The UK population has now reached 61 million for the first time and is rising at an astonishing 0.7% per year, says the BBC website. This will lead to the figure being in excess of 70M in 25 years time.
And 50 years – well, due to the effects of “compound interest” the figure will be 86.5M and in 100 years it will have doubled to 122M. The new M25 (or the Home Counties as they were previously known) should be a magnificent sight to behold on a Friday evening.
Every cloud however has a silver lining. All we need to do is be a bit more selective in who we allow to immigrate here. If we stick to largely South Americans (Brazil, Argentina) and a smattering of Western Europeans from countries such as France, Italy, Germany and Holland – just think what our football teams would be like.
“And on BBC37 now it’s the first semi-final of the World Cup where England take on Wales with Scotland and Northern Ireland playing at 8pm tomorrow.”
Mind you, we would have to be fair to the other sports. So cricket would require a good supply of Aussies, Kiwis, South Africans, West Indians, Indians, Pakistanis and Sri Lankans. Rugby would thrive as all the best nations would already be available from the other sports’ chosen countries, so it could also plunder the second string countries such as the Pacific Islands, Canada and the US.
Other plus points – just compare population size with yummy food. Most people you ask seem to love either Chinese or Indian food – the two most populous countries on earth. If the link is more than mere coincidence, we could be in store for a culinary revolution. Then, we would simply send all the cooks back to countries in the rest of the world to open restaurants and takeaways thus restoring the population to something more like the status quo (Status Quo incidentally are likely to be undertaking another farewell tour at about this time.)
Before you get too excited by the prospect of our sporting domination, please bear in mind that all sports will of course be virtual at this time as there is no longer any space for playing fields. The action will take place on the Interbrain with players and spectators brains electromagnetically linked in to the system with direct neural stimulation.
So don’t be downhearted. Many younger readers will still be alive in 100 years to see the benefits. In fact many will probably still be working as the bankers will have been given any remaining pension money and gone to live on private islands.
Friday 28 August 2009
Today's top news - possible Afghan election irregularities
A shocking revelation - that the Afghan election (which has now been running longer than Coronation Street) may not have been completely above board. Gosh, that comes as something of a bombshell.
Some clues, in retrospect, have suggested that this could be the case. After all, the country is full of rival tribes and warlords, and produces a huge chunk of the world’s illegal drugs. They have a large presence of people who would like to kill anyone who has the audacity to believe in their right to a democratic vote. Each side was also accusing the other of dubious tactics and intimidation before the voting got underway. Indeed, in some areas, the voter turnout was said to be below 0.5%
Ballot papers were available for sale and large bribes to tribal leaders who carry sway over thousands of voters were commonplace.
But, above all else, the factor the suggests that they may be rather unfamiliar with running an election in the way we might expect was revealed in yesterday’s news footage where it appeared that the voting booths were constructed from reclaimed cardboard.
If the system had any more flaws it might even have returned George Bush as the winner. Now there’s a thought …
Some clues, in retrospect, have suggested that this could be the case. After all, the country is full of rival tribes and warlords, and produces a huge chunk of the world’s illegal drugs. They have a large presence of people who would like to kill anyone who has the audacity to believe in their right to a democratic vote. Each side was also accusing the other of dubious tactics and intimidation before the voting got underway. Indeed, in some areas, the voter turnout was said to be below 0.5%
Ballot papers were available for sale and large bribes to tribal leaders who carry sway over thousands of voters were commonplace.
But, above all else, the factor the suggests that they may be rather unfamiliar with running an election in the way we might expect was revealed in yesterday’s news footage where it appeared that the voting booths were constructed from reclaimed cardboard.
If the system had any more flaws it might even have returned George Bush as the winner. Now there’s a thought …
Today's top news - US kidnap victim found
American woman, Jaycee Lee Dugard has been located some 18 years after her disappearance. She had it appears, been abducted by, and produced two children with, Philip Garrido, a man described as having “increasingly strong religious beliefs.”
The girls and her children spent most of this time a in a “backyard hidden within a backyard” never attending school or seeing a doctor.
A number of points immediately stand out as being noteworthy here. Firstly, the victim. Jaycee? Jaycee! I’m guessing that the (alleged) kidnapper was not the only one with strong religious beliefs involved in this case.
Now, we all know that Americans are notorious for inventing ridiculous names for their offspring but adding some vowels to acronyms does seem a bit extreme. What next? Would a premature child be christened “Peedeequeue”? An unplanned pregnancy “Owemgee” whilst an overdue baby, resisting all attempts to induce birth, might gain the monicker “Arressveepee.”
The concept of backyards hidden within other backyards causes some angst too. It seems to be some sort of cross between a Russian doll and a Tardis. Perhaps we have different concepts of a backyard, as opposed to a garden. To me, a backyard sounds like it is about 20 square yards of concrete containing a washing line, dustbin and privy. Concealing another backyard within this structure is a feat that would challenge Paul Daniels at his peak.
