“Where’s the bloody Torch?”
My wife asked angrily
“I don’t know where it is
Perhaps you could enlighten me”
“Well not without the Torch”
I replied curtly
“Where’s the bloody Torch?”
My wife asked angrily
“I don’t know where it is
Perhaps you could enlighten me”
“Well not without the Torch”
I replied curtly
“Do you want Baby Spinach?
Or Water Cress Dad”
My daughter asked me
And I went completely mad
“For God’s sake just choose one
It’s not Rocket Salad”
It’s not the angle of dangle
That’s the measure of pleasure
It’s the moments in the afterglow
That we ultimately treasure
My girlfriend says she’s working class
And I just have to laugh
As not one of them as far as I can see
Has ever worked in her family
There was a crow sat on a stone
And
there he sat and ate his scone
When it was gone, when there was none
He sat and ate his Chelsea bun
It seems that pornography
Is frowned upon
But I think that’s just all
The concentration
My girlfriend says she’s middle class
And I laugh in her face
She’s clearly working class
Because at her dad’s place
They have a television
That’s bigger than their bookcase
I watched a riveting documentary
On television last night
It was all about how ships were
Put together by shipwrights
Phil Lynott was robbed by a Gypsy
And searched for him wide and far oh
He caught him and took him home
Pythagoras would have beleived
Every triangle was a love triangle
Not simply because of the mathematics
But because he loved triangles
The thing that gives me anxiety
Are people reading my stories
But even worse than that are
People not reading my stories
I have many questions
That
are not my bailiwick
Why
is it so hard to recall
How
to spell mnemonic?
The TV and radio airways are now awash
With
colloquial accents, no longer posh
Scouse
and Geordie slang pervade the ears
And
Brummie talk will bring a man to tears
Welsh
and Scottish tones dispense the news
Guttural
pronouncements from their shoes
The
new name for this invasion of your home
Known
as I.V.S. or irritable vowel syndrome
Can we have a pet dad?
How about some fish?
Swimming
in a tank
Oh, I wish, I wish, I wish
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like fish
Swimming
in a tank
I like them poached lightly
on a dish
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a hamster?
Running
on a wheel
Oh, can I have one sir
No,
we can’t have a pet son
No, I don’t like hamsters
Running
on a wheel
But baked in the oven with
roasters
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a cat?
Purring
on your lap
What’s wrong with that?
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like cat
Purring
on my lap
Curried though oh yes, I do
like that
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a gerbil?
They’re
cuddly and cute
That would be a thrill
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like a gerbil
Even
cuddly and cute
Except in white wine sauce
with dill
Can
we have a pet dad?
Now how about some mice?
They’re
not big like rats
They’d be very nice
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like mice
Though
not big like rats
I like them served on a bed of rice
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a rat?
They’re
cheap to keep
What do you think of that?
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like rats
Even
I have standards
I think I would rather eat
my hats
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a doggie?
Playing
with a ball
Much better than a moggie
No,
we can’t have a pet son
And no, I don’t like dogs
Playing
with a ball
But I do like to wok the
dogs
Can
we have a pet dad?
How about a parrot?
Chatting
on its perch
I’d like that a lot
No,
we can’t have a pet son
No, I don’t like them see
Chatting
on their perch
Because parrots repeat on me
After over twenty-five years together
Through
both foul and sunny weather
Sex
doesn’t seem the same anymore
The
flame has gone out that’s for sure
Love
making used to be spontaneous
Now
we have to achieve a consensus
And
the earth doesn’t move anymore
Even
moving the headboard’s, a chore
Then
we were young eager and supple
Now
we are a more sedentary couple
Then
we spent most of our time in bed
Now
we have a nice cup of tea instead
You know this brings a lump to my throat
My
wife has thrown out my favorite coat
She
did the same with trousers and slacks
Scuffed
trainers with squashed down backs
Baggy
knitted jumpers and old faded jeans
Joggers
with patches and oft repaired seems
When
will she learn what she does is a sin
Made jointly in Britain and France
This
thing of beauty and elegance
I
was at school when she first flew
It
would not be bested that I knew
When
a boy it was only a prototype
So
unique there was no need to hype
The
most beautiful sight I ever saw
Impossible
not to be left in awe
I
thought it was a fantastic dream
Revolutionary
as harnessing steam
An
example of the designer’s art
Shaped
like a hi-tech paper dart
To
see the white lady gracefully soar
And
hear the Rolls Royce engines roar
Brian
Trubshaw brought her to life
Cutting
through the ether like a knife
Its
painted livery reflecting bright
While
achieving supersonic flight
Apparently
not everyone is a fan
Not
seeing the achievement of man
The
have-nots looked on with envy
Was
it the craft of the bourgeoisie?
