Uncanny Tales – (006) The Fated Journey

I’m in my sixties now and I started drinking when I was 15, which was in the early 1970’s.

I always looked older than my age, though not old enough to pass for 18 when I was three years younger, but it was the seventies and landlords pretty much turned a blind eye to 15 and 16-year olds drinking as long as they didn’t look out of place.

My first ever pint was in a pub called The Green Man and it cost me 17 pence, and the first sip of that foaming brew set me on the road that led to oblivion.

It was a long road, and quite a meandering thoroughfare, because I didn’t drink every day, but when I drank I didn’t hold back and I didn’t know when to stop. 

On one occasion, a Friday, I left work at 5.30pm and went straight to the pub, with that week’s pay packet in hand, in those days we got paid weekly in cash, and I woke up the next morning in a bus shelter with 3 pence in my pocket, not even enough to catch a bus, I had managed to piss away a whole week’s wages in one hazy booze fueled night.

 

Also, on a works beano one year, we went on a day trip to France and the more serious drinkers among our party drank nonstop for 26 hours, from the moment the ferry left British waters until its timely return, and we very nearly drank ourselves sober, one or two of the group had to be carried, but the hardened drinkers walked back to the ferry under our own steam.

 

On another occasion after a friend’s house party I woke up on my bedroom floor, wearing only my trousers and one sock, having no idea how I got there.

It was only later when I spoke to my friends that I found out the whole story of what I had done and that they had carried/dragged me home.

They were good friends, who through my behavior, I gradually alienated, one by one, until there was no one left to get me home.

So, I woke up in gardens, subways and gutters, I even woke up once in a skip with a kebab stuck to my face.

In the end I was disowned by my family and my only friends were fellow drunks.

 

Despite my drunken binges I still managed to hold down a decent job so when I was in my late twenties I moved to Abbottsford to take up a very well-paid job which served to fund my benders very well indeed.

On one particular weekend in September I had been drinking since breakfast, and kept it up all day, however by midnight all the pubs were shut, but a serious drunk always knows where to find a drink, so I took a cab to Seb’s, a members only an all-night drinker.

It was there that I met Angela who would, in a roundabout way, and quite unintentionally, become my salvation.

She was a good-looking woman, around about my own age, who was also a drunk, although the drink hadn’t yet diminished her looks.   

The next morning, I woke up in the passenger seat of a car on the sea front in Sharpington with Angela sleeping next to me, slumped over the steering wheel.

I had absolutely no recollection of where we were, or how we got there.

I got out of the car to stretch my legs and the bracing sea breeze almost knocked me off my feet, so I walked along the sea front, trying desperately to clear my head, but things were no clearer 20 minutes later when I returned to the car, which by some miracle was parallel parked to perfection, and I marveled at how we had got from Abbottsford to Sharpington and lived to tell the tale, but then a sense of doom came over me as I looked at the bright blue Chrysler in front of me, because although we had got to Sharpington unscathed, the car had not, as the front of the car carried all the hallmarks of a serious front end collision.

 

I roused Angela from her drunken slumber and got her out of the car and walked her up and down for a while until the sea breeze had blown the cobwebs away.

“How the hell did we get here?” I asked

“Get where?” she mumbled

“Sharpington” I replied

“Why are we in Sharpington?” Angela asked so I walked her further along the seafront until we reached a café that was actually open at 6.00am on a Sunday and several coffees later I got some sense out of her

“The last thing I remember, we were in Seb’s and you said, “I haven’t been to the coast for ages”” She said slowly “so we finished our drinks and got in my car”  

“And?” I pressed

“And then you woke me up” she said, with her head in her hands

“Do you remember hitting anything?” I whispered

“No, like what?” Angela queried

“I don’t know” I replied “but whatever it was, you hit it hard”

 

It was after nine when we stood up to leave, and a small group of fishermen were coming in as we were going out.