However, this brings us to another issue – the way in which this case demonstrates the startling similarities with day to day life in the UK. Firstly, as a convicted sex offender, Mr. Garrido was visited by officials from time to time and they failed to notice anything unusual about the “concealed backyard”. The area was, it seems, “concealed by shrubs, rubbish bins and a tarpaulin”. In a sex offender’s garden. Nope, nothing suspicious there. Were the child protection duties subcontracted to Haringey Council one wonders.
Let’s consider some of the other points that seem to prove the similarity between our two great countries. “JC” – that’s her txtspk name, had her first child at 14 – pretty standard for the UK. Her children have never been to school – ditto. However, there is one major difference; her kids have never seen a doctor. In the UK of course we have something called the NHS which allows failed parents to acquire a medically based language to cover up their shortcomings e.g.
“Naughty, undisciplined hooligan” becomes “ADHD”
“Spends all day in front of TV/computer game” and has never read a book” becomes “Dyslexic”
and “eats nothing but burgers, chips and pizza” is a “food intolerance.”
Mr. Garrido himself will of course be completely free from any form of prosecution as he has the double ace up his sleeve. Firstly he is apparently a paedophile. Presumably, any time soon that word will be frowned upon and we will be expected to use the term “differently sexually stimulated” and treat him as a victim. Secondly of course, he has the religion card. Now clearly, whatever brand of religion he belongs to, or has invented, it would constitute an appalling lack of religious freedom to criticise his activities. Indeed, by the time anyone reads this, said gentleman will probably be in line for a large compensatory payment for the torture he has suffered as a result of society’s intolerance.
The girls and her children spent most of this time a in a “backyard hidden within a backyard” never attending school or seeing a doctor.
A number of points immediately stand out as being noteworthy here. Firstly, the victim. Jaycee? Jaycee! I’m guessing that the (alleged) kidnapper was not the only one with strong religious beliefs involved in this case.
Now, we all know that Americans are notorious for inventing ridiculous names for their offspring but adding some vowels to acronyms does seem a bit extreme. What next? Would a premature child be christened “Peedeequeue”? An unplanned pregnancy “Owemgee” whilst an overdue baby, resisting all attempts to induce birth, might gain the monicker “Arressveepee.”
The concept of backyards hidden within other backyards causes some angst too. It seems to be some sort of cross between a Russian doll and a Tardis. Perhaps we have different concepts of a backyard, as opposed to a garden. To me, a backyard sounds like it is about 20 square yards of concrete containing a washing line, dustbin and privy. Concealing another backyard within this structure is a feat that would challenge Paul Daniels at his peak.
However, this brings us to another issue – the way in which this case demonstrates the startling similarities with day to day life in the UK. Firstly, as a convicted sex offender, Mr. Garrido was visited by officials from time to time and they failed to notice anything unusual about the “concealed backyard”. The area was, it seems, “concealed by shrubs, rubbish bins and a tarpaulin”. In a sex offender’s garden. Nope, nothing suspicious there. Were the child protection duties subcontracted to Haringey Council one wonders.
Let’s consider some of the other points that seem to prove the similarity between our two great countries. “JC” – that’s her txtspk name, had her first child at 14 – pretty standard for the UK. Her children have never been to school – ditto. However, there is one major difference; her kids have never seen a doctor. In the UK of course we have something called the NHS which allows failed parents to acquire a medically based language to cover up their shortcomings e.g.
“Naughty, undisciplined hooligan” becomes “ADHD”
“Spends all day in front of TV/computer game” and has never read a book” becomes “Dyslexic”
and “eats nothing but burgers, chips and pizza” is a “food intolerance.”
Mr. Garrido himself will of course be completely free from any form of prosecution as he has the double ace up his sleeve. Firstly he is apparently a paedophile. Presumably, any time soon that word will be frowned upon and we will be expected to use the term “differently sexually stimulated” and treat him as a victim. Secondly of course, he has the religion card. Now clearly, whatever brand of religion he belongs to, or has invented, it would constitute an appalling lack of religious freedom to criticise his activities. Indeed, by the time anyone reads this, said gentleman will probably be in line for a large compensatory payment for the torture he has suffered as a result of society’s intolerance.
Thursday 27 August 2009
Random thoughts
How did they get away with marketing what is basically a pullover by using the name "sweat shirt?"
Could you imagine buying a "dandruff cap", "smell socks" or "poo pants"?
Burning the candle at both ends - is in fact a great idea. The time taken to design and make a suitable candlestick will prevent you from late nights boozing, gambling and entertaining the ladies.
I asked a policeman for directions to a friend's house. They were good directions too, but I didn't think much of his friend.
They say that Heineken refreshes the parts that other beers cannot reach. It's true. Last night I had 14 pints of it and it reached all four corners of my bathroom and some considerable distance down an alleyway.
They say we all have a soul mate. Is there some way I can get mine a bit sooner?
An aged mortician liked fishin'
And used parts of his clients for bait.
He caught quite a few
As the fished liked to chew
And ask "Why is our lunch always late?"
