Tag Archives: humour

As I was going to…

And you thought I wouldn’t go there…

again.

As I was going to…

St. Ive

I thought,

perhaps,

when I get there

I’ll never leave;

but, who’s to say

whether I’ll stay,

I change my mind

most every day –

as is my wont –

so who’d be surprised,

if maybe I don’t.

By a sad twist of fate…

By a sad twist of fate…

By a sad twist of fate, when Sea Mud was Christened, his chosen name of ‘Seamus’ was poorly written, by the slightly sober priest, as one ‘Sea Mud, son of Kat Twine and Bran Bin O’Really. Generations of O’Reallys, O’Cow Bells, Mac Hines, and the like, had passed through St. Praticks on their way to lives filled with strange looks at bank counters, questioning glances at border crossings, and numerous persnickety questions at a number of official premises – all of which were later followed by the gaiety of Gaelic laughter in local alehouses – at Sea Mud’s, and the others, expense.

The Multipack Song

The Multipack Song

Sometimes you just see words written down somewhere and they jump out at you in a perfectly formed song…. this is one example of that:

G. C. D

“Not to be sold separately,

G. C. G. C

Multipack, multipack;

G. C. D

Not to be sold separately,

G. C. G. C

Multipack, multipack,

D. C. G

Multi, multi, pack!!!”

“It’s not a poem!” you say.

“It’s not a poem!” you say.

“It’s not a poem!” you say.

“And who are you to say

that what I say

is not a poem?” I say.

You reply, “ I say, I say, I say…”

“What do you say you say you say?”

“I say, that it’s not a poem because it only has one rhyme, repeated lots – that’s what I say!”

I said nothing; he’d had his say,

I just wished he’d go away.

RAF Blues (2)

RAF Blues (2)

One morning, at an undisclosed RAF base located somewhere in Southern England, around about the year 1941

“Scrambled eggs at eleven o’clock!”

“Oh, Cookie, you are a one!”

“With toasty bandits?”

“Of course!” smiled Cookie. “No eggy soldiers for the boys in blue.”

“Isn’t that the police?” queried Corky.

“Okay, the boys in RAF blue!” corrected Cookie. “The boys that treasure correctness of detail over actual literal fluidity.”

“That’ll be us!” we all agreed.

“A seagull knocked upon my door the other day.”

“A seagull knocked upon my door the other day.”

A seagull knocked upon my door the other day,

“How did he do that?”

I hear you say,

“With his beak.” I reply, “He had no other way – not having knuckles.”

At this, the seagull chuckles;

I didn’t say,

that he went away.

“I protest!” (a song)

“I protest!” (a song)

Protest Songs!

I’ve written a few;

had a lot more of my songs

protested to;

Protest Songs!

I know I shouldn’t do

what people don’t want me to,

writing protest songs,

or any songs

at all.

‘I don’t want to be a full-time chair, I’d rather be an occasional table.’

‘I don’t want to be a full-time chair,

I’d rather be an occasional table.’

A job opportunity,

their country needs me,

I am the one

though I have a degree

of irreverence.

Not, that the situation ‘Vacant’ sign

upon the door

is not welcome;

it’s just that I won’t be taken seriously,

if I can’t take it seriously,

the job they’re offering me.

Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – Beds & Bed-Pans

Will & Ben: Renaissance Men – Beds & Bed-Pans

Ben: Will! Will!

Will: What ‘tis, Ben?

Ben: Hast thou written a will, Will?

Will: hast thou written a ben, Ben?

Ben: No; but, seriously, Will – hast thou?

Will: No, Ben, I hast not written a… will. Shouldst there be a reason for my doing so?

Ben: The will-writer hath come to town.

Will: Ben! Will the Writer is always in town; except for when he wends his weary way back to Stratford. Then Will the Writer is in the country, Ben.

Ben: Very droll, Mr. William Shakespeare; but, if thou doth, please remember that you hath promised me of your second-best bed – it is a King James size bed – and wouldst well replace my old Queen Elizabeth size one. Will?

Will: I thought I said I wouldn’t leave you my second-best ‘bed-pan’, Ben – Ben being the shortened form of ‘bed-pan’.

Ben: Thank you, Willie Wormwood, Thank you so much!

Will: You are welcome, Bed-Pan.

East is East and West is…

East is East and West is…

East Cornwall is East Cornwall

and West Devon is West Devon

and never the Twain shall meet

apart from along the length of the Tamar

and that bit up near Bude

Which isn’t technically East Cornwall;

but, you know where I mean,

that bit where the road takes you through about a mile of Devon:

and ‘I was only going to the garden centre!’ is heard.