ANYONE FOR TENNIS?

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.

JACK AND THE BEANSTALK - THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH & NOTHING BUT ANOTHER LOAD OF OLD BEANS

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!

TYGER, TYGER

Tyger, Tyger, burning brite
In the forests of the nite
If I coulde, I would smite
The git that set the woods alite.

FUNNY MUNNY

Now, wouldn't it be funny
If the men with all the money
All had suddenly turned runny in the head.

And with no stocks and shares
All your multi-millionaires
Would refuse to come downstairs, but stay in bed.

What if banks had empty tills
With the Manager on pills
'Cos he couldn't pay his bills out of the red.

And you couldn't get your pension
Or a dribble worth a mention
What with all the added tension, you'd be dead.

So let's show them that we love 'em
Only God could stand above 'em
Our resolve to serve will toughen (out of dread).

So, please hurry - do as I do
Take a bucket full of Cow-pooh
Make a large deposit - or two - 'nuff said.

Henrietta Grimbleshoe

Henrietta Grimbleshoe was destitute and broke.
Her social life was crap and her finances a joke.
She hadn't worked for twenty years - because no job would last,
And no-one would employ her with her dark and lurid past.

It all had started when she found that fuel costs for her car
Exceeded any benefits of going very far.
She then discovered that if she just sat around all day
It didn't cost her anywhere near what she used to pay.

She figured out that if she stayed at home and didn't spend,
Her finances would right themselves - her troubles all would end.
However, she had failed to see - as she was very dim -
If she did not go OUT to work, no money would come IN.

But there she sat, hour after hour, glued fast to her TV,
Just watching endless crap that simply fueled anxiety.
Before she knew what hit her, Henrietta suddenly found
That she'd become irrationally scared of every sound.

At first she jumped at each car horn, or noisy motor-bike.
But then she found she even jumped at noises that she'd liked.
She jumped at tweeting dicky-birds and little baby lambs.
She jumped at laughing babies - a-gurgling in their prams.

This soon progressed 'til she was scared of everything outdoors:
Of noises, people, smells and mess - and even of till-drawers!
Of salmonella poisoning, Bird Flu and CJD,
And when we got Mad Cow's Disease, she said "That it for me!".

In no time Henrietta found she hardly left the house,
For fear of catching Chicken Flu, or rabies from a mouse.
She built a moat around her home, to keep the world at bay -
(But largely so that she would not contract MRSA).

If anybody tried to cross her home-made 'water-trough',
She'd shoot them with her BB Gun and shout "Will you ... please kindly leave (or words to that effect)
Eventually, the Bailiff's came - not thwarted by the moat -
They brought along their own canoes and massive powerboat.

They stripped poor Henrietta's house, from skirting boards to ceilings.
And as they left, they gave her (just to show they did have feelings)
A telephone directory and an ancient mobile phone,
And with these words of wisdom, they then left and pissed off home ...

"Well now, my dear, you've made your bed and you must lie in it ..."
(But, as they'd taken all the beds, that ointment had a fly in it)
..."Responsibilities are something nobody can shirk,
You'll have to get up off your arse, get out and get some WORK!".

Well, Henrietta shrank in fear. What was there she could do?
What manner of employment could she possibly pursue?
Her CV was a nightmare and her social skills were worse.
Before long she'd be up all night just writing shit in verse (Oooooh! Sounds SCARILY familiar!)

Outside the Jobcentre she quaked - quite clearly terrified,
With sweat now pouring from her brow, she gulped and stepped inside.
The lady was most helpful and, to put her most as ease,
Sat Henrietta gently down, with pen and pad, said "Please,
We need to make a list of things in which you best excel".
But, after half and hour or more, they'd none that you could tell.
By now, even the lady found it hard to concentrate
"I know! Let's try a different way - list all the things you hate!"