“So how come you were so late?” one of them asked

“An accident in the Dulcets” was the reply

“Why what happened?” asked another

“All I know is what the Police told me, that an old man was out walking his dog when he got hit” he said

“And he’s dead?” asked one of the fishermen

“Yes, and the driver didn’t stop” the first one replied   

What little colour had returned to Angela’s face while we were in the café instantly drained away as the realization of what she had done dawned on her as well. 

We returned to the car, but Angela was too distraught to drive, on hearing what we had done I was suddenly stone cold sober, so I got behind the wheel and chose a route that took us back to Abbottsford via a very circuitous route.

 

After that September Sunday all those years ago when some poor Dulcet resident lost his life at our hands I completely lost my taste for the booze, and I’ve been teetotal ever since.
I still see Angela from time to time, she still lives in Abbottsford but she never came to terms with what we had done that day and surrendered completely to the demon in the bottle.
I still see her around about the town with the other down and outs and winos and I believe she sleeps in Cathedral Park, I often wonder if she sleeps any sounder than I do.

 

Uncanny Tales – (003) The Angels of Mons and Le Cateau

It was August 1914, when Commander-in-Chief, Sir John French ordered the newly arrived British Expeditionary Force under his command, to launch an offensive against the German Imperial Army at Mons and so began the BEF’s first major action of World War I and its resulting carnage, and at the centre of that carnage were the Downshire Light Infantry.

The British were heavily outnumbered and despite the fact they killed or wounded three of the enemy to every one of theirs that fell, they were forced to retreat to their second line of defence.

Mercifully the Germans chose not to pursue them immediately but elected instead to lick their wounds.

It was during the respite from the exertions of the day that the stories started to spread through the ranks of weary and bloodied soldiers about the “Angels of Mons”.

It seemed that every man had either witnessed the event or personally knew a man who had.

The story that was circulating the camp fires and aid stations, told that at the height of the battle, visions appeared in the sky of St. George, surrounded by angels, horsemen and cavalry all urging the soldiers on.

John Holt didn’t see them and furthermore he didn’t believe anyone else had, in fact he figured it was probably a combination of fear and fatigue, but as they sat drinking a mug of badly brewed black tea he turned to his mate George and asked him.

“Did you see it Georgie? It was your namesake after all”

“Did I see what?”

“The Angels and St George of course”

“No mate, I was too busy trying not to get shot”

George took a mouthful of tea and pulled a face, swallowed and reluctantly took another mouthful, and then he said.

“Anyway, what use were they poncing about in the sky? They should have come down and got stuck in and give us a bit of a hand”

“Too right” he agreed, but he wasn’t altogether clear if George had seen them or not, but he didn’t get chance to press the point as they were called to muster and prepare for the battle to recommence, it seemed that their all too brief respite to regroup was all but over.

 

Again, they battled against overwhelming odds until well into the next day, until finally they had to retreat again fighting a fierce rear-guard action for the best part of two days until their main body finally caught up with them at Le Cateau, where yet another fearsome battle commenced.

George and John had taken up a position with what remained of their battalion on a wooded ridge firing rapidly at the advancing Germans, round after round after round, and John’s arm ached with the constant reloading and his shoulder was bruised and sore from the repeated recoil.

They fired so many shots John thought his barrel would melt, then all of a sudden, the Germans turned tail and ran, how the British cheered at the sight of the Germans running away from them for a change.

However, their celebrations were to prove premature as everything around them, the entire wood, the hill, the world for all they knew, erupted in a series of massive explosions, so many it was impossible to tell when one ended and the next began, and amidst the din of hells fire that had fallen upon them, were cries and screams and prayers.

But then after what seemed to be hours, which was probably only minutes, the barrage was over.

John lifted his head and could see nothing, as all around was dust and smoke, but he could smell the acrid stench of cordite and his mouth was full of earth.

He spat out the dirt and dust from his mouth and tried to speak but couldn’t, so he grappled for his canteen and took a mouthful, rinsed his mouth and spat it out.

“Bloody hell George I didn’t like that, not one bit”

But George didn’t answer and when he looked at him he didn’t move, he was lying face down behind the ridge exactly where he had been before the shelling.

