I’M THINKING ABOUT TAKING A HOLIDAY # 5

 

I’m thinking about taking a holiday

But I don’t know where to go

What if I end up in Capable

I find that that’s often where I go

I’M THINKING ABOUT TAKING A HOLIDAY # 4

 

I’m thinking about taking a holiday

But I don’t know where to go

I have never been in Flexible

But I really don’t know

I think it’s important to stand firm

So I would have to say no

SOMEWHERE UNPRONOUNCEABLE # 1

I went on holiday to somewhere unpronounceable

Who have a novel approach to automation

You are not prohibited to own a motor car

Unless it is Red, making them a Red Car-nation

I’M THINKING ABOUT TAKING A HOLIDAY # 2

 

I’m thinking about taking a holiday

But I don’t know where to go

I would like to go to Conclusions

But you have to jump there, so

As I can’t do much physical activity

I would have to reluctantly say no

I’M READY FOR A HOLIDAY

I’m ready for a holiday

With blue skies and sand and sea

But if my wife doesn’t get pregnant

I’m taking her with me 

BRITISH LADS ABROAD

 

British lads abroad

On the pull

Like what they see

With undiscerning eye

Out to play

Looking for an easy lay

On another 18-30 holiday

 

BRITISH GIRLS ABROAD

 

British girls abroad

Fake tanned

Everything on display

Easy virtue

Easy lay

Begging for it?

Gagging for it?

Looking for it?

Perhaps not

But they know the way

SUMMER GIRLS

 

Summer girls

Glistening with suntan oils

Clad in bikinis

On yellow sunlit soils

And how the suitor

Athletically toils

To catch their eye

And so, take the spoils

THURSDAY’S GIRL

 

Thursday’s girl

Ticket in hand

Adventurous travel

Has been planned

For her sojourn

To a foreign land

DAYS DOWN BY THE SEA

 

Days down by the sea 

Far away from amusement arcades

Away from the pier

And noisy shopping parades

Just wide empty beaches

The salt sea breeze in my hair

Whatever the weather

I really don’t care

Long languid days

Spent down by sea 

Just a wet shaggy dog

My lady and me

I'VE ALWAYS LOVED IT AT THE SEASIDE

 

I've always loved it at the seaside

But I don’t like dirty postcards

I don’t like kiss me quick hats

Or ice creams on the promenades

 

I don’t like the sand in the picnic

Or the feel of dry salt on my skin

I don’t like the smell of the seaweeds

Or the sound of seagulls screaming

 

I don’t like the amusement arcades

And I don’t like the movement of the tide

I don’t like to sit in the deckchairs

I've always loved it at the seaside

SMOOTH SOFT STONES

Smooth soft stones

Picked from the beach

Rounded and smooth

To the touch

Opened a floodgate

In my mind

As distant memories

Rushed in

Of a different time and place

A simpler time

And way of life

When hours could be spent

In the innocent pursuit

Of ducks and drakes

A HOLIDAY DECEPTION # 1

I pretend to be someone I’m not

Just to receive something sweet

Which could be for Halloween

Or for a Valentine’s Day treat

Uncanny Tales – (49) Kentish Holiday

 

My mum’s family were born and bred in Bermondsey, East London, at a time when poor really meant poor and there was no Welfare State safety net.

In those days you worked, or you went without and even if you did work you didn’t earn a lot and there was nothing left for luxuries, for example you didn’t have a holiday as there was no money for that.

No one got to go off to Skegness for two weeks by the sea at the taxpayers’ expense like those on benefits today.

The closest thing the East Londoners got to a holiday was the three weeks in September spent in the Kent countryside picking hops.

Apart from the working men folk, the whole family migrated to the Kent hop fields using whatever means of transport suited their pocket, my Great Aunty Kay couldn’t afford the train or bus, so she walked.

It took her three days to walk and she would sleep in the hedgerows or woods along the route and she would work extra hard so she could afford the train home otherwise she walked back to Stepney as well.

While in Kent they worked hard for three weeks every September picking the hop flowers and filling bushel baskets and earned every penny.

My grandmother used the money to buy shoes and winter clothes for the kids and if she was careful, she had enough left over to save a bob or two for Christmas.