How do you compliment a girl on her brown eyes?
Sooty and Sweep - Cheap TV for people not accustomed to deep thought. Presented by a man who puts his hand up a bear arse.
Supermarket sweep - As above
How come this country isn't called the United Queendom?
If Tomorrow's World was still on the BBC then presumably their email address would be tw@bbc.co.uk.
I've got into impressionist painting. I'm not to keen on Rory Bremner but Mike Yarwood is good.
Could you imagine buying a "dandruff cap", "smell socks" or "poo pants"?
Burning the candle at both ends - is in fact a great idea. The time taken to design and make a suitable candlestick will prevent you from late nights boozing, gambling and entertaining the ladies.
I asked a policeman for directions to a friend's house. They were good directions too, but I didn't think much of his friend.
They say that Heineken refreshes the parts that other beers cannot reach. It's true. Last night I had 14 pints of it and it reached all four corners of my bathroom and some considerable distance down an alleyway.
They say we all have a soul mate. Is there some way I can get mine a bit sooner?
An aged mortician liked fishin'
And used parts of his clients for bait.
He caught quite a few
As the fished liked to chew
And ask "Why is our lunch always late?"
How do you compliment a girl on her brown eyes?
Sooty and Sweep - Cheap TV for people not accustomed to deep thought. Presented by a man who puts his hand up a bear arse.
Supermarket sweep - As above
How come this country isn't called the United Queendom?
If Tomorrow's World was still on the BBC then presumably their email address would be tw@bbc.co.uk.
I've got into impressionist painting. I'm not to keen on Rory Bremner but Mike Yarwood is good.
Uxbridge English Dictionary - part 4
Paracetamol – Airborne soldier gives up his chair for gangster’s girlfriend
Parisian – Claim Hislop is your father
Percussion – Knocked senseless by a drummer
Permafrost – David Jason night on television
Perspire – kind of poll tax for cathedrals
Pompous – what an Aussie doctor removes from an Englishman’s boil
Procure – in favour of the medicine
Procure – Medicine not for amateurs
Prolapse – lady of the night loses concentration
Quandary - a fast launderette
Quicksilver - 2nd in the 100m
Ramrod – Deliberately drive into Mr. Stewart
Removes – concerning the dance routine
Reply – try to soften her up with drink for a second time
Revere – to swerve a second time
Stalagtite – POW camp for misers
Surplus – too many lords
Transistor - female sibling that wears men's clothes
Untidy - moving in a way that does not resemble the sea
Veritable – more like a table
Whippet - to train a dog with cruelty
X-rays - Messers Charles, McAnally and Baxter
Yearly - (Brummie) you have arrived too soon
Zulu - toilets at Whipsnade
Parisian – Claim Hislop is your father
Percussion – Knocked senseless by a drummer
Permafrost – David Jason night on television
Perspire – kind of poll tax for cathedrals
Pompous – what an Aussie doctor removes from an Englishman’s boil
Procure – in favour of the medicine
Procure – Medicine not for amateurs
Prolapse – lady of the night loses concentration
Quandary - a fast launderette
Quicksilver - 2nd in the 100m
Ramrod – Deliberately drive into Mr. Stewart
Removes – concerning the dance routine
Reply – try to soften her up with drink for a second time
Revere – to swerve a second time
Stalagtite – POW camp for misers
Surplus – too many lords
Transistor - female sibling that wears men's clothes
Untidy - moving in a way that does not resemble the sea
Veritable – more like a table
Whippet - to train a dog with cruelty
X-rays - Messers Charles, McAnally and Baxter
Yearly - (Brummie) you have arrived too soon
Zulu - toilets at Whipsnade
Uxbridge English Dictionary - part 3
Fanciful – not wanting an empty one
Grotesque - rather like ancient currency
Heirloom - machine for weaving stage costumes for air guitarists
Helix – A contented wife
Hornet - a small horn
Insinuate – consumed food whilst breaking a commandment
Justice - frozen water and nothing more
Kinetic – Prince Philip annoyed by his loft
Lingers – Fishermen interested in only one species
Malingers – Can’t get rid of mother
Manure – Midge after puberty
Melodrama – Story set in a hippy commune
Messiah – move clutter to the top shelf
Minimalist – Register of dwarf mothers
Molest – The girl most like a gangster’s girlfriend
Munchkin - keep cannibalism within the family (see Antifreeze)
Novice - lacking the necessary tool to securely hold the piece of wood
Outside - the team no longer batting
Overlord - halo
Grotesque - rather like ancient currency
Heirloom - machine for weaving stage costumes for air guitarists
Helix – A contented wife
Hornet - a small horn
Insinuate – consumed food whilst breaking a commandment
Justice - frozen water and nothing more
Kinetic – Prince Philip annoyed by his loft
Lingers – Fishermen interested in only one species
Malingers – Can’t get rid of mother
Manure – Midge after puberty
Melodrama – Story set in a hippy commune
Messiah – move clutter to the top shