Thursday, 31 December 2009


Today I wish to hijack my blog to wish my mate Will Hames a very happy 60th birthday. His barmy poems have kept us all amused for many hours and his sense of fun and silliness has spread a little sunshine over some fairly gloomy times. I only hope that now he has his bus pass, he can find the time to write some more - if you haven't seen his blog, then shame on you - you should have; so click the link on mine and enjoy!

So, Many Happy Returns, Will - and many, many more to come.

Oh .... and a Happy New Year to you also!

Thursday, 24 December 2009


I just wanted to wish everybody out there in blog-land a very

Happy Christmas!!

May your sprockets be sprinkled with Santa's Magic Dust and may your doobreys be daubled with holly - and if Holly won't join in the fun, I know a girl who will (I'll be happy to arrange an appointment on a commission basis)

Wednesday, 23 December 2009


Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Couldn't even pull a nag
'Cos he forgot his condoms -
Left 'em all in Santa's bag.
All of the other reindeers
Laughed and jeered at his mishap
'Cos after last year's party
Rudie'd ended up with clap.
Then one frosty Christmas Eve
Santa came to say
"Rudolph, with your 'appetite',
You're off to the Vets' tonight".
Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer
Snorted loud and angrily
And in a flash of hoof prints
Kicked Santa into New Year's Eve.

Here's hoping you all have a very Happy Christmas and a disgracefully prosperous New Year.

Monday, 21 December 2009


Sung to the tune of "Good King Wencelas"

Arnold Wencelas looked out

For his best mate Steven
On their yearly drinking bout
When the odds were even

Brightly shone the scotch that night
Though the cost was cruel
Spent the rent and housekeeping
Now they’ve got no fu-u-el.

Christmas trees and fairy lights
Spent all Daddy's bonus
Everything on tabs and cards
Credit with no onus
Mobiles phones, designer clothes,

There is no tomorrow

More food than a would ever keep

Africa from so-o-rrow.

Kids are good at keeping warm
And self-entertaining
Now there’s no food left to eat
What’s the use complaining?
Had to have the latest games
And an iPod Nano
They can always burn their beds

And poor Nan’s Pia-a-no.

Social Services arrived
Took away the babies
Neighbours look the other way
Like they all have rabies
Bailiffs joined the happy throng
Took away the cooker
TV and the DVD
Now thier Mum's a hoo-oo-ker.

Why do some folk feel the need
For all these excesses?
Do they actually think

That this shit impresses?

Christmas is the time of now
Future ain’t yet he-re
Burn the bills to keep them warm
There’ll be more next ye-e-ear!

Saturday, 21 November 2009


I am sorry to report that I have another Spanner to award this week.

This one goes to the parents of all teenagers in the Chippenham area. It's clear to me that these people are willfully allowing their 'litter' out on the streets of our fair town, whilst in full and evident possession of BOTH legs - I ask you! I have even seen some with EYES!! Aside from being in clear breach of the Rights of Arseholes Act 2006, it is to the clear detriment of the peaceful townfolk here and it should be stopped now! - There is a petition, you know. We are due to present it to the Hon. James Grey M.P. - he being a most distinguished pillock of the community here and righteously legless at most times. What is more, if HIS mother allows him out with HIS eyes, he keeps them firmly shut at all times.

When I was a girl, we were NEVER allowed out with both legs. We were only released moments before school lessons were due to start, 27 miles away, in which case we had no choice but to stick together and run like billy-ho!! It also saved unecessary expense on wear to school socks, as we only needed one at a time - we didn't indulge in such frippery as shoes until we got to University.

We had appointed eye-ball time, in which we could do our homework, pick thorns out of our feet and plan the invasion of France (only on Saturdays, as it was closed the rest of the week, but that was before the Common Market and Cliff Richards were invented).

But with our new Neighbourhood Watch, we have had our successes. Oh yes! By far the most pleasing result has come with the approaching Yuletide preparations. We have managed to dispose of a fair number of 'unsavouries' by handwashing them in a stiff solution of steaming Persil (colourfastness isn't really an issue here). We them steam dry them until they shrink and we hang them out by their ears to finish off. We have managed to successfully flog all of our little home-made 'elves' to Father Christmas who, as you know, is getting so desperate this time of year, he has his own impress service.

Must dash - the Rozzers are here and they've got another one for me, so I'd better go and put the kettle on - or should I say kettles - all 16 of them - it's thirsty work!

Friday, 13 November 2009


In the heated night of daytime,
In the near-off land of Grimp;
There lived a fork called Ladle
And his wife, whose name was Flimp.
They lived downstairs in an attic
In a house made out of bread
With ironing boards for curtains
And a lightbulb flower-bed.
They feasted on raw jam jar toast
And cornflakes made of cheese.
Fed tintacks to the Nubby Mice
That sang up in the trees.
They had a son called Betsy
And a daughter, Alfred, too.
They took them to the library
To feed the kangaroos.
They took them to the circus
To buy their weekly food,
But for an extra special treat
They’d sit at home and brood.
In summer they ate hot beef soup;
In winter, all new born
Were wrapped up tight in icicles
To keep them nice and warm.
Down from the tin-can rain clouds
Came showers of warm tea,
And lovely custard rainbows
Shone cross the sponge-cake sea.
Grimps, closing their umbrellas,
In crowds alone did cry,
Then all ran out into the rain
To keep them nice and dry.
Grimp had a mayor called Mayi -
He’d changed his name just so
When people called “Mayor Mayi …”
He could retort with “No!!”.
Each year they held a Festival
And Coronation Night -
The crowning of Grimp King and Queen
Amidst much pomp and might.
The Grimp throne was heredit’ry
Just as it had been voted
(And counted more than six times, though
Results were never noted)
Grimp long had been the victim of
Some nasty evil Snuggles
Who terrorised the landscape
Giving everybody cuddles.
The Grimps’ idea of heaven was
Both deftly done and quick -
A nifty poke into the eye,
With pointed bendy stick.
But Snuggles they struck fear into
The hearts of everyone
(For being snuggled was the thing
Most Grimps did not like done).
The children laughed in terror,
And the cats walked for their lives;
While bachelors fair panicked
As they rounded up their wives.
Snuggle raids were pretty rare
They happened every week
Before he knew what hit him
Ladle’s chances looked quite bleak.
A soft and evil snuggle had
Caught Ladle in it’s grasp
Though Ladle fought quite bravely
Flimp could tell he would not last.
Most fearful for her husband,
As he fought to disengage,
Flimp cleverly leaned from the book
And turned over the page.
Of course this altered everything.
Folk all seemed quite bemused.
The plot became quite muddled
And the characters confused.
Flimp whispered to her husband
“But they won’t know how it ends!”
So remember … if a Snuggle asks
Just tell it they made friends.

Tuesday, 10 November 2009


"They shall not grow old, as we who are left grow old. Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them".

I am so very fortunate to have loved or known only a very small number of people who have had to endure the horror of war, and to have them safely returned to me. I offer my heartfelt and sincere condolences to all those who have lost and waited in vain. May we never know your pain, nor forget our enormous debt of gratitude to those you have lost, and the ultimate sacrifice they made for our continued security and freedom and the preservation of all we now hold so dear, and yet take for granted.

