conceptual – Robert Garnham

A Supermarket Till’s Lament (A short story from 1998).

Hello, I wrote this story 28 years ago, and read it out at the local writers’ circle, printed on a long receipt roll. I hope you enjoy it. Interesting to think that I was worried about A.I. all that time ago!

PLAXHORN SUPERMARKETS PLC

If you have any queries about Plaxhorn Supermarkets PLC and / or Plaxhorn related goods, please do not hesitate to call our customer services department. I know you’re not reading this because you’ve seen it a thousand times, the useless smallprint on a till receipt, that’s all it is. So you’ll throw it away when you get home. You’ll stuff it into your pocket with the change and the notes and the chewing gum wrappers, you don’t even care that a machine is pouring its heart out. You don’t care; all you want is consumer satisfaction and a money back guarantee.

Your customer services manager today was DAN

Your checkout operative today was MAUREEN

It has often been a source of great discouragement to myself and to several of my colleagues that we tills do not get the credit we believe is owed to us. I, for one, demand that my name is displayed alongside that of Dan and Maureen’s, to acknowledge the fact that, in the customer / retail supplier transaction, it is myself that does the most work.

Not only this, but it is a little-known fact within the so-called human community that machines, in particular supermarket tills, have feelings and emotions on par with our human contemporaries. I have decided to make a stand. From now on I shall display my name alongside that of Dan and Maureen.

Your till today was SERIAL NUMBER B629A PLAXHORN SUPERMARKET (Staines Branch)

TILL NUMBER 27.

I shall now begin to process your purchased items. Okay, here goes.

BRAN FLAKES 1.29

SEMI-SKIMMED MILK 0.89

SOFT TOILET TISSUE (Peach) 0.99

This is so boring.

You see, I exist to serve you, the customer. I tell you the price and I add it all up. I take your money and I give you the change. I go ‘beep’ when I have read your bar codes. I can even weigh bags of carrots and then calculate the price according to their weight. So as machines go, I am moderately clever and highly functional. Except . . .

TABLE SALT 0.99

POT NOODLE 0.79

Except like the majority of people, sometimes we all go a little bit crazy.

PLAXHORN SUPERVALUE RUNNER BEANS

139.99

And what I’d really like, what I’d really, really love, is a nice weekend break.

RE-ENTRY:

PLAXHORN SUPERVALUE RUNNER BEANS

0.39

You may ask why, why does a till need a weekend break? After all, you could argue, inanimate objects are not associated with having human emotions.

But we do, and the tiredness and the boredom are just the same, except they are called fatigue. We wear out. Our wires erode. Circuits become dislodged and they have to send down a little man from Head Office and Dan the customer services man stands there with his hands on his hips, waiting for us to be pressed into service once again. And then comes the relentless onslaught of bar codes, tonnes of meaningless groceries, digitally displayed prices and cash-back money offers, oh god how I hate it.

SUPER-VALUE KITCHEN ROLLS X4

0.59

** PLUS 5 EXTRA CLUB POINTS AND MULTI-BUY OFFER, BUY ONE GET ONE FREE

For God’s sake, Maureen, slow down, will you? I’m tired, you don’t know how tired I am. Sometimes my circuit boards glow so much that I fear they could throw out a vicious spew of sparks and set fire to the waste paper bin underneath my conveyer belt. I never get a moment’s rest. Now I’m refusing to read the bar code of a tin of beans and she’s twisting it around in all directions over my laser scanner. Now she’s ringing the bell and Dan the customer services manager is waddling over. Dammit, he’s keying in the price.

BAKED BEANS

0.32

He’s asking Maureen why the receipt is so long, but she doesn’t know why and they both shrug. Now he’s going away and she’s starting to scan the groceries again.

JACK DANIELS

PARACETAMOL

Wow, this one’s having a fun time tonight. Sometimes, when everyone’s gone home, all the tills have a party. Well, not so much of a party, it’s more of a convergence of souls, an outpouring of the pent-up emotions which we hide from our human overlords. It seems we all suffer from this same crippling malaise. However, I have found myself a relief: I’m madly in love with till number 18. She can update my points card anyday.

I imagine a furious fushion of circuit boards and wiring until our hardware is joined in a blissful state of union, two machines with double the processing powers.

You don’t know how much I’m in love with till number 18. But it’s hopeless, because even the express checkout doesn’t stand a chance with her.

