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!!

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!! GANGWAAAAYY!!!!"

STAR OF THE WEEK

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.

RELAY POETRY BLOG

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!

SWINE PEES OF SHEET CAR - DAY 11

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.

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

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 ...
BULLSHIT! I MISS MY CAR!!!!!!

FORD MK III

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?

FORD MK II

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!).