Off Henrietta rattled - and the list just grew and grew,
The speed the lady wrote at left her fingers black and blue.
"Does not like dogs. Does not like kids. Does not like noisy doors.
Hates purple rinses, high-heeled shoes and polished shiny floors,
Has allergies to germs and noise. Hates neighbours' garden fence.
Neurotic, weird and self-absorbed. Has no known common sense.
Has idiotic notions as to how to carry out
The easiest and simplest job or task there is about.
Her arrogance and lunacy make it quite hard to see
Even the smallest likelihood of opportunity."

But at that point the pen fell still ... The lady upped and cried -
"By Jove!!" she said "You're PERFECT!!!". Henrietta nearly died.
The lady leaped up from her seat and took down from a shelf
A large file labelled "APPLICANTS - ENVIRONMENTAL HEALTH".

Can you afFORD not to buy Japanese?

I dedicate this lengthy blog
To the Fanny-heads at FORD
You know, the ones who made the car
That I had once adored.

My car just had it's MOT
It passed - Who'd ask for more?
But then it split a water hose
And wee'd all over the floor!

Now anyone with any sense
Would shout (you might suppose)
"Just stop your belly-aching, Wench
And get another hose!"

But "Noooo!! You can't do that, my dear",
The trolls at Ford they cried.
"You cannot get another, 'cos
They've all been MODIFIED!"

"You cannot buy the bit you want.
Don't make 'em any more.
You have to buy this NEWER bit -
It's better than before"

"This one's got 'alf yer engine in -
All globuled into one!
And when you go to fix it - WELL!
It's MUCH more bloomin' fun!"

"Cos when you fixes this yer bit,
You'll very likely see
It won't fit ANY other bits
That you have currently!"

"Instead of just two little clips
And then you're done 'n' bored -
You've now got 3 weeks work to do
An' yer engine's FULLY RESTORED!!"

But the newer bits have newer bolts
And screws - Oh, No! - Can't mix it!
You've got to buy the NEWER TOOLS
Just so that you can fix it!

The real shitter of this is
The Ford twat didn't say
A word about this 'til the THIRD
WRONG part was on it's way!

THREE TIMES I've trundled up and down
To fix my bloody car
With more little bags of more little bits
And an organ pickled in a jar (well, perhaps not that bit)

Tomorrow I will try again.
Again I won't succeed.
'Cos the latest bit is slightly shy
Or doesn't want to breed.

Or it doesn't like the other bits
'Cos one called it a 'twit'.
Or a multitude of reasons
For the bugger not to fit.

But, evermore the optimist -
I'll never brood or boil -
I'll cut the sodding roof right off
And fill it full of soil.
I'll plant the bastard full of bulbs -
Daffs, crocuses, whatever! -
VOILA!! - We'll have the most expensive
PLANT POT HOLDER - EVER!!!

Arse-holes!!

WARNING: The following should only be read by the extremely immature; grubby schoolboys; and Mad Aunt Bernard (who understands my mental affliction but still humours me, regardless)

How often do you hear some soul
Referred to as "a right arse-hole"?
To be the source of such abuse,
One might think they were of no use.
Why are they made the 'butt' of fun?
How would you fare if you had none?

Try to imagine what you'd do ....
You've just sat down - to have a pooh,
When ... suddenly ... you gave a shout! ...
'Cos all your guts had just dropped out! ...
And disappeared - GONE - out of sight ...
You'd shit yourself! Yes? Am I right?

So next time that you hear someone
Mocking arse-holes just for fun,
Remind them as they stuff their face ...
Their arse-hole keeps it all in place.

(And that was a Party Political Broadcast for the Anal Retentive Party - I thank you.)

The Bumble Bee

I chanced upon a Bumble-bee
Who stung me. Not because
I'd upset him in any way ...
It just gave him a buzz.

Killer Hamster

My daughter has a Hamster,
As thick as two short logs.
It barks at neighbours' children
And then attacks their dogs.

I asked the Hamster, "Why, my dear,
Do you behave this way?"
It looked at me - a bit like that -
But disinclined to say.

I tried again last Tuesday
This time, to my surprise,
It raised its fuzzy little head
And gazed into my eyes.