I send my love and gratitude to those brave men and women who today continue to fight to make our world a better place, and for risking their lives to protect those less fortunate than us around the globe. God bless and protect them all and send them home safely.

We must never forget.


Following further earnest pleas from my long suffering and honest sweet neighbours, I felt that my family needed a firm guiding hand in order to bring our conduct more in line with the most reasonable and patient expectations of theirs downstairs. Thus, it became clear that a new set of house rules was most necessary - and here they are, as now posted outside my front door, so that all may see what an outstandingly considerate neighbour I am.

(I've had to leave out the drips of blood here, as I drew those in by hand)
NO 20


Understand, ‘fore you’re admitted
Laughter here is not permitted
Silence is enforced by law
Soon as you walk through this door

All those o'er one ounce in weight
Will be required to levitate
Maintaining height of one foot clear
In case the folks downstairs should hear

You may not shuffle, crawl or walk
And never EVER must you talk
Conversation’s banned outright
(As is loud breathing late at night)

All doors in this establishment
Are purely there for ornament
On no account must they be closed
(Or culprits will be rubber-hosed)

Happiness is not allowed
(Applies to those who smile out loud)
If you should titter, bawl or bray
You will be caused to 'go away'

Claims I once kept a sense of humour
I deny as wicked rumour
There are no humans in this house
‘Tis fit for only dumb, mute mouse

So, unless you’re already dead
Please sod off somewhere else instead!

Monday, 9 November 2009


After what has been the most miserable and depressing day I have had the misfortune in experiencing for many a moon, I needed cheering up - BADLY! I started surfing the Internet. I know. Should've been getting me sums done instead. But it was SO worth it. I came across a website called Comedy Central and although most of the jokes were really corny and old, I persevered and found some absolute corkers. SO ... Here for your entertainment, for one night only, courtesy of Comedy Central (who, I hope, will forgive me on account of me pluggin their website repeatedly) are my favourites:

Q: Where would you find a turtle with no arms or legs?
A: Wherever you put it - dumbass!

Q: What's black and white and goes "Moof"?
A: A cow with buck teeth.

Q: What is a wok?
A: Something you'd throw at a wabbit.

Q: What's invisible and smells like carrots?
A: Bunny-farts (I'm sorry, but I laughed like a schoolboy when I read that one!)

Q: What do you call a dog with no legs?
A: Anything you like mate. He won't come when you call.

Q: Why did the chicken stop in the middle of the road?
A: I guess she just wanted to lay it on the line.


A cowboy meets an Indian riding out on the plains. The Indian has a dog and a sheep with him.
COWBOY: Nice dog you have there. Mind if I talk to him?
INDIAN: Dog no talk.
COWBOY (to Dog): How you doin'?
DOG: I'm very well. Thank you for asking.
COWBOY: Are you treated well?
DOG: My master treats me VERY well, thank you. He feeds me great meat, walks me every day and takes me to play in the lake every week.
The Indian is dumbstruck.
COWBOY: That's a real nice horse you have there. D'ya mind if I talk to him?
INDIAN: Horse no talk.
COWBOY (to Horse): You sure are a fine lookin' animal. How ya keepin'?
HORSE: Couldn't be better, thank you. My master treats me extremely well. I get fed the best oats; I get brushed down regularly and I have my own blanket and shelter from the wind and rain.
The Indian is gobsmacked!
COWBOY: That's a beautiful sheep you have there, too! Can I speak to him?
INDIAN: Sheep liar!

Saturday, 7 November 2009


The postal strike is OVER!!
WHOOPPEE!! Let's have some fun!

Let's rush out buying station'ry
And write to EVERYONE!

I'll write to Mad Aunt Bernard
Not seen her for a while -
I'll pop a squirrel in with it!
Now that'll make her smile.

And then I'll write to Uncle -
Old "Stinky", you recall -
His ear-trumpet's clogged up with jam,
He hears nothing at all.

And then I'll write to TFE -
And Mrs Eejit, too!
With all the gossip to catch up,
I'd fill a page or two.

I'll need a list - buy LOTS of stamps -
My God! I'll need a mortgage!!
No matter, I'll .... What's that you say?!

Sunday, 1 November 2009


I’d like to announce my intention
Of becoming a flashy MP.
I’m running this coming election
And count on you voting for me.
I’d like to be a politician,
To have my opinions be known.
So what if I talk nowt but bollicks -
I’d definitely feel right at home
With my fellow fossils and tosspots,
Whom you pay to fester and moan.
By the time you poor lot have all read this
I’ve claimed expenses on your home,
(On account of my local connections -
Of course you remember, don’t you?
I looked for my dog in your driveway -
That was me! Yes! 1972!!).

Wednesday, 28 October 2009


I think I’ll take up prostitution.
It seems like a fun kind of game.
It’s good for the old constitution,
And shouldn’t weigh much on the brain.
I think I’ll slip out for a light bulb;
A bloomin’ great red one, just so
A gentleman wanting that service
Can easily see where to go.
I’m told that it’s quite therapeutic -
“Lie back, think of England!” they said.
Well, what could be better, I ask you,
Than spending your whole day in bed?
Before you go getting ideas
‘Bout morals and all that old ham;
I’ll not be partaking of nuttin’ ...
Oh, No! I’ve a MUCH better plan!
Of course, I rely on my past here
(So ‘Hubby’ tells everyone – Bless!);
I’m a dead loss in that small arena.
They’ll be snoring before I undress!
Then, all it requires is good acting,
So when my poor ‘client’ awakes,
I’ll be lying there flustered and panting,
Complete with ‘vapours’ and the shakes.
I’ll then profess loud and quite clearly
“Good GRIEF! Are you always that good?”
No ego on earth could resist this!
Exit one client, in EXCELLENT mood!

PS. It has just been pointed out to me that in order to ATTRACT a client in the first instance, the light bulb is OUT! It has been further suggested that I should NOT get ideas above my station in considering active participation in any form of finance-based coital activity, as the volume of cash refunds would bankrupt me within a week. Thanks.   A bunch.

Friday, 18 September 2009


I couldn't resist having another go at these, as they are just too good to pass by:

On a church notice board: "Prepare to meet thy God" to which someone had added "evening dress optional"

"Racial prejudice is a pigment of the imagination"

"Roget's Thesaurus dominates, regulates, rules, OK, alright, adequately"

"Blow your mind - smoke dynamite!"

"Celibacy is not an inherited characteristic"

"Sudden prayers make God jump"

Outside a farmer's gate "FREE ACCESS" with a little note underneath "Until the Bull charges"

On a car park pay & display board "God isn't dead - He just couldn't find anywhere to park"

Condom machines seem to provide the best ones, such as ...
"Not for sale during French postal strike"
"The worst chewing gum I ever tasted"
"Subject to VAT if used on the premises"
"Buy me and stop one"
"Buy two - get one jump ahead"

To the question "Is there any intelligent life on earth?" someone had written "No. I'm only visiting"

Outside London's Smithfield Livestock Market "DO NOT FEED THE ANIMALS" with the small print "They're all dead"

"Education kills by degrees"

"Don't let the goverment stop hire education"

"BILL STICKERS WILL BE PROSECUTED" .... "Bill Stickers is innocent"

On a University notice board "LECTURE THIS EVENING ON SCHIZOPHRENIA" to which a student had added "I've half a mind to go" before another added "I'm in two minds myself"

"THE FUTURE IS FEMALE" "Unreliable, full of broken promises, pretty to look at, but horrible to face"

Written at the very top of a urinal wall "If you can aim this far, you should be in the Fire Brigade"


"I'm a fairy. My name is Nuff. Fairy Nuff"

On the wall of a Datsun dealership "Buy Blitish"

"I thought clap was a form of applause until I discovered Smirnoff"

"It's no good looking for a joke. There's one in your hand" on the inside wall of Gents toilet

And on another one "Christine. If you're reading this. We're through"

"Last Tuesday's meeting of the Apathy committee has just been canceled"

"Be alert" "Your country needs lerts"

And last, but not least, my favourite sickie ... "Texans are living proof that Indians screwed Buffaloes".