The
powers that be in their wisdom
Have
grounded this phenomenon
The
news brings tears to my eyes
As
she’s no longer to grace our skies
So,
what’s to become of the Concorde?
The
graceful lady so much adored
The
destiny of the planes is a done deal
Broken
for scrap or sale piecemeal
As
if taken out of service is not enough
Pieces
will be sold on eBay to a buff
Or
maybe something even more bizarre
To
be used as ornaments or Object d’art
No
more chance of traveling deluxe
Were
left to the flying cattle trucks
The
Lumbering giants defying gravity
With
Bigger payloads and longevity
Homosexuality is not a disease
Nor is it against God or his word
And being “Different” is not a crime
It is neither unnatural nor abhorrent
No one cares if Adam loves Steve
Instead of loving Eve
There is no right way or wrong way
For matters of the heart
What matters is that they feel love
Love is indifferent to philosophy,
Theological perspective or social acceptability
There is no good love or bad love
There is no right love or wrong love
There is only love
And any relationship founded on love
Has my blessing
Melvin Kenneth "Mel" Smith (3 December 1952 – 19 July 2013)
Mel
Smith
Comedian
and writer,
Film
director,
Producer
and actor
Jack
of all trades
Master
of all
My uncle grows veg
Not for eating though
He is after prizes
At the garden show
Every waking hour
He nurtures and nurses
Mixing up solutions
As he coaxes and coerces
Enormous Marrows
Giant Asparagus
Towering Celery
And humungous fungus
Julius Caesar’s approach
May
have been absurd
But
a different approach
Was
what he preferred
Which
is why he came,
He
saw, he concurred
I was at a fancy-dress party
And
looking for something tarty
I
was beginning to lose hope
When
I got an unexpected grope
And
I was forced to conclude
When
things got decidedly rude
That
for the very best nooky
You
should do it with a Wookey
Well, the difference between
A skinny blonde schmuck
And
a counterfeit dollar
The thing that gives me anxiety
For the most part is not writing
But the thing that gives me
The most anxiety of all is writing
I spent two hours defrosting
The fridge yesterday
Although my darling wife
Prefers to call it foreplay
I am now a lonely widower
And all my buddies are dead
But there are compensations
That must definitely be said
There’s life in the old dog yet
That’s all I have to say,
As I go to the retirement home
For my fifty shades of grey
It was the plan of my wife
To spice up our love life
This involved her dressing up
To encourage me to tup
Now I have to say I didn’t mind
Watching her bump and grind
But as she played her sexy role
She didn’t dance around a pole
Nor gyrate upon my lap
To encourage my old chap
But even with all the gyrating
My libido was still hesitating
In fact there wasn’t a glimmer
As she danced around her Zimmer
"I want to buy flowers for my girlfriend"
John said to the Florist
"Of course Sir, what is it you're after?"
The florist asks to assist
After a moment John replied
"Well, a shag would be top of my list"
The way to help a blonde
Get
a positive pregnancy test
Is
to ejaculate into her shoes
Two missionaries are cooking in a pot
The
natives are dancing round a lot
Every
fifth circuit the dancers made
One
man broke away from the parade
And
with his club he hit a missionary
On
the head which seems unnecessary
The
chief is quite alarmed by all this
And
demands to know what is amiss
“These
men will be boiled and eaten
Why
then do they need to be beaten”?
“Why
do you keep hitting the edibles”?