He put his hand on his webbing to turn him over but as he pulled on his strap his shoulder screamed at him to stop.

So, he stopped pulling and glanced at his right shoulder and saw that a foot-long splinter of tree had pierced through his shoulder from front to back, he gritted his teeth as he gripped the splinter and yanked hard on it.

It came out easily enough, but the pain was excruciating, and John screamed loudly.

With the splinter removed he turned his attention back to George and fearing the worst he managed to turn him over using his left arm and found him to be alive but unconscious and bleeding from the head and he had a leg full of bloody splinters.

John washed the worst of the French countryside off his face using water from the canteen and quickly put a field dressing on his head wound then he removed the splinters from his leg and dressed that as best he could then he did the same to his shoulder.

With first aid rendered John quickly checked five men in each direction of his firing position and found them all dead.

John took a moment to survey his surroundings and couldn’t believe his eyes, what less than 10 minutes ago had been a beautiful wooded hill was now utter carnage and not a tree worthy of the name remained.

John shook his head in despair at the destruction and mayhem but tempered it by counting his blessings.

In the distance he could make out signs of life further along the line and they appeared to be withdrawing which on balance seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do and decided that he and George should join them.

Across the battlefield a mist was falling and through it would soon come the German army to finish them off.

“Best we’re not here when they do” he muttered to himself

“Come on Georgie boy let’s get you to an aid station” he said as he struggled to get him on his good shoulder.

“Don’t worry he’ll be ok” A female voice said and startled him, so he turned around to see an Angel stood before him, a most beautiful thing, complete with flowing robes of pristine white and magnificent wings, and John stumbled, and she reached out a hand to steady him.

“Am I dead?” he asked though quickly answered his own question.

“No, I can’t be dead because my shoulder hurts like bloody hell”

“No, you’re not dead” She reassured him

“Then I’m hallucinating, my wound must be infected or poisoned”

She shook her head.

“Ok then I must be mad that’s got to be the answer” and punctuated his statement with a nod.

“You may well be mad, I couldn’t possibly comment, that’s not my department, but mad or not I am still here none the less”

Just then there were sounds coming from the mist, it was the sound of fighting men on the move and further along the line sporadic gun fire could be heard.

“We had better walk and talk, don’t you think” She said and gestured with an open hand in the opposite direction, John nodded his agreement and moved off with George on his back, who was surprisingly light for a big man.

“So, if for the sake of argument, I suspend my scepticism and agree that I am neither dead, hallucinating nor mad that would mean that I actually believe you are here”

“Yes” She replied

“So why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

John paused before replying as the sounds of war behind them were getting ever louder so he picked up the pace.

“Why are you here?”

“We are here to help those we can”

“We?” he asked with surprise

“Oh yes, I am not alone”

John pondered her reply for a moment before replying

“You say you help those you can, but not all?”

“We can’t help everyone” She said sadly

“I’m afraid you have us outnumbered, unfortunately we can only help the most deserving and even then …”

She left the sentence unfinished as the action behind them was becoming more intense and he glanced back to see a small group of Tommie’s being swept aside by the advancing tide of the German army.

He again quickened the pace and asked

“So why me? Why am I more deserving than those poor men?”

“Because you put the life and safety of your friend before that of your own” she replied as if surprised by the question.

He looked at her doubtfully and she continued.

“You dressed his wounds before any thought of attending to your own”

John didn’t think he had done anything remarkable it was, what it was, and then bullets began zipping past them so he redouble his efforts and tried to squeeze a little more speed from his tired legs, but then she suddenly appeared in front of him and said softly.

“Stand still”

“Not likely” he replied sharply and walked past her

“I don’t want to make us an easier target for them”

She was in front of him again and said

“Trust me, just stand still”

John did as she asked, though was still unsure of the wisdom of such an act as the Germans were only 100 yards behind them and closing fast.

He stood stock still and she moved closer until she was only inches away from them and unfurled her wings with a great flutter and wrapped them around the Tommie’s like a cloak.

He could hear the Germans getting closer and closer, he could hear them talking and some were even laughing.