Uncanny Tales – (40) The Emma Chambers Mystery

 

Emma Chambers was what we used to call a bottle blonde, she was also a three time divorcee and one time widow, and was the wrong side of fifty but she filled a sweater very well indeed and her bum was tailor made for tight jeans which I’m pleased to say she wore on a regular basis and she occupied them to maximum effect.

In addition to her assets she had the added attraction of when you got in close proximity of her, she smelt incredible.

It was Emma who was the reason that Mark and Sue Aldridge and the well filled sweater were at Clayton Manor Hotel for the murder mystery weekend in the first place, it was something that appealed very much too both the women though not so much to him.

Even if it was up Marks street, it was far too rich for his blood, which was why the merry widow stumped up the cash.

He and Sue had known Emma for some time and they often went on trips and outings together, it suited him very well as the women entertained each other, leaving him free to entertain himself, usually of the Golf course.

Also, on these outings he was often preoccupied with his ponderings over whether the contents of Emma’s sweater were real and what her natural hair colour was.

 

On the Saturday night Emma had too much to drink and had to retire early but Sue was enjoying the entertainment far too much and didn’t want to miss the conclusion to the mystery so it was left to Mark to help Emma to her room.

All weekend Mark had taken every opportunity to enjoy the view of her goodies as she had been wearing her customary jeans and a sweater but as he guided her along the corridor to her room on Saturday night she was wearing a dress and as he struggled with her through the fire doors there was every chance she might fall out of it.

He propped her up against the wall as he used her key card to open the door, once he got her through the door to the room however, she suddenly regained her senses and pounced on him, taking him completely by surprise and knocking him backwards onto the bed.

As he lay on the bed like an upturned turtle desperately trying to get back to his feet he looked up at her and she gave him a leery smile before jumping on the bed and straddling him.

“What’s going on?” Mark asked “you can’t do this”

“Stop complaining” Emma ordered “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think nobodies looking”

And she planted a wet alcohol tasting kiss on his mouth which silenced his protests, and as her tongue poked and probed around his mouth, he grabbed her ample buttocks with both hands.

Emma took this action as a sign of submission, so she sat up and unzipped the back of her dress and let the front fall away.

 

By the time Mark left the room he knew the contents of her sweater were indeed all hers and that she was naturally brunette.

When he got back to the drawing room, he found Sue sitting and talking to one of the actors.

“Have you seen to her?” Sue asked

“Yes dear” He replied “you can consider her seen to”

“Thanks darling” she said and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good husband”

THEY MADE A CLEAN GETAWAY

 

They made a clean getaway

To a remote destination

For peace and quiet

And dirty intentions

MIDDLE AGED HOLIDAY

 

I knew I had reached Middle age

We I went on holiday to Valetta

And among summer clothes

In my suitcase was a sweater

Uncanny Tales – (013) It Happened on Northey Island

 

I can’t remember if it was the summer of seventy-one or seventy two when it happened but “Chirpy, chirpy, cheap, cheap,” was top of the pops at the time if that helps, not that it matters much to the story, it was certainly one or the other.
Whichever it was, it was the summer when the 6th Stevenage Scout Troup set off in a beat up white Ford Transit panel van heading for the wilds of Essex, sitting in the back on wooden benches, like the forms you get in school gyms, with not a seatbelt in sight and the benches weren’t even secured to the bulkhead.

No one with half a brain would dream of doing that today, not that the health and safety Gestapo would let you, but at the time it seemed quite natural and we didn't think twice about it.
We were camping in a farmer’s field for two weeks on Northey Island in the Blackwater estuary close to the town of Maldon.
It was a time when life still held infinite possibilities for our motley crew, Del, the Lawther brothers, Big Pete, Tiny Tears and a host of others whose names have been lost in the mists of my mind.
We were a mixed bunch and we did all the normal Scouty type stuff, pitching tents and digging latrines and that kind of thing and we had to make our own rudimentary cooker.

Each patrol took turns to be on kitchen duty, which included cooking and scrubbing the burnt on black of the saucepans.
One bright spark in our patrol had the idea that if you mixed washing up liquid and washing powder into a paste and spread it liberally onto the base of the saucepans it made them easier to clean afterwards.