I've got to stop here, otherwise I'll be going all night!

PS: Click on the photo at the top of this post, to see an enlarged view. It's really quite a clever one (painted on 'the wall' in Palestine by a Bristol based Graffiti Artist called Banksy. It's really worth just typing his name into Google Images to get an idea of what he does. His work comes in different shades of thought provoking, political, outrageous, very funny and downright wicked. It's also a lot cheaper than buying one of his books!

Friday, 11 September 2009

My 5th Sentence.

And, no. I am not referring to the 2yrs suspended sentence that I received for trying to help smuggle Mad Aunt Bernard out of Worthing Nick, dressed as a rutting mountain goat (she, not me). And sorry Mum - I didn't tell you about the other 4!

I am (of course) referring to Titus's invitation (that is Titus - The Dog that Blogs) that we should turn to page 161 of a book of our choice, and simply record on our blogs the content of the 5th sentence on that page.

So ... My 5th sentence reads "I will not". Well? That was good, wasn't it?

The book is The Commodore by Patrick O'Brian (one of my favourite authors of all time) and the 17th in his series charting the life and times of Captain Jack Aubrey and his 'particular friend' and ship's surgeon Dr. Stephen Maturin. At page 161 in the story, Dr. Maturin has just joined Captain (now Commodore) Aubrey for dinner in his cabin, and is declining an additional helping of roast duck, for fear of dulling his senses in preparation for a tricky operation in which he must remove bladder stones from an afflicted crew member.

The book sees Aubrey's finances and career reach exalting heights, only for his marriage to hit the rocks when he is accused of infidelity, though (on this occasion, at least) innocent in deed, if not in thought, but unable to persuade his long-suffering wife otherwise. This is a direct contrast to the flow of other titles in the series, when the Captain has been dealt repeatedly bitter blows to his finances and career prospects, only to find comfort in the arms of his dear lady wife - not to mention other men's wives on a couple of occasions (including his admiral's!).

This is my second journey through the series and never before have I been more grateful for having a brain like a colander, as I can re-read all of my favourite books again and again with the joy never diminishing.

One of my greatest disappointments, however, was in the resulting film 'Master & Commander - Far side of the world' which was supposedly based upon Mr O'Brian's novels and characters. Although Russell Crowe's portrayal of Jack Aubrey was superbly in line with the novels, as far as the script would let him; Stephen Maturin's characterisation was dreadful. The casting was superb and even as I read the books again, I can envisage Paul Bettany's wonderful little quirks and eccentricities as the good Doctor. But whoever was responsible for portraying Dr Maturin simply as a slightly dippy ship's doctor, and part-time naturalist, should be shot. In O'Brian's novels, Dr Maturin's role as ship's Surgeon is more frequently a cover for his more important role as a British Intelligence Agent - something that was completely ignored in the film, very much to it's cost. The play-offs and witticisms between the books' two main characters are, in my view, unparalleled. Also completely ignored was Maturin's personal background as the Catholic bastard son of an Irish Cavalry Officer and a Spanish Lady of high birth, giving him the wealth of connections across the world that would later prove invaluable in his intelligence work. His character provides a wonderful contrast between his endearing innocence/ignorance of all things naval (rarely able to board any vessel without falling in), and his sometimes shocking capacity to deal with lethal encounters in his intelligence work, all interspersed with his charming Irish wit (usually going straight over the more bluff Aubrey's head) and genteel forcefulness required in his various roles. No-one could blame Paul Bettany for weeping if he ever read any of O'Brians novels, as he really could (I believe) have delivered it all, if only given the chance.

Clearly, you don't have to be a member of the Boys Own Gung-ho Club to enjoy bloody good writing - whatever it's genre. I hope you might be inspired to pick up one next time you're out. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.

NOTE: by purest and sweetest coincidence: Billy Boyd, who played Aubrey's coxswain (Barrett Bonden) in the film, also played Pippin in Lord Of The Rings. As a struggling actor, Boyd worked for 7 years as a book binder. One of the books he helped create was - yes - you guessed - Lord Of The Rings!

Friday, 4 September 2009


The previous post that took this place
Was reconsidered a disgrace
Its style and content made quite clear
To all of those who hold me dear
That dear Mama must stay off gin
And not sit down to type agin
Unless she had recovered first
From shrieking hormonal outburst.
It may well be cleansing to write
But publishing it ain't quite right!

Thursday, 3 September 2009


In trawling through a pile of old paperback books that I recently bought at a Car Boot Sale, I uncovered a little gem of a book called Graffiti Lives OK, compiled by Nigel Rees (the author of Quote, Unquote). Intrigued, I just had to have a peek inside and found I couldn't put it down. Compiled in 1979 and published by Unwin, it reflects that even the 'vandals' and 'hooligans' of that age had a better sense of humour (and, often, decorum) than we are subjected to on television today. Here are just a few of my favourites.

"I'd give my right arm to be ambidextrous"

Onto a "NO ACCESS" sign, some wit had added the words "Use Barclaycard"

"Give masochists a fair crack of the whip"

"Tolkein is hobbit-forming"

"French dockers rule, au quai"

"Peals of laughter, squeals of joy. I was here before Kilroy" To which the answer was added: "Shut your mouth, shut your face, Kilroy built the bloody place".

"Alas poor Yorlik, I knew him backwards"

"Saliva drools, OK"

On a signpost in Lincolnshire identifying the road "TO MAVIS ENDERBY and OLD BOLINGBROKE" were added the words "The gift of a son".

On the back of a dirty vehicle, someone had written "Don't clean me - Plant something!"

"And the meek shall inherit the earth - if that's alright with you"

"God was a woman, until she changed her mind"

The words "Cuts out oven doubt" were found written on a contraceptive vending machine.

And on another "My Dad says these don't work".

Yet another contraceptive machine professed to be "Made in Britain" and it's product "Absolutely safe and reliable", to which someone had written "Yeah? So was the Titanic!"

While in a park somewhere, someone had written "Save Trees - Eat Beavers!"

But the worst of all was "I like sadism, necrophilia and bestiality. Am I flogging a dead horse?"

I could go on - and on and on - but would love to hear if anyone else has seen or heard of any particularly witty ones.

Tuesday, 1 September 2009

BABBO - The true(ish) and somewhat sobering story of how the Camel really got his humps.

There was, a long, long time ago,
A little camel called Babbo.

Now in those days, odd it may seem,

A camel's back was smooth as cream.

Though fair to say they looked like chumps -

This tale tells how they got their humps ...