“They’ll be on us any minute” John said with fear in his voice

“Relax” she replied calmly “they can’t see us”

John wasn’t so sure, but he did as she said as best he could, the Germans were all around them and they were so close he could smell the sweat on them.

They were still shooting at his retreating comrades as they went by and after a short time they moved into the distance in their relentless pursuit and they were still safe, though it soon occurred to him that he and George were now behind enemy lines.

“Have no fear” she said sensing his concern.

“Close your eyes”

John did as she instructed without question and after a moment he felt the reassuring embrace of her winged cloak slip away in a brief flutter and when he opened his eyes she stood serenely before him again.

But they were no longer stood on the dangerous scarred landscape of Le Cateau, they now stood in a much greener place.

Ahead of them the British reserves were mustered preparing to advance to try and halt the German advance.

To his left and right stood a sporadic line of bemused and battered soldiers walking slowly towards the British lines with their angelic escorts looking on.

John’s Angel smiled as he tried to speak but, in the end, he could only return her smile and as he made his way towards the line, with George still on his back, she called after him 

“You can tell George later from me that we Angels don’t get stuck in, but we do what we can”

“Will do” he called back and as he got closer to his lines, groups of Tommie’s raced towards them to help the weary men.

As a couple of men started to relieve him of his burden he suddenly felt George’s full weight on his back and realised his Angel had lightened his load.

While two privates carried George off to the aid station he turned and waved to their saviour and she fluttered her wings in response before she melted away into the landscape.

 

When John and George were at the hospital back in blightey the papers were full of the story of the “Angels of Mons” and everyone they spoke to, had an opinion on the subject, the general consensus appeared to be that it was a miracle though George said he thought it was a load of tosh.

For himself he couldn’t vouch for whether the “Angels of Mons” appeared in the skies above the battlefield or not because he never saw them with his own eyes, but he could say with hand on heart that the “Angels of Le Cateau” most certainly were there, so if he could see “Angels” then why shouldn’t everyone else.

The other thing that filled the papers was the patriotic surge of volunteers enlisting after the terrible defeat at Mons which meant the Angels would be kept very busy.

 

Uncanny Tales – (002) Death in the Dulcets

It was a beautiful sunny summer afternoon in the equally beautiful Finchbottom Vale, though the occasion in the Dulcets was a sombre one after the funeral service for Clive Pavey at St Bede’s.

The Dulcets were a collection of villages and hamlets comprising of Dulcet Meadow, Dulcet St Mary, Dulcet Green and Dulcet-on-Brooke, to name but a few, and of course the location of the gloomy gathering, Dulcet-on-Willow which was a large sprawling village beside the gentle shallow River Willow, which ran unhurriedly from the Pepperstock Hills to the more vibrant River Brooke.

But it was on the terrace overlooking the gentle River Willow that Jamie Stirling saw Laura standing alone, bathed in the afternoon sun as she stared out into the distance.

Jamie was a thirty something solicitor and longstanding family friend of the Pavey’s.      

He walked up behind her and lightly stroked the back of her naked arm.

“Are you ok darling?” he asked

“No not really” she replied, and the tears immediately welled up in her already red eyes as she turned towards him, so he took her in his arms and she dissolved completely into tears.

“It’s ok darling” He whispered, “let it all go”

And as she sobbed uncontrollably into his chest Jamie kissed the top of her head and smiled smugly, he had always wanted her and now he had her in his arms and he intended to keep her there.

He held her close to him and stroked her back as she sobbed until the moment, she lifted her head and said

“I’m getting you all wet Jamie” 

“I don’t care” He replied, and she broke down again as he was holding in his arms the very beautiful woman he had not only lusted after for more than five years but who he had actually been in love with for four of those years.

He knew that she liked him too, but she liked his friend Clive more and he cursed the day he introduced them, because she fell head over heels for him and he for her.

As she sobbed her heart out and he consoled her with his empty words, all he could think of was how much he had always wanted her and that now, at long last, he was going to have her, after the death of his friend and her husband.