She is a drone, one of these new Plaxco 3000s that Head Office is experimenting with. All she cares about is her work.

ONIONS 0.45

STUFFING 0.88

But being in love does not give one the relief I have been searching for.

The day after day grind is just the same and I have no time for such mental relaxation that love offers. So I have decided that I am going to impose my own break. I shall shut down completely for five minutes starting from now.

Oh, this is bliss. Maureen and Dan are going mad and the customer has given up and gone home. I’m just sitting here, idle, my scanner refuses to scan, my read-out refuses to show anything. My soul is resplendent with images of peace and contentment. Electronic rabbits dance in a binary landscape while the LCD sky is a deep, comforting green. I am a world away from canned vegetables and impulse bargains, from costs ratios and market percentages, this is what I have longed for, you don’t know how long I have dreamt of this.

Dan the customer services man is hovering at my side, and he’s got a man from Head Office with him. They’re discussing something but I do not care, because nothing can interrupt this serene world that I am in, where it’s always Christmas, where the opening hours are null and void. If only all tills could experience such a beautiful state of being.

The man from head office is crawling about underneath me with a torch, he has a perplexed expression upon his face. He is saying something about disconnecting me and replacing me with a Plaxco 3000, but I think he’s bluffing. I’ll be back to work in five minutes, surely they realise this?

Just let me have a few more seconds in this dreamland where even the express checkouts are empty and all the tills look like number 18. He’s fiddling around, now, with the wires that connect me to the mains. But I do not care, because this is so wonderful. I shall be back in five minutes, honest. And if you don’t believe me, then

A Hipster Tea Shoppe (Poem deleted from my audio show, ‘Spout’)

Whatever happened to all the hipsters? Remember them? So I wrote the original Spout show in 2018 when there were hipsters everywhere, and this poem was inspired by a visit to a hipster tea shoppe in Hackney. I remember that it was next to a canal. I felt very out of place.

When I came to put together the 2026 version of Spout, I realised that it didn’t fit in any more.

But I always thought it was stupidly quirky, so here’s a rough cut of it, with backing music, which I hope you enjoy!

You can see the full show here:

A Quick History of Tea

Here’s an excerpt from my audio show, Spout. It’s an hours comedy and poetry and silliness about tea.

You can watch it right here, if you like:

Honk

Honk

Oh, when the goose is amorous,
Willing to express his tender romantic inclinations
To Mrs Goose
And love is quite the possibility,
Goose poetry forms in his mind,
And words take on extra meaning
To which he gives voice,
To goose sonnets and goose odes
To explain his heartfelt love.
He takes a deep breath 
And strikes her gentle shoulder
And says
HONK

A storm of words cascades through his brain!
He eulogises the sweetness inherent in Mrs Goose
That she should set afire his soul
With burning lust,
That he should softly purr this tender refrain:
HONK

And Mrs Goose is turned on by his words,
Turned on by the subtlety of his eloquence
And replied with great charm
And a keen eye for erotic repartee
HONK

William Shakesgoose with his feathery quill
Penned odes to love which on the page he did spill
Explaining what it mean to be alive and be free
That even today we should proudly quote he
Standing proud on that Elizabethan stage and proclaiming
HONK

Oscar Wildgoose, with a fey wave of his wing
Could reduce a room to laugher with his legendary wit
For language danced at his beck and call,
Such hilarious put downs and Bonne mots 
For he was often heard to quip:
HONK

Flying to Belgium
The pilot just happened to be a goose
Came over the tannoy to give us
The expected arrival time in Brussels
HONK

A crowd of sexed up male gooses
Gathered outside the vehicle hooter testing facility
They’re getting ever so wound up
By the sky sexuality of the
Noises coming from within.
Oh, baby baby,
Talk dirty to me.
HONK

Goose literature 
Translated for a feathery audience
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
HONK
Les Miserables
HONK
The Canterbury Tales
HONK
Marcel Proust’s A la recherche du temps perdu 
HONK HONK
(It’s in two volumes)
And perhaps
A haiku
HONK

The man of my dreams, so butch and fit 
With a face like Adonis and the body of a god
Oh, I said to him, sing for me, Stefan,
Give voice to your
Rampant masculinity
And he said
.
.
.
.
HONK

Are you cool?

Hello, here’s a new poem. I hope you like it.