In Babbo's day there lived a King
Who, so it seemed, owned everything.
Kind Randor, it was true, had never
Worked a single hour - not ever!
So slothful that he would no longer
Even tally up his wonga.
Now the Royal Lazy Toad
Sought further to reduce his load ...

"I know!" he cried "I'll give a prize
To any man who'll guess the size
Of all of my enormous wealth ...
This way's much better for my health ...
WELL!!? Come on up!! Each man - two tries.
Come! See if you can win the prize ..."
He'd put his servants to the test,
Though they were clearly not impressed.
Sheik Ahlegg, Keeper of the Rod,
Had simply muttered "Silly sod!"

He sent his servants far and wide
And out into the countryside
They spread the message everywhere ...
"ROLL UP! ROLL UP, SIRS (if you dare)
Guess how much gold the King had got
And WIN the silver in this pot!!"

Of course, nobody could resist
An opportunity like this.
The silver pot was such a size
They scarcely could believe their eyes.
They came from miles to have a go
To see if they could win the dough.

'T'was at this time young Babbo came
Tied to a Merchant's camel train.
The market place was well a-wash
With talk of Old King Randor's dosh.
Babbo stood close with pricked up ears,
That silver would feed him for years!
One guess was all he'd need to take ...
It really was a piece of cake!
So, off he trotted 'cross the yard
Toward King Randor's Palace guard ...

Two burly guards barked "YOU! This way!"
Poor Babbo dared not disobey.
Outside the throneroom he could hear
The sound of voices, hushed in fear.
All but for one voice - loud and shrill
(Enough to make an ice-cube chill)
King Randor sounded cold and cruel
As he screeched "Bring out the next fool!"

"Must be a hundred quid or more ..."
Said one, but he was 'shown the door'.
"There's Fifteen Thousand and Forty-Two ...
... AND fourpence ... give or take a few ..."
King Randor had this daft old clot
Beheaded, right there, one the spot.

The King, after what seemed like weeks
Of pouting lips and puffing cheeks,
Exclaimed "That's IT!! I've had ENOUGH!!!
I'm FED UP with this guessing stuff.
Fed up with fools all day and night ..."
He whined "Will NO-ONE get it right?"

"We have one more, Sire. Never fear!"
"Yes, Majesty. He's just in here".
Again, Randor began to shout
"Well don't just stand there ... BRING HIM OUT!!!"
The guards rushed in and grabbed Babbo
And dragged him out to have his go.

Well, there he stood, in finest dress,
Before the King, to take his guess.
Poor Babbo all but froze in fright
(His collar now felt very tight).
"Oi! Randor! What's with the Giraffe?!"
The Courtiers began to laugh.
"But ... I'm a Camel" he lamented
"I don't fink G'raffes have been invented".

He stared up at the throne in awe -
He'd never seen a King before.
Randor's impatient fingers drummed
As Babbo "Ooh"ed and "Aah"ed and "Umm"ed.
No mortal messed with such as he
"WELL!!? Come on man! What will it be?"

Babbo now shook from head to toe
His poor knees knocked like billy-ho,
He, stammering and turning red,
Just yelled the first thing in his head.
The courtiers shrieked with delight
At last!! Someone had got it right!!

HOWEVER ... there's just one more thing
That you should know about the King,
He was exceptionally mean
And rarely parted with a bean
If he could find some way to flout
And save himself from paying out.
The joyous courtiers had erupted,
'Til the vile King interrupted ....

"Yes, well done, laddie" Randor said
"But don't let this go to your head ...
Before the silver gets you hooked ...
There's one small point you've overlooked ...
I said that I would give the prize
To any MAN that guessed the size
Of all that's in my treasury ...
That's MAN not CAMEL, Do you see?..."

Even the servants boo'ed and jeered
While from the angry throng, there peered
One little camel, quite bemused
At why on earth he'd been so used.
Poor Babbo cried "This just can't be!
Kings don't behave like this, you see...
Kings are noble, fair and kind ..."
(And don't look like a hog's behind)
"... They're dashing, handsome, lean and trim ..."
(Not like the OAF in front of him)
"Kings shouldn't cheat and sneer and shout ..."
BAA-DUMPHH!! Too Late! They'd chucked him out.

With shoulders stooped and head hung low
(And pockets empty) trudged Babbo.
So badly did he get the hump
That on his back appeared a lump!
Astonished people stopped to stare,
But Babbo was beyond all care.
For shame, the worst was yet to come,
For this was only Number One!

Blinking back his tears in vain
He headed for the Camel train,
Bout found each step became more bold
As thoughts of sweet revenge took hold.

How often have you heard folks say
That "Every dog must have his day".
The stingey monarch should have noted
How this proverb's been misquoted -
If you look back, I'm sure you'll find
It once said "camel" - not canine.

A jaunty camel now retraced
His steps back to the market place.
He'd had this wizardly idea
And deftly whispered in the ear
Of every man he came across -
Though some were clearly at a loss -
Do you know what he told the men?
You don't?! Well sit and think again!
Randor had said he'd give the prize
To any man who guessed the size
Of all the valuables he'd got -
So Babbo told the bloomin' LOT!!

Oh BOY! Did Randor get a shock
When, shortly after five o'clock,
Six HUNDRED men - both rich and poor -
Came crashing through the Palace door,
Each screaming out the correct sum.
He had to pay them - every one!

'T'was fair to say the King was cross -
You bet your cotton socks he was!
'Cross' is a wee bit optimistic ...
The man went totally BALLISTIC!!
Veins standing purple on his brow
He screamed "BRING ME THAT CAMEL NOW!!!"

Babbo had hardly gone ten yards
When he was knobbled by the guards.
Out-numbered more than 10 to 1,
He simply had nowhere to run.
Then, just to broadcast his defeat,
The hung the beast up by his feet.
He truly looked a sorry soul,
Suspended from that wooden pole.

The guards did not dare hesitate -
No mere man caused the King to wait -
They banged and jostled through the door
And dumped the poor beast on the floor.
(Babbo bruised far more than his pride ...
It was a very bumpy ride!)

The King looked worse from upside down
Biting huge chunks from his gold crown
"You treacherous scurvy little crow!
I ought to slice you head to toe!!
And disembowel you - just for fun
Right here - in front of everyone!"

The camel gave a nervous cough.
He didn't want his bonce chopped off!
Or split in two, nor - even more -
His gizzards strewn out on the floor!

"Here!! Take your money!! Take your prize!!
Begone foul beast ... and Damn your eyes!!!"
The King, now screaming fit to pop,
Stood up and hurled the silver pot.
It Babbo with such a CRACK!
It left a huge bump on his back.

Then Randor leaned to grab his stick,
So Babbo legged it, pretty quick.
"There goes he who aspired to sting
ME! Randor! His most gracious King!"

When out the gates young Babbo ventured
(A lot more quickly than he'd entered)
His gait, to say the least, was spritely -
Relief at having got off lightly.
He made his way (despite the pain)
Back down towards the camel train.

Alas, the traders laughed and jeered,
"Oi! Push off, Hump-frey!" One had sneered.
('T'was odd to name him thus, mind you -
You see, he only had the TWO)
"Now where're we gonna put yer pack
Wiv those two fingeys on yer back?
You'd only have ter give a cough
An' ev'ryfin'd just drop off!!
Nah! Sorry, mate. But, no can do!
I mean ... look at the state of you!"