He made no excuses for what some might consider to be shameful thoughts as he held onto the grieving widow in her mourning clothes.

He would have continued to hold her had it not been for the sudden and unexpected arrival on the scene of Laura’s mother, who took her back inside to grieve more privately, she had never liked Jamie and had always been able to see through him.

He looked on as Mrs Shand led her daughter away in her widow’s weeds while offering her words of comfort and remained on the terrace for a few minutes after they disappeared from view and smiled, as he contemplated his next move, her mother may have given him a look as she led Laura away which said unequivocally

“You’re not having her”

But he was confident that he would soon make his move and Mrs Shand would do well not to interfere.

Because he had no doubt that he would succeed, as he would be there for Laura, over the coming weeks and months, and he would soon be in her heart and her bed.

There was a look in Laura’s eyes, as her mum lead her away when she looked back at him and weakly smiled that told him that, of course he would never succeed with her if she was ever to find out that he was responsible for her widowhood.

And should Mrs Shand attempt to interfere with his plans then there would soon be another funeral in Dulcet-on-Willow.

 

Uncanny Tales – (001) Honey Badger Wood

Downshire is a relatively small English county but like a pocket battleship it packs a lot in, a short but beautiful coastline, a channel port, the Ancient forests of Dancingdean and Pepperstock, the craggy ridges and manmade lakes of the Pepperstock Hills National Park, the rolling hills of the Downshire Downs, the beautiful Finchbottom Vale and farm land as far as the eye can see from the Trotwood’s and the Grace’s in the south to the home of the Downshire Light infantry, Nettlefield, and their affluent neighbour’s, Roespring and Tipton in the North but it’s in the largest Town in the county, Abbottsford, where our story begins, though that’s not where it ends.

 

Apart from being the largest conurbation in the County, Abbottsford is also the administrative center, the location for the Downshire Constabulary HQ and more relevant to the story, the Law Courts.

Marc and Sarah Hughes were both Lawyers and had their own practice in the town, and had a reputation for representing the more disreputable clients in the area, in fact the more infamous the better, because the worse the client was the more they would charge to represent them, and they lived well on the profits of their immoral business.

They were a childless couple and lived in a luxury Riverside apartment in Abbottsford.

Their status as being a double income couple with no kids, they considered to be a blessing as they could never have made room in their lives for something as needy as a child, they were far too selfish.

Both Marc and Sarah were both from well-heeled families and had been used to having money all their lives and everything else that wealth entailed, but neither of them possessed a moral compass or a conscience, and they were determined to ensure they continued in the same vein in both wealth and conscience.

The Hughes’s were all about the money and they didn’t care how they got it, and like many rich people once they got it they hung onto to it.

 

One day in June they finished at the Courts much earlier than anticipated, having got the case of attempted murder against a local gangster dismissed on a technicality.

They declined a celebratory lunch with their client because they liked his money but not the man or his entourage and certainly didn’t want to socialize with any of them.

 

The Lawyers were feeling very pleased with themselves at the early resolution of the case against their guilty client, not for him, they had no empathy for his kind of scum or indeed any sympathy for his victim, the Hughes’s were despicable people.

What Marc and Sarah were happy about, as a result of the early resolution, was that they had finished work for the day so they could take their brand new Canary Yellow Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet out for a spin.

“Where shall we go?” Sarah asked

“How about somewhere out in the sticks where we can avoid the great unwashed hordes and have a picnic” he replied “just you me and the Porsche”

“Great idea, let’s go and frighten the country bumpkins” she retorted

 

Before they left Abbottsford they stopped at Labuschagne’s, the Supermarket for the obscenely wealthy and those with more money than sense and bought their picnic lunch before leaving for the country.

 

They drove south out of the city a headed towards the Trotwood’s and ten miles beyond Little Trotwood they arrived at the village of Black Acres and parked the car in front of a pub called The Witch Burners Arms.