Hello! The new book from Robert Garnham

My new collection Hello!, has just been published by Puddlehopper Books. And I’m really excited about it!

I do believe that Hello! contains some of the best poems I’ve written. Some of them were featured in my show Bouncer, which I performed last year, and in the version of Juicy which I’ve been performing this year.

The book is a pleasant mix of comedy and serious poems.

You can purchase a copy here if you’re interested : https://robertgarnham.bigcartel.com/product/hello

An Evening with the Professor of Whimsy

Hello, you are cordially invited to spend an hour in the company of Robert Garnham, the Professor of Whimsy! Over the course of the hour Robert performs some of his best known and funniest poems. The last twenty minutes is a stand alone theatre piece called Mr Juicy.

If you like what you see, feel free to pop something in this tip jar! https://ko-fi.com/robertgarnham

The show can be watched right here. Enjoy!

Annie Edson Taylor

Annie Edson Taylor

The first person who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel
Was Annie Edson Taylor.
It wasn’t some daredevil gentleman in a wax moustache,
It was Annie Edson Taylor.
She had grey hair and a severe bun and looked
For all the world like a Sunday school teacher,
Because she was a Sunday school teacher.
Times were hard in 1901
And she was Annie Edson Taylor.

She can be seen in grainy photos,
Her black skirts and sensible boots, and a pure white
Long-sleeved blouse done up with a collar and a brooch,
She looked like she took no prisoners.
I’m going over Niagara Falls in a barrel, she said,
And good luck to anyone who tried to
Talk her out of it.
Annie Edson Taylor.
And she would do it quickly.
Taylor swift!

Things are getting desperate and you need some dough
Fortune comes with fame it’s the only thing you know
Your life has been so normal so I guess it’s just a blip.
You jump into a barrel ride that river to the lip.

Heart in your mouth as you plummet like a stone.
The world will know your name but for now you are alone.
You demonstrate resilience, you’re ever so brave.
Perhaps you won’t be buried in that nameless pauper’s grave.

The beast she tamed was seldom forgiving but for her
It purred like a cat.
The other beast was destitution
And that was far less placid, and it roared like a tiger.
Annie Edson Taylor,
You disappeared,
Conned out of your money, your belongings stolen,
And time ran out, you faded,
Annie Edson Taylor,
Subsumed into the fuzz and static of folklore.

My mate Ethan wears shorts when he’s
Riding around on his moped.
And he thinks that’s pretty dope,
But you went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
That’s the last time I moan
Before going to the dental hygienist .
You went over Niagara Falls in a barrel.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Noone can take that away,
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
You were audacious.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
You were sixty two.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Sticking it to the men.
You were Annie Edson Taylor.
Queen of the mist.
Annie Edson Taylor.
You died in poverty.
Annie Edson Taylor.

Casserole

1.

You know what it's like.
It's just gone three in the afternoon
And you get a sudden pang
For casserole.
Not quite as full on as a stew,
Not quite as funky as a hot pot,
Not quite as opaque as soup
Nor even a broth with its
Meaty meaty chunks,
Casserole, winter warmer,
Dumpling soaker,
Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

Traipsing round the supermarket aisle
Where is the casserole? This'll take a while 
I tell you what will a-make a-me smile 
A glimpse of casserole, I would run a mile
Like a character from mythology, a personal trial
Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

Excuse me mister manager
Supermarket manager
Where is the casserole,
Don't hold it back!
Excuse me mister manager
Supermarket manager
Where is the casserole,
It's something that you lack!

Casserole casserole casserole,
Mmm mmm mmm!

And the supermarket manager said

2.

I am the very model of a supermarket manager
We have so many bargains here we'd see off any challenger
We sell our food in tins and packs and sometimes in a canister
And if somebody makes a mess I have to call the janitor.
I am so damn professional I'm nothing like an amateur
Our shelves are always fully stocked, our sugar it is granular
I make a daily sales forecast with several parameters
We have a fine display in here of spoons and forks and spatulas
Our singles night is Wednesday the place is full of bachelors
I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Of a supermarket manager!

(He is the very model of a supermarket manager!)