Babbo trudged sadly down the road
Oh what a silly little toad
He'd been. To go and throw away
His job ... His life! And what for, eh?
There is, of course, a moral here,
A wiser one you've yet to hear.

I hope that each of you has learned
A lesson with each page you've turned.
If you're inclined to court despair
By buidling castles in the air,
Just stop next time, when things go wrong,
Don't let your face hang quite so long.
Take care when things don't go your way.
Don't get the hump ....
It just might stay!!

Wednesday, 26 August 2009

GEORGINA - A story to give hope to the most desperate of parents

Georgina Pendrille-Beronmilde
Was, truly, a disgusting child.
Despite her parents' upper class
She revelled in the sick and crass.

Georgina would take such delight,
On Daddy's Golf Club's 'Supper Night',
At anything - name what you will -
That made her Parents' guests feel ill.

By far her favourite party trick
Was spouting terms for being sick.
Like "Throwing chunks" or "Heaving Puss"
Or "Driving the porcelain bus"
Or there was "Multi-coloured cough" -
Oh, how she loved to reel them off!

Her parents, fearful of their standing,
Expelled their daughter to the landing.
Alas, it never did much good.
She'd fart as loudly as she could,
Then snigger as the stairs would carry
Her rear-trumpet voluntary -
Reverberating loud and clear,
So everyone downstairs could hear.
Then she would scream and pull her hair.
She drove her poor folks to despair!

Concerned she'd never find a man;
Their fears grew worse when she met Stan.
Although her parents nearly tried
They could not help be horrified.
For Stanley Fotherhithe McShoe
Was not a pleasant thing to view.
Appearances - a minus three,
At birth, fell from the Ugly tree,
Hit every branch on his way down -
Hence Stanley's constipated frown.

A greasy, unattractive yob,
Stan was a sixty carat slob,
Who found it rather hard to speak,
With hoof implanted up his beak.

You could have said Stan was unique.
A one ... no ... two off, so to speak.
Stan's brain had just two cells, you see,
A truly challenged soul was he.
But two cells suited him just right ...
One for the left leg, one for right.
T'was all he'd need to get about
And ... prayed his folks ... to get him out!

Stan had his favourite doggie - Snot,
A scabby mutt that stank like rot.
He followed Stanley everywhere,
Yes, even to the 'you-know-where'!
'T'was here they played Stan's favourite game,
Called "Don't-get-in-my-way-again"!

Stan wasn't given much to sport -
He was not the athletic sort.
His only claim to victory
Was in the distance he could wee.
Why, he could score from five feet dead!
(Unless blocked by his doggie's head).
One always knew when Snot had lost -
His spiky bonce betrayed his cost.

Now, Stanley's folks did not agree
With antics in the lavat'ry,
So, if Stan missed (the rotten cheat)
And tinkled on the toilet seat,
He'd lie and blame it on poor Snot
"'Avin' a jrink ... cuz 'e wuz 'ot".

But Snot's revenge was better still,
He'd pooh in Stanley's Mummy's Dill.
Mummy's herbs were sacrosanct,
But after Snot, they 'sacro-stanked'!
Then Snot would blithely eat his food,
While Stanley got his ear-holes chewed.

Oh, Boy! The tales that I could tell
About this individual!
But one thing that was crystal clear,
Was his effect on 'Georgie-Dear'.

She met Stan in the grocer's shop.
Her eyes did glaze. Her jaw went 'Plop!'.
To notice him was not that hard ...
Fly-swatting with a block of lard.
Georgina didn't seem to care
That, once swat, he just left them there -
Wee leggies thrashing two and fro
And struggling like billy-ho.

They had the most amazing time,
When Stanley took her out to dine.
Stan took her to his favourite place -
A grubby 'caff' called "Stuff-yer-face".
The black bits in the Steak Chasseur
Looked very much like rats' manure.
They would have had "Dish-de-la-house"
But for the smell of gamey mouse.

Georgina found it rather sweet
Stan laid his hanky on her seat.
The hanky - neither clean nor pressed -
When she arose, stuck to her dress.
She didn't even seem to mind
That it glued fast to her behind.
Such details didn't bother her,
She'd found what she'd been searching for.

Yes, giving credit where it's due,
Stan was romantic through and through.
When he proposed, he didn't botch,
(Though spurred on by a quart of Scotch)
And down upon one knee he slumped,
Right in the place where Snot had 'dumped'.

Proposals are a tricky job,
But moreso caked in doggie-'bob'.
Preoccupied with doggie mess,
He didn't hear her answer "Yes".
"Oh, Yes! My love" she did repeat ...
Too late ... he threw up on her feet.

The wedding was a posh affair
And everybody 'In' was there;
With Lord and Lady Wotsisface,
And "Have some more champagne, Your Grace",
And Baroness de Oojiflip
And every courtesy and quip.

Oh, yes. The parents of the bride
Had really, really, REALLY tried -
They'd even laughed at Stanley's joke -
'T'was such a shame - poor Daddy's stroke.

His heart attack was not induced
Until the happy pair produced -
A bonny, bouncing baby girl.
Fresh of face and blond of curl.
But how on earth would this child fare
Considering parental care?
'T'was then the couple thought about
Just how their offspring would turn out ...

You really could expect the worst,
Unless you read on through this verse ...

For transformation then occurred,
Starting with homemade Lemon Curd,
Then, every Sunday, half past three,
The vicar would come round for tea,
Then Coffee Mornings; Bring-and-Buy;
Her Mummy was so proud, she'd cry.
You'd never dream - whoever could? -
What she was like in her childhood.

So, parents all, take comfort, do.
You've done the best that you can do.
Don't end up haggard, grey and lined.
The next time that you feel inclined
To frown upon them in dismay ...
RELAX!!! ... They'll turn out fine ... One day!!

Sunday, 16 August 2009

Senile Delinquent

When Wrinkles came a-calling
They did look on me and say -

"Did you not get our telegram...

That we were come to stay?"

Then Tooth Fairy came calling

And she said "I came to say,

You won't be needing
these old things ...
I'll tuck them out the way."

When Old Age came a-calling
He did look on me and say -
How long since we first met, my friend? ...

Ten years if 'tis a day!"

When Beauty came a-calling
She did look on me and say -

"Beg pardon - you have company ...

I'd best be on my way."

When Dementia came calling

Oh so sadly he did say -

"I must be getting old - I don't

recall I'd passed this way."

But Death? When
he came calling
He did frown on me and say;

"This one ain't
never ready! ...
What the f...!? Watch out!!

Friday, 14 August 2009


Whereas normally I am quite a cheery old bird - honestly! - I have noticed that on my blog recently, I have given little praise for those I encounter in my day-to-day ramblings. Could it be that I have finally become a crusty old boot?

Well, no I haven't! But it does seem that we encounter fewer people who are happy to do their jobs - and do them well. So, today I would like to break my usual habits of a) only mentioning those who piss me off (largely those connected to the Ford Motor Company), and b) by not talking about work - as I normally blog as an escape.

I today ended a run of store refits, with my colleague, in which we had three days to refit the entire tiling sections of three large DIY stores (that is all types of floor and wall tiles, with just the two of us) - one store per day - all stock off shelving, shelves dismantled, resized and rebuilt, end of line stock removed, new lines worked in, and then all stock back on shelves again. The work is back-breaking, filthy and very hot indeed.

