring and there’s too much chat between each throw

Worse than this though is when cheers are raised for the bull

Granted, bull’s a double and an out, but I know that they don’t

Know, therefore

I propose

No Soap Darts

Is your child hyperactive, or is he perhaps a twat?

Sometimes I like to watch Wave Rage down on Fistral Beach

Last Ash Wednesday I had tantric sex and it was shit

Next Ash Wednesday I might strive to lick my elbow

Strive in vain

For they say

Few succeed

I wrote to the Horse & Hounds

To gloat over what I’d done

I stored their magazine in a data retrieval system

Well let’s face it, what’re they going to do?

It’s not as if they know where I live

And anyway I cut that caper back in 1984

Heartbroken matrons

On joyless beds

For those whose souls the iron has entered

And if I get to heaven’s gate

I’ll doubtless have to wait

While St Peter investigates the inevitable asterisk
The inside of a Halex Three-Star table-tennis ball

Smells much like you’d expect it to


Lyrics submitted by epiwoosh

Surging out of Convalescence song meanings
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