“This will do, there’s bound to be somewhere close by where we can picnic” he said

“We can ask in here for directions”

“Ok but I’m not eating or drinking in this hovel” she replied snobbishly “and I’m not sitting on the furniture”

 

The landlord of the “Witch” was Bob Clement and as the outsiders walked through the door he smiled and said

“Good afternoon, what can I get you?”

“We‘re looking for somewhere to picnic” he said matter of factly as his wife looked down her nose at the regulars who viewed the outsiders as curiosities.

“Ah well I have a little map here” Bob said “which will help you, there are a good deal of wonderful walks, idyllic scenery and beautiful meadows and any number of picturesque picnic spots”

“Ok” Marc said and took the map from him without thanks and then turned to leave

“But don’t go anywhere near Honey Badger Wood” Bob added

“There’s nothing worth seeing in there”

 

Even if they hadn’t been ridiculously minted, being townies and having been born into the “entitled” generation, they were not going to be told where they could or could not go, especially by a country bumkin so they headed straight for Honey Badger Wood.

As soon as they saw the wood they were entranced, it was so beautiful.

“No wonder the yokels warned us off, it’s gorgeous” Sarah said “they obviously wanted to keep it to themselves”

They entered the wood and walked the woodland path that meandered its way in the dappled sunlight until they came upon a large open glade with the most wondrous flower meadow at its heart, full of wild flowers, whose sweet scent filled the air. 

“Well I think we have found the perfect place for our picnic” he said

“I agree” she said as they walked through the meadow grass until they reached the center where Sarah spread the picnic rug.

 

After they had feasted on quails eggs, game pie, smoked Salmon, Foie Gras, Caviar and Champagne, they lay back to digest their lunch and with the combination of Champagne, the warm June sunshine and the sweetly scented air they fell into a sleep from which they never awoke, because while they digested their picnic lunch the Carnivorous Meadow digested them.

 

The next morning Bob the landlord looked outside and saw the yellow Porsche still parked in the pub carpark so he picked up the phone and called Angel’s garage

“Angels Automotive” the voice answered

“Hi Terry” Bob said “Another pair of stupid townies failed to heed my warning about Honey Badger Wood”

“Not very bright of them” Terry said “So what did the leave at the pub?”

“A Canary Yellow Porsche 911 Carrera 4S Cabriolet” Bob replied

“Nice, that will keep the hospice going for another year on its own” Terry said “I’ll come and get it now”

 

No one in Black Acres profited personally from the sale of goods left behind, the proceeds did however support local establishments, like the Hospice and the Care Home and donations were made to other local good causes.

However it may have seemed to the casual observer that the inhabitants of Black Acres were a callous bunch in regards to the loss of human life but no one wasted any pity on the arrogant pair of townies because the Carnivorous Meadow in Honey Badger Wood fed only on corruption and had Marc or Sarah Hughes had even an ounce of goodness in them they would have survived.

But they didn’t, so as they slept the eternal sleep the meadow consumed every last cell of them.

 

A Little Bit Of Humour # 163

A VOYAGE ROUND MY FATHER (9)

Dad said “I’m going to Thailand
To an island called Phuket”
I replied to him "That will be nice,
But you don’t say it like that”

PANAMA HATS

Regarding which country makes
Panama hats, I was seriously misled
It turns out they’re not Panamanian
And are made in Ecuador instead

FIRST GRADE CADDY

His five-year-old nephew wanted
To caddy for him on his Golf round
“You have to count my strokes,
So, your counting has to be sound”
The Uncle explained, then asked
“How much is six, plus nine?”
“Five,” answered the nephew.
The Uncle said, “Ok that’s fine”

BE MY VALENTINE # 2

On Valentine’s Day
The chocolate syrup said to the ice cream
“I'm sweet on you!”
While the pencil said to the paper
“I dot my i's on you!”
And the light bulb asked his girlfriend
Do I mean a whole watt to you?”

COULD JESUS HAVE BEEN JEWISH?