Today was, albeit still very hard work, something of a breath of fresh air. A member of the store's staff was appointed to assist us, as usual. Today, at Homebase in Chippenham, we had young Josh. However, whereas previous assistants usually only stick around until the manager isn't looking and then bugger off, Josh stuck with us all day, worked his little socks off and, when he found that we were not going to stop for a break, as we wanted to crack on and get the job done, Josh disappeared for his own coffee break, only to re-appear five minutes later with 3 cups of coffee on a tray, which we were then able to drink while we carried on working. He was courteous, extremely helpful and very hard-working. So even if he doesn't actually read this, I hope that anyone who thinks their efforts are never appreciated, will find that they are, but perhaps we don't always tell 'em so.

So, from now on, I am determined to find a 'star of the week' every week. However, if they are in short supply, I might just have to add an occasional 'plank' or 'spanner'. I wonder if anyone out there might also like to mention any of their little bright stars.

Monday, 10 August 2009


At the end of what I think is the first ever Poetry Relay Blog in the world, I can only thank everybody for their marvellously silly input - I am SO glad I did this, it has been great fun, and I hope you'll all join me in another one soon.

For those of you who didn't get a chance to chip in, we started with a mysterious withered old man (Max Van Der Klimpt) who, it later transpired, was a Gestapo enemy agent. His mission (to steal top secret plans for a rocket) has failed and it is only upon closer inspection, that he finds he has, in fact, stolen a recipe book. Unfortunately, identified (partly due to the one false leg with two real feet attahced) and after a run in with the French Agent Michael Patti Felous (soon to be appearing in the West End play 'Tinker, Tailor, Yoghurt Maker'), he is undone - literally - on his own shears! Under his new identity as Maxine (and duly fearful of the mighty WI (who are, as we all well know, more fearsome than the Triads in drag) he becomes a dab-hand at victoria sponges and Chair'woman' of the local WI. But his troubles are far from over. Challenged by British Super-Operative - Skippy Doo Mc Fergus (now reduced to working as a Retail Spy at Cribbs Causeway in Bristol) - as well as the Rozzers, in the form of delectible detectible Edith Sergeant, he ...... But we don't want to give you that! You just have to read it for yourselves, won't you! And please feel free to join in with the next one - the more the merrier - the dafter the better!

I have arranged a little comemorative something for those bloggers who took part, unfortunately, I've cocked it right up and my computer hasn't got a clue what it is and so won't let me import it to my blog. I'll be in touch when I've worked it out. Many thanks for a great laugh!

Friday, 7 August 2009


Went back to Fords again today to collect my part. Guess what? It was WRONGO!!! They've got another one ordered, but it won't be in until Tuesday. My son suggested that my car was just 'at that awkward age'. Puzzled, I enquired further. Apparently, he can clearly remember being 'a stroppy little git' at around the 13/14 year old mark. Bless him - I can't! His point being that, from his own personal experience, nothing brings a stroppy teenager round like a nice cuppa and some jaffa cakes or maltesers. Well, we enjoyed the natter, the coffee and the choccies, but the bloody car still misfires. But we have hatched a cunning plan for revenge against Ford's incompetance. We're going trawling in a local scrapyard tomorrow, and if we find our requisite power packs and relay box, we shall get them for a pittance, compared to the £95+VAT that Ford will charge us. But will we ring Ford an tell them? Noooooo. They can sit on the shelf, so that when the next long-suffering Galaxy owner turns up, he/she can be absolutely gobsmacked to find that the buggers have ACTUALLY got something IN STOCK!!! Personally, I think we ought to charge them for improving their image. As for my own image after all this Valder-bleedin-ree clumping about the countryside - I could take Femininity lessons from Fatima Whitbread, with top-up tutorials from Henry Cooper.

I would say 'watch this space', but I'm sure you'll find some dribbling soap opera that's less predictable. Happy, happy, bleedin' happy!

The Secret Agent - A relay poetry challenge

My own efforts over the last few months have brought such brilliantly funny comments, and many in rhyme, that I thought it would be fun to try a relay poetry challenge - a team effort.

In this, you need to read the following and then add your own verse, afterwards. Then each person after you will read your verse and continue the story on from there, giving our character his destination and his assignment. The fact that our man has to be rapidly approaching 90 doesn't matter. He is clearly superhuman. It should be fun - I don't think it's ever been done before - so see what you can make of it.

The Secret Agent

I've often wondered, haven't you,
About the folks around me.
They way they dress, how they behave,
They really do confound me.
One good example recently,
While I shopped in a store,
A wizened looking bent old man,
Not more than four foot four.
Inside his shopping bag he had,
In this I kid you nat,
A massive pair of garden shears
And great big rubber mat.
The weight of all his baggages,
All crammed right to the brink,
Betrayed a strength much greater than
He'd like to have us think.
This set my mind to wondering
What might he need these for?
What secretive identity
Did he hope we'd ignore?

His name, I have decided, is
Max Van Der Klimpt the third
Your task now is to follow him
And tell us what you've heard ...

Good luck!! The dafter, the better!

Fabulous Blog Award

Having got over the shock of receiving this little widget, I shall now abide by the rules that come attached to it:

My five obsessions:

First would have to be books. I am a book beast (book 'nuts' being amuch more gentle breed). I trawl charity shops and car-boot sales in hunt of my prey, before scurrying home to hoard them with my other victims. Children are not allowed to breathe on them or even near them - in fact. I don't even let them talk to my books through the key hole. By far my favourite genre is Naval History fiction. This started two years ago with good old Captain Hornblower and, at the time, gave rise to the best family joke we have ever come across. My husband had become somewhat disgruntled upon being told that I took 'Captain Hornblower' to bed with me every night. Delicacy demands that I say no more than he had presumed that the dear Captain required batteries!! In terms of moral and behaviour, I am a happy prude, so the fact that he didn't know better made it even funnier, giving rise to all sorts of asides, such as: What happens when the Captain gets promoted? Will the Admiral require an air-compressor!?

Since then, I have devoured everything ever written by Patrick O'Brian (from whom I stole my user name), Alexander Kent (aka Douglas Reeman), Dudley Pope, Julian Stockwin and am now trawling for Dewey Lambdin's. My personal collection must now number well over 500, but the sales stock from my private 'dealership' has just topped 1,000. Books are everywhere and if I moved into a larger property, I would simply add more!!

My second obsession is humour, in any shape or form. Laughter is not just the best medicine to me, it is a weapon of mass destruction. You can knock down any language or social barrier with it and never have a butchers' bill at the end. Great stuff. Don't like Blue-blue humour, but silliness on any subject is fine by me.

My third obsession is animals. Any kind, any shape, any size, any breed. I love those photo's of animals caught in funny poses or situations, but most of all, I love wildlife photography - the kind that simply take your breath away. The particular animal love of my life was 'Mr George Mook' or just George. He was a Deerhound/Greyhound cross and he passed away 15th November 2007 (largely from prostate cancer) and would have been 21 on 18th May 2008. My one great regret about leaving my husband was that I couldn't bring George with me (as I moved into a flat and he'd been used to 6 acres to run around in), so I couldn't be there when he died. Quite alien to his breed, George was positively sappy with other smaller animals (and adored kittens and would nurse them), but no J-cloth was safe around him - we could walk out to a veritable blizzard of little blue/white snow across the lawns in evidence of this. We also found to our cost that doggie bean-beds were viewed as entertainment, rather than furniture. Again with the indoor blizzards.