It then replied, quite timidly,
It said "I fear the worst ..."
"And that is why, before they move ..."
"I get mine in their first!".

BO-BO

The following must be sung to the tune of "My Bonny lies over the ocean" ... I thank you.

My son has a doggie called Bo-bo,
A ladies' dog right through and through.
But, by that I don't mean he's friendly -
Mounts anything - 4 legged or 2!

My guidance, dear ladies is simple
So follow it closely, please do.
And don't bend in front of Dear Bo-bo -
'Cos he'd happily give you one too!

(Mother - you may now weep!)

Resident Weevil

A cautionary tale about the effects of taking too much interest in your neighbours' movements (and not enough in your own!).

You'd not believe! - whoever would? -
What's lurking in our neighbourhood.
With strange and sinister 'goings-on'
- I knew that there was something wrong!

It's all to do with her downstairs -
Her Ladyship - the one with airs.
She's got a husband, too, you know,
A sullen looking so-and-so,
The poor man is her captive slave -
She beats him when he won't behave!
I'm told she shuts him in a room
And pokes him with a pointy broom!

Apparently, the wife's a 'chav',
But lacks what dress-sense they may have.
What is she lacking? You might ask -
Aside from a full-facial mask.

They've got two children, so I'm told
One Boy, one girl - not very old.
The children are a total fright
They howl and spit and drool and bite!
And bare their teeth - have nits - and fleas -
And every conceivable disease!
5 Postmen in this year, to date,
Have fallen to these reprobates!

No shoulder would we wish to rub
With Mr & Mrs Beelzebub!

And now I'll tell you one thing more -
She paints strange signs upon her door!
They tempt in neighbours' pussy-cats
Which they then baste in seasoned fats
And barbeque them 'til they're done!
And then devour them - one by one!
Then, half past ten, on dustbin day,
She bags the skins to throw away
So nobody can ever trace
What goes on in that dreadful place!

Another neighbour - Emily Prince -
(We haven't seen her ever since!)
Went down to knock upon their door
(Last Tuesday week, at half past four)
- She only went to ask if they
Knew what had happened to Mrs Wray.

Well, Dulcie Wray - the landlords' clerk -
Had foolishly gone there - after dark!!
WELL! - we all saw her going in,
But then, there's this ALMIGHTY din ... !

Well ... I'll leave you to work it out,
But Dulcie Wray DID NOT COME OUT!!

And now, poor Emily - like as not -
Has joined her in the COOKING POT!!!
If you peer through their kitchen blind,
A HUGE black Cauldron's what you'll find!!

Well ... p'haps that last bit isn't quite true ...
But - you never know, these days - do you?

And, come to think, I'm not too sure
If it was 5 Postmen, or 4.
You're right, yes - now I think of it,
I've never seen her children spit.
And ... What? ... Who's this? Oh! Silly me!!
It's Mrs Wray - at No. 3!

Perhaps I'm wrong ... Perhaps it's ... WELL!!!
... But, these days ... you can NEVER tell!!!


(Dedicated to my neighbour, who takes such an avid interest in my family's movements, that I never need to ask them what they're up to - she'll know!

Introduction

I really haven't the foggiest clue
Of what I'm now supposed to do.
In 'techno' terms, I am a freak
Who has not learned 'computer speak'
A dinosaur - il-litt-ur-rate,
And - I do not prevaricate -
I really am as thick as shite
In matters of the megabyte.
I'm told that 'blogging's all the rage -
I've taken 2 months to get THIS page!
But, hopefully, as time goes by,
With confidence I'll no doubt try
To add a photograph or two -
Now won't that be SUCH fun for you!
For just for now, I'm quite content
To know that I can now present
Each rambling and puerile find -
The cowpats of my turgid mind -
To you out there - my 'friends-in-need'
Your only hope? - You cannot read.
So, 'til the next litturry carneevil,
I'll remain,

Sincerely,

The Lesser Weevil