“Because
they’re eating the vegetables”
I picked up a hitchhiker today
I know you’re not supposed to
But as I knocked him down
I’m losing my hair so fast now
It’s
vanishing without a trace
I
noticed it because everyday
Are you wearing Cami-knickers?
Well might I ask the reason why?
Now they’re deliciously sexy things
“Lost Horizon” is a fantasy adventure drama based on the book by James Hilton and Directed by Frank Capra.
World
weary British diplomat Robert Conway (Ronald Colman) and a small group of civilians
crash land their plane in the Himalayas, and are rescued by the people of the
mysterious, Eden-like valley of Shangri-la, a place of eternal youth, natural
beauty, and free from strife, where the lush green valley is protected by the
mountains that surround it from the harshness of the weather and the wider
world outside, where the clouds of World War II are gathering.
They
are greeted by Chang (H.B. Warner) and are treated as guests, and Robert also meets
another resident, Sondra (Jane Wyatt) who he grows close to, but one day Conway
is invited to meet the spiritual leader the High Lama (Sam Jaffe) and
enlightened as to the truth about the valley which affects him profoundly.
Conway
wants to stay and feels that he is meant to be there, but some of the group,
including his brother George (John Howard), want to leave and find their way
back to the world as they know it, but porters to guide them are hard to find.
So
will Robert be drawn by duty and family ties to help his brother or follow his
heart and stay with Sonja in Shangri-La.
There
is something special about classic films made before the days of computer-generated
visual effects, a time when movies depended on great stories, great
performances and great direction to make a memorable film, and that is
definitely the case with “Lost Horizon”.
My new girlfriend is from Glasgow
And when I met her Father and Mother
I found they were incredibly posh,
They served deep fried Ferrero Rocher
As we approached the airport
The warning light went on
And I had to return the stewardess
To the upright position
I hate the one pence pieces
5p’s and tuppence’s
I suppose you think it strange
But I simply don’t like change
I’m not sure if indeed it’s me
Or maybe its intentional irony
But you can hear the approach
Of the daily “Roach Coach”
The chime being the announcer
As it plays La Cucaracha
Has anyone ever said to you?
“Try and walk in someone else’s shoes”
Well, I find that for me the concept is
Quite problematic to my views
After all it would have to depend
Greatly on exactly whose shoes
Wherever my father is right now
I’m sure he’s looking down
But assuredly he is not dead
He’s just on the roof stealing lead
Are you wearing a stick-on tattoo?
Is that really the best you could do?
What? You were too scared to get proper ink?
What will the rest of the chapter think?
I ordered the Tarka Dal
It was like lentil soup only hotter
I was a bit disappointed
As I was expecting curried otter
Rouged cheeks
And blood red lips
Varnished nails
And tattooed flesh
Dyed sculptured hair
And black shadowed brow
Who are you?
All pierced and painted
And what have you done
With my lovely daughter?
I am always losing my keys
So, I have devised a plan
My husband is horrified
As the car might be stolen
But to my way of thinking
It’s the perfect solution
After all what could be simpler
Than leaving them in the ignition
Nelly Bligh
Caught a fly
And tied it to some thread
With some delight
She tied it tight
But then the fly was dead
There’s nothing quite so disconcerting
When you’re with a girl in a café, flirting
Than for a mother and child to occupy
Your table and you hear the baby cry
As if the wailing is not enough to bear
Mother flops a breast out, right there
Babies cry replaced by a sucking sound
Causing diners heads to turn around
When she stops and removes the sprog
We are at first relieved and then agog
Her breast, round and smooth like silk
Is still out, the red nipple dripping milk
After the baby had been winded a bit
She then attached it to her other tit
The young girl I was chatting up and I
Could not get away though we did try
This was repeated one or twice more
Before we could escape to the door
We were trapped inside our cubicle
And forced to watch this spectacle
Dispite what we’d been forced to see
The girl agreed to go out with me
Our relationship was at its inception
We remembered to use contraception
They lack Common sense
Their failing is immense
But in their defence
It’s the addled essence
Of their adolescence