My fourth obsession would be car-boot sales. My daughter, 27, (who lives in a local Mencap Sheltered Housing unit) comes to stay with me every weekend and we love to trawl around our local car-boot sale on a Sunday morning, where we also frequently meet up with my eldest son and his little brood. I hunt for books and tools (although I have been better lately), whereas Katie has been an avid collector of Care Bears since her childhood.

My fifth obsession is tools. I am dreadful! If I were asked to concoct the perfect shopping trip, it would be Screwfix, B&Q Trade Centre, Multiquip - followed by the compulsory No 1 Coffee shop (my 6th obsession). This goes far deeper than a need for professional caprentry tools, I would happily buy another set of chisels when I already have three perfectly good sets at home!

My five nominees:

Although I don't know many people in blogland, I'm very happy to nominate the following:

1. Mad Aunt Bernard - she's as dippy as the day is long and if I didn't know her better (she also being my favouritistest little sister in the whole wide world) I'd say she was on drugs. Lots of them!! Where her ideas come from I have no idea, but as long as they keep coming, I'm happy!

2.Ragged Old Blogger - The words "why can't I do things like that?" are never far from my mind when I see her blog. She's artistic, creative, original and - of course - a closet lunatic (which helps immeasurably). Oh, and she also forgot to switch on the remote detonator around her yellow courgettes last week - that get's my vote (and supper) alone.

3.Will Hames (Will the Poit - Half Poet - Half Wit). Will's blog was the first blog I ever visited and remains my favourite of all times. His style of humour and writing is similar (albeit much better) than my own and rhythm and flow are superb. I'd love to see his work published, but I know he's got his hands full at the moment, but hopefully he'll be able to find time to write some more before too long.

4.Lord EEjit - what can I say? Anyone who hasn't seen TFE's blog should be shot immediately and their entrails poked out and fed to carnivorous hamsters to gorge upon. Totalfeckineejit does what it says on the tin. The man's completely barmy and we love him!

5. Last, but by no means least, (I don't know if I'm allowed to do this), I'm going to nominate Professor A.B. Yaffle. He would have been one of my first choices, had my own award come from a different source, so I don't see why that should alter things - although I hope he'll be excused from finding another 5 obsessions, etc, on account of this. I love his blog for so many reasons, but the main ones are that his photography is superb and he has a wonderfully dippy sense of humour - why didn't we get teachers like that!?

Right then! That's all folks! You'll be pleased to hear that I've finished, so if you winners would kindly come and collect your awards - if I could work out how to do it, I'm sure anyone can - then I'll sod off and leave you all in peace.

Tuesday, 4 August 2009

THE BOY ... 2

The boy stood on the burning deck
Could stand the heat no longer
He hopped into the nearest cab
And buggered off to Tonga

Monday, 3 August 2009

Life is GOOD!!

Life is good. The air is fresh. I stride along with glee.
I march along with a whistle and a song,
Come, won't you march with me?

I glow with life. I look so fit. I see you envy me,
As you sit right there in your old armchair,
I'm LOVING it! Can't you see?!

I love my life. I have my health. I march both near and far.
I carry my shopping in my old back-pack ...

Sunday, 2 August 2009


Regrettably, or so it seems,
That last part happened in my dreams.
I must have fallen fast asleep,
While up the queue I slowly creep.

This morning, opening my eyes,
I found an unwelcome surprise.
For, sitting out there, large as life,
Remains the source of all my strife.
No nice new Seat do I see,
But knackered old Ford Galaxy.
No nice new car to greet this morn -
God rot that bloody Leprechaun!!

And so I s'pose I'll have to go
Back down to Ford's again, just so
I can collect the bits I need
To undertake the dreaded deed.
I'm sure that it's not all that bad ...
Simple solution must be had
If only I could once more try ...
Well ... I can always dream ... Can't I?

Saturday, 1 August 2009


Today I found my dear old self
In fields moist with the dew
Of memories that I had shared
Not long ago with you.

Yes. Yet again, my car broke down
Again I went to Ford
To get the bits to put it right ...
WAKE UP!! You are NOT bored!!!

So 'Fanny No 1' tells me
He doesn't really know
Which part I'm telling him about -
Could I come down and show?!
I would go, if my car would go.
It won't and so I can't
Just you try to explain that
To an overall-wrapped plant.

The problem this time is the fuel -
It isn't getting through.
I've changed the filter and the plugs
With shiny ones and new.
But, every time I pull away,
My poorly little car
Starts jiggling across the road
Dancing the Cha-cha-cha!
It now would seem the air-flow ain't
As pure as it should be.
I'd thought the self same thing last night
(I'd Chilli for my tea).

I've only done two trips this time.
I just could not repeat
My battles of mere weeks ago
With Plankton-Blessed-With-Feet.

This time I called the Manager.
A Leprechaun appeared!
Explained my problems to the man -
T'was better that I'd feared.

He waved his magic little wand
Said "Abera-cadabra!"
On tiny poof was all it took! ...
(And a new Seat Alhambra!).

Tuesday, 28 July 2009


At the cutting of hay, Miss Regina grows gay
And embraces her favourite sport.
With her racket in hand, she now scours the land
(Somewhat more than good manners purport).
With a gluttonous greed for her favourite 'seed'
(Though that's not quite the type that she seeks).
She craves not for tennis, but that other menace -
And she hopes to be laid up for weeks.

Friday, 24 July 2009


There was an old woman who lived in a shoe
Whose clutter of brats numbered forty and two.
She'd never got money for buying them bread,
Was forced into sleeping them 7 to a bed.
Afraid for her brood and fed up with the strife,
She set out to find them a cosy new life.
O'er mountains and oceans - begged, borrowed and stole -
Now they're all sitting pretty - in Staines - on the dole.

Thursday, 23 July 2009


The Boy stood on the burning deck,
His feet covered in blisters,
He must not die! - Not in these pants -
(They were his older sister's).

Wednesday, 22 July 2009


You ask how do I love thee?
Well now, let me count the ways -

Well, first, I love thee silent
(Although thou rarely are)
Then I adore your kindly ways
(To drunks and blokes in bars)

I love thy strong opinions
(Mine must always echo you)
Thy cleverest achievements
(Strange that I'd just done that, too )

I then adore your handsome lookes
(Pray thou lookes for another)
And then I love thee sleeping
(Tempted sore I am to smother)

I love thine strong and manly feet
(While treading upon mine)
I gaze upon thy ring-ed nose
(Repugnant rooting swine)

But most of all, my dearest heart,
I love thee from afar
(About nine miles does pretty well -
Ten minutes drive by car).

You ask how do I love thee?
Well now, let me count the ways ...
... ... ... Ummmmm ... ...

Friday, 17 July 2009


You too could see things from my perspective -

- If only you could get your head that far up your arse.

Wednesday, 15 July 2009


Due to absolute necessity (for the truth must now be told in all it's sordid detail) this is going to be a long'un (as the actress said to the bishop), so pop the cat on and boot the kettle out.