What a load of old tosh that turned out to be, what it actually did was make the job twice as difficult as you had to chisel off the burnt remains of the washing paste as well as the normal blackness.
Apart from the usual land and water based activities we also went off on a couple of day trips, one of which was to Southend-on-Sea,

Which involved us all pilling into the back of the Transit and

We were a very unsophisticated bunch of lads so we had a great time by the sea, the Pier, “kiss me quick” hats, amusement arcades and of course the Kursaal.

The Kursaal was an amusement park, the first purpose built amusement park to open in Britain, which had an assortment of rides, like the Rotor and the Wild Mouse, The Cyclone and the Morehouse Galloper all very tame compared to today of course but we loved them.

Apart from the rides and amusements a day out in Southend gave us the opportunity to get some decent food down our necks while we were there.
Then we returned to the island having had a wonderful day out and turned in early.

In exchange for the farmer allowing us to camp in his field, which as I said was on an island, we were required to plant rice grass in the mud banks around the island.
The reason for this was that the Blackwater estuary was tidal water and when the tide was out there was just a great expanse of mud between the island and the mainland, save for a narrow channel.
Unfortunately for the farmer every time the tide went out it was taking some of his island with it, hence the need for the rice grass.
The idea being that the grass would bind the mud together and therefore prevent the island being slowly taken out to sea.
For our part we had to wade out into the mud at low tide up to our knees and plant the afore mentioned rice grass.
Of course the only problem with this plan was that when you put a group of under sixteen's up to their knees in mud the inevitable outcome was a mud fight and we didn’t disappoint.
At the end of the fight we were, without exception, all covered from head to toe in thick black slimy mud, it was fantastic.
After we finished the task of planting the grass we waded back to shore looking like a group of extras from “Swamp Thing”.
We then had the problem of getting clean, now we only had two options, the first one being to wait for the tide to come back in by which time the mud would have set hard or the second option which was to use water from the standpipe that stood in the corner of the field by the gate, which under normal circumstances was used to water the animals.
This we utilised to great effect taking it in turns to use a bucket filled from the tap to douse ourselves down.
I was the last one to go and after I had removed my trunks I stood tipping buckets of water over my head.

As I was the last to go, the mud had all but dried so I found it to be quite stubborn and I had to use several more buckets that everyone else.
But as I was emptying the final bucket over me and with my hands above my head I heard the sound of a vehicle.

I turned around to investigate and I saw a minibus full of Girl Guides drive slowly past the gate.
I had no time to cover my embarrassment or anything else for that matter so I did the only thing a Boy Scout could do under those circumstances, which was to drop the bucket and give the Scout salute.

They seemed quite impressed by this, they were smiling anyway and the Guide leader behind the wheel winked at me.

Two days later we were back in the Transit and heading back to Hertfordshire.

 

Post Script

I would like to take the opportunity to set the record straight in regard to an incident of which I was accused.

I can state categorically that I was not in any way responsible for melting the plimsolls belonging to “Tiny Tears” on the stovetop.

I do confess unreservedly that I laughed like a drain at the time because it was very funny to see the two red rubber footprints on the hot plate but it was not down to me.

It was bloody funny though.

SMOOTH SOFT STONES

Smooth soft stones

Picked from the beach

Rounded and smooth

To the touch

Opened a floodgate

In my mind

As distant memories

Rushed in

Of a different time and place

A simpler time

And way of life

When hours could be spent

In the innocent pursuit

Of ducks and drakes

KENTISH HOLIDAY

 

My mum’s family were born and bred in Bermondsey, East London at a time when poor really meant poor and there was no welfare state safety net.

In those days you worked, or you went without and even if you did work you didn’t earn a lot and there was nothing left for luxuries.

For example, you didn’t have was a holiday there was no money for that.

No one got to go off to Benidorm for two weeks in the sun at the taxpayers’ expense like those on benefits today.

The closest thing the East Londoners got to a holiday was the three weeks in September spent in the Kent countryside picking hops.

Apart from the working men folk the whole family migrated to the Kent hop fields using whatever means of transport suited their pocket.

My Aunty Kay couldn’t afford the train or bus, so she walked.

It took her three days to walk, and she would sleep in the hedgerows or woods along the route, and she would work extra hard so she could afford the train home otherwise she walked back to Stepney as well.

They worked hard for three weeks every September picking the hop flowers and filling bushel baskets

My grandmother used the money to buy winter clothes for the kids and hopefully have enough left over to save a bob or two for Christmas