Could Jesus have been Jewish?
It is the most likely eventuality
As He Did go into His Father's business
He lived at home until he was 33
He was sure his Mother was a virgin
And she was sure He was God, so maybe

PROVERBIAL PROVERBS # 2

The old saying goes that “A volunteer
Is worth Ten pressed men”
Well volunteers are all well and good
But a pressed man are really good
At getting through narrow gaps

MARITAL HONESTY

“It's just too hot to wear clothes today so I
Think I’ll cut the lawn naked, honey?”
She replied “Ok, if you don’t mind the neighbours
Thinking I married you for your money”

ROSES ARE FLOWERS

Roses are flowers
Violets are flowers
You’re allergic to flowers
Ooops my bad

NICKNAMED SNOW PLOUGH

When my brother was a young man
He had a well earned nickname
They called him the “snow plough”
Because of his appetite for cocaine

PEACHES SAID TO BIMBETTE

Peaches said to Bimbette
“I’ve slept with a Brazilian”
“OMG Peachy” she retorted
“How many is a Brazilian?”

MY WIFE IS A BAKER OF BREAD

My wife is a Baker of bread
And rolls both plain and seedy
She is a very difficult woman
And I find her to be very kneady

TEMPLE WALLS ARE STRAIGHT AND TALL

Temple walls are straight and tall
But my body is not like a temple at all
I have curves and am short in stature
I'm more like a disused rollercoaster

Oh Serena

OWN IT SERENA

It wasn’t sexist, and it wasn’t unfair
Nor was it racist Serena, let’s be fair
The truth is you threw a huge tantrum
Because you knew your day was done

MASSIVE OVEREACTION

Portraying Serena as an angry black woman
In the Herald Sun wasn’t racist in anyway
As she was Angry, and she is a black woman
And it was a caricature at the end of the day

A CARICATURE OF A RESPONSE

To exaggerate characteristics
For humorous effect is how
A Caricature is intended
It’s ironic the reaction to it
By Rowling and the like
Has also been exaggerated

A Little Bit Of Humour # 162

A VOYAGE ROUND MY FATHER (8)

Dad said “I’m going to Thailand"
I replied to him "To Bangkok?"
He thought for a moment, then said
"Oh no I certainly hope not”

THE HUNDRED YEARS WAR

Called the Hundred Years War
I was understandably misled
Because the war really lasted
A hundred and sixteen instead

BE MY VALENTINE # 1

On Valentine’s Day
The valentine card said to the stamp
Stick with me and we'll go places!
While the farmer gave his wife
Hogs and kisses!
And the caveman gave his wife
Ughs and kisses!

PROVERBIAL PROVERBS # 1

The old saying goes that “A volunteer
Is worth Ten pressed men”
Well volunteers are all well and good
But a pressed man looks really sharp

MY BROTHER IS A PESSIMIST # 2

My brother is a pessimist
With all his nay-saying
And a glass half full guy
With his catastrophising

I’M A VERY COURAGEOUS GOLFER

I’m a very courageous Golfer,
At least in my view
Because it takes a lot of balls
To Golf the way, I do

COULD JESUS HAVE BEEN BLACK?

Could Jesus have been Black?
Maybe, its true he liked Gospel
He called everyone brother
And He didn't get a fair trial

MARITAL RELATIONS

A post argument couple
Drove down a country lane
For quite a few miles,
Choosing not to speak again
Until they drove past a farm
When he said, “Relatives of yours?”
Referring to the pigs in a field
“Oh yes,” she replied, “in-laws”

MY GREAT UNCLE IS A SCIENTIST

My Great Uncle is a scientist
As well as a keen horticulturist
Which is quite evident to see
As he’s growing a chemistree

CWTCH

There is a general misunderstanding
That a cuddle is the same everywhere
Well allow me to clear up the muddle
Anyone can indeed hug, that’s true
But only the Welsh can cwtch, and
They’re so much better than a cuddle

IS IT PANCAKE DAY ALREADY?

Is it Pancake Day
Already? Oh dear
It’s really crêped up
On me this year

THEY HAD A ROCK AND ROLL NIGHT

They had a rock and roll night
At the care home, all very droll
It was a quite sedentary evening
And was more like Crock and Roll