Dear All,

I trust this email finds you well. Sadly, this will be the last newsletter that is created with my graphic designer, Melissa, at the helm overseeing the content, design and layout. Most weeks the wallpaper that she created seemed to get the most clicks, actually the only click in some cases, so her departure may just allow my blog to now get a look-in. Melissa has decided to move on to a new working challenge, which myself and all my other colleagues in the office here hope works out for her. It can be quite sad to see people leave their positions in companies; particularly the ones that start with minimal skills and then develop better skills along the way, but the time eventually comes when such individuals outgrow where they are and they have to move on and the things around them have to move on also. With that said, we may not be able to kick out quite the same quality of newsletter that we have been kicking out for the last 5 odd years until we find our feet again with a new graphic designer, so thank you for bearing with us until then. I will now bid you all farewell for another week; and I hope until the next one you remain drunk on all the things in your lives that make life itself worth the trouble of getting up in a morning and living it.

And now for some poetry: I was walking to work the other day and an idea came into my head for a poem; and here it is in all it’s fine literary splendor:

It smells!

Smells drift up my nose when doors open and close.
Also, when walking past a line full of freshly washed and conditioned clothes.
Smells permeating the air, from above my head, sideways and up from the ground.
A culmination of food and other smells creep up my nose as I walk down the steps into Ohmori station.

I’m now being pushed, squeezed and breathed upon whilst standing on train bound for Shinjuku .
I then hear a ripping sound and a foul smell begins to fill the air, some noses twitch and faces grimace, whilst other’s don’t seem to care.
I care, because my nose is filled with a pungent unhealthy smell, my eyes are watering profusely, it’s sheer hell.
Someone has passed wind and it’s smells like gas from the devil’s own ass.

The smell lingers in the air, it doesn’t pass, it actually smells like the rip was followed by poo.
There are 5 more stops to go, the doors are now opening in Meguro.
The doors open and close, but the smell is still very much up my nose.
Judging by the grimaces, it’s also still up the noses of the others around me.

The train pulls into Harajuku and some people get off and get on.
The doors open and then they close, but the smell is still hanging in the air.
I look around and some of the newbie commuter’s reactions inform me they are aware.
I try not to stare, but who on earth could have passed such a demon?

It’s seems the culprit had been sitting on and nurturing what he released for a very long time.
Which is fine, if you think about fine wine, but this is not something you can drink.
It’s a smell and it’s created a right stink.
Whomever it was clearly followed through because the smell has attached itself to all and sundry like glue.

Finally the train arrives in Shinjuku.
I get off the train feeling tired, angry, frustrated and yes, actually smelling of human poo.
I happen to turn around and look back at the carriage in which I’d been standing since getting onto the train at Shinagawa.
I notice a man looking at me and laughing, pinching his nose as he is pointing to his clothes and gesturing that I should go home and take a shower.

A poem by Stephen Austwick