You'll all have heard the little tale about a boy named Jack,
Who trotted off to market but then only brought beans back.
His errand was to sell a cow - his folks were sore in need.
So fancy trusting such a prat with such a vital deed!

The story goes that Jack's Mum hurled these beans upon the ground
But in the morning, they were staggered at what they then found -
A huge ginormous beanstalk stretched right up into the sky!
You couldn't even see the top - not with the naked eye!
So we are told, young Jack climbed up and fought the Giant there,
So he could come back, stinking rich, and ease his folks despair.

Well now, you'd better listen here, 'cos there's one great big gap
In what had really happened - We've been fed a load of crap!
Yes, Jack did climb the beanstalk and, Oh Yes! A Giant he found.
But did he fight him? Not one plap! ... Read on ... I shall expound.

The Giant had lived all alone for many years, you see,
So when young Jack appeared, she thought "Girl, you've got company!".
Oh yes ... you hadn't heard that bit. You could not be aware ...
Jack's Giant was a girl - quite cute - blonde eyes and long blue hair.
She had been sent to Beanstalk Land as form of punishment -
Her sisters all had married, but she had stayed adamant.
She swore most solemnly that she would only give herself
To Gilbert Mew (at two foot two) who was - alas - an elf.

Clarissa - that's the Giant's name - had found her chosen one.
But tragic'ly, when she sat down, he vanished up her bum.
Well, by the time they found him, poor dear Gilbert Mew was dead.
'Twas easy to establish thus: They never found his head.
Clarissa wept and broke her heart and mourned her lover late,
From that day forth, she swore on oath, she'd stay quite celibate.
Of course her parents grieved for her, but they were quietly pleased
That the poncy squirt in the twee green shirt had gotten himself squeezed.
In vain the local males all flocked - Clarissa was a cracker
But, one by one, they limped away, each minus one huge knacker.

Now when we all were children and were naughty to our Mum,
She'd likely confiscate our toys, or smack us on the bum,
Or lock us in a closet 'til we learned to be compliant ...
But have you ever come across a closet for a Giant?
In Giantland, there's no such thing - well think about it, do.
How many trees would have to go to build one - quite a few!
Well, Giants live in harmony with all the birds and bees
And blooms and shrubs and animals and, yes, of course, the trees.
So, when a Giant is very bad, their worstest reprimand
Is finding themselves exiled off, to live in Beanstalk Land.

And, thus, the poor Clarissa had been pining in that dump
When, who should swagger in but our heroic little chump.
It soon became quite clear to Jack that he'd discovered gold!
An untupped source - provided she would do as she was told.
In Giantland, where girls were few and men's passions ran high,
He'd open up a Brothel - Yes! - his limit was the sky!

Jack lied to poor Clarissa, saying God had told him to
Deliver up a message from her lover, Gilbert Mew.
Most wickedly, he told her that it was dear Gilbert's wish
That she should not just pine away, but seek out fresher fish.
He said Gilbert shrank at the thought that she should go to waste
When surely every man in town would love to have a taste.
Gilbert had then implored of Jack - a man that she should trust -
To take care of Clarissa and her giant proportioned lust.
Clarissa tearfully agreed. Relief welled in her eyes,
That Gilbert harboured no ill will for his unkind demise.
Jack then e-mailed Clarissa's folks, to get their kind consent ...
"... Clarissa has relented, and seeks marriage most content."

A massive ball was organised to hail their daughter back,
And there to deal with 'business' was that lurid weasel, Jack.
The guest list was impressive - every Lord, Baron and Sir
Had hastened up to sample of this petal, oh so pure.
One hundred Giant guineas Jack had charged for every man
To "ride the stormy waters for as long as e'er you can".
Jack staggered underneath the weight of his ill-gotten gains
But - What the Hell! - he figured. It was worth the aches and pains.

Jack did his best to make sure poor Clarissa'd no idea,
So busy counting up his dosh, her steps he failed to hear.
Clarissa was exhausted and she was not having fun.
She sought out Jack. She saw his stack. Now he was sore undone!
He dared not waste one minute, so Jack grabbed the cash and fled
Hotly pursued by Giants needing bones to make their bread.

He legged it down the beanstalk to his Mother's waiting arms -
For Mother's are susceptible to all their babies' charms -
She swallowed every lie and tale - The lot! Hook, line and sinker.
She never had an inkling that her son was such a stinker.
He lied and lied and lied again - on that score he was quick.
Jack was declared a Hero! - The conniving little prick!

He told of battles fought with Giants fifty-six feet tall!
He told of how they captured him and tortured him and all!
He told of his brave fortitude and of his great escape!
He told about his flight, chased by a thirty-two foot ape!
He lied about - oooh - loads of things, but certainly the worst,
He lied about the contents of his great big bulging purse.
He told folks there were diamonds and he told them there were pearls.
But soon he'd pissed off most the men - and all the local girls.

Inside a week, the townsfolk couldn't stand the sight of Jack,
But Tradesmen, how they loved him, crying "Great to see you back!".
But then they found that Jack had dealt a blow most underhand -
His Giant guineas were not legal tender in this land!!
Of course, they wanted payment for that silken skunk lined Robe,
Demanded money for those disco lights and flashing strobe,
The brand new car, the base guitar - the list would make you cough.
The townsfolk wanted blood - but Jack was packed - and he was off!!

Jack hurdled garden fences, jumped o'er every candlestick,
But he wasn't very nimble and he wasn't very quick.
He leapt through pantry windows, went careering door to door.
He would have gotten clean away - all but for one big flaw.
In fact, the flaw was massive and so big you couldn't miss her,
Now dangling, dazed, from upside down, Jack focused on ... Clarissa!!
How could he have been quite so daft - the dimple-witted clown?
The one job he had failed to do, was cut the beanstalk down!

Now Giantland had come to him, a-baying for his blood.
Their nightmares tones in chorus with those of the neighbourhood.
Clarissa's parents, too, were there, demanding Jack's demise,
For spoiling of their 'rose-bud' - they had murder in their eyes!

I'd better skip the next bit, as it isn't very nice
(And you'd never look the same at any jam pud made with rice).

Suffice to say that everyone lived happy after all
And all the folks from Giantland were at the wedding ball.
Clarissa finally had found a man to cure her heart
No longer haunted by poor Gilbert's whisper in each fart.
She married Stan - a Baker Man - a robust five foot ten -
Her folks did not object - Nooo! They would not go there again!
And all Jacks friends and neighbours gathered round to see them off.
But if you asked what came of Jack, you'd get a nervous cough.

The day belonged to Bride and Groom - a match from heaven sent.
The Groom, he looked most handsome, and the Bride was radiant.
Her earrings, though, were curious - of strange designs and shapes -
Two diamond studded eye-balls with two dangling pink grapes!

Tuesday, 14 July 2009


I hereby invite everyone in Blogland to go to the last but one comment on an old posting of mine "Will The Real Elmer Fudd Please Stand Up" dated 3rd July 2009.

Some cheeky gobshite (Steve4summinkorother) has left an advert for Limo Hire on my Blog!!!.

As you will see, I have left him with as ladylike a reply as I could manage for his cheek, but would dearly lovely everyone who reads this to click on the link that this twat has left and see if we can't make him think twice about this most unwelcome type of intrusion.