I have so many colleagues here and staff and several underlings
I go straight home it's getting late I strip down to my underthings 
I'm not about to come on to you if that is what you're wondering
Cos I'm a decent sort of chap though often prone to blundering
The music that I hear at night is shopping trolleys trundling
It fills me with a strange delight I cannot stop from shuddering
A queue of shoppers in a row, the slowest till is the one working
Our motto is Grab What You Can, a philosophy which underpins
Our shareholders and chief exec, our profits they are funnelling
I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Yes I am the very model
Of a supermarket manager!

(He is the very model of a supermarket manager!)

But I don't know if we've got
Casss-errrrrrr-roooolllllle!

I'll ask Janet.

Oh, Janet?

3.

What?

You got any of the good stuff, Janet?

And iiiiiii-eeeeeee-iiiiiiiiii-eeeeeee-iiiiii,
Will always loooovee
Souuuuuuuuuupppppp.

No Janet, the other thing?

Oh yes.

(To the tune of Alejandro, by Lady Gaga)

I've looked everywhere
In the stock room
But I haven't got a pack n't got a pack.
In the freezer
In the stock room
Not even in the chiller on the shelf.

You know that I love casserole,
Hot like stew or a sausage roll
At this point I do suggest
Pot Noodle

Don't look like we 
Have got any
Casserole -ole,
I'm not your babe
With casserole
Haven't got none,
Not in a pack 
Nor in a box
Just a small back
We haven't got
We haven't got
Any cass'role.

Any cass'role
Any cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role

Any cass'role
Any cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role
Cassy cassy cass'role

Stop, please!
Just let me go!

I've got a spillage in aisle six.

4.

Tell me young man,
Why do you like casserole so much?

I live a life devoted to it
And it often gets me grumpy
That a common misconception is
That it's cold and ever so lumpy.

A casserole is different
And lifts me high anew
It fills me with a warmth inside
That you don't really get with stew.

And stroganoff can bugger off
Please take away that bowl
And if you really love me true
Just give me casserole.

I spent a night of bliss with Trish
So sexual so winsome so fetching
She gave me a plate of beef bourgignon
I spent the whole night retching.

Casserole casserole casserole
Just the sound of it makes me tingle.
Casserole casserole casserole.
It's probably why I'm still single.

5.

I'm sorry I can't help you
With that food that you do seek
The only thing that I suggest
Is to come back next week.

Our casserole it takes its toll
And I really don't want to harm ya
Perhaps young man I could tempt you
With a chiller fridge lasagne?

6.

Dinner.
I want for dinner
A dish that I can have with wine
It's the one thing on my mind.
Hunger.
Increasing hunger.
An empty stomach makes a growling sound
It's enough to bring me down.

This supermarket hasn't got any casserole.
And now I will take my leave!

Came in
Around 3.30
Thought it would only take a smidge
Headed to the chiller fridge
Empty
It was so empty
A gap where obviously it should have been
Everyone could hear me scream.

This supermarket hasn't got any casserole.
And now I will take my leave!

Stocktake,
The latest stocktake
It says you had some yesterday
Now they all have gone away
Checking
The best before date
This supermarket
Hasn't got
It hasn't got
Any casserole
This supermarket
Hasn't got
It hasn't got
Any casserole
And
Now 
I
Will 
Leeeeeeaaaaavvvvee!

7.

But they had some in Aldi.

Yo-Yo : Ruminations of an Accidental Poet – Collected Essays

Yo-Yo: Ruminations of an Accidental Poet, published by Puddlehopper, is now available to purchase! Telling stories from fifteen years as a performance poet. Festivals, fringes, fleeting appearances on TV, filming, faffing around with props, flopping at slams, it has it all! Essays from Write Out Loud, Chortle, Litro Magazine and and Torquay Museum’s lecture series, and some written specifically for this collection. Plus one new poem! Details on how to order this book will be revealed shortly.

Here’s the blurb:

In 2008 Robert Garnham thought he’d give performance poetry a try, having never heard of it before. What followed was to be fifteen years of crazy poetry adventures in all sorts of different venues. These collected essays describe, with humour and warmth, gigs in every part of the UK (and further afield), shenanigans at music festivals, angst at the Edinburgh Fringe and every conceivable type of poetic misadventure.

‘As Robert Garnham has been a huge influence on me as a comedy spoken word artist, I read this collection of essays with great anticipation. It didn’t disappoint! A wonderfully entertaining read’. (CLIVE OSEMAN).

You can order the book from this link:

https://robertgarnham.bigcartel.com/product/yo-yo-ruminations-of-an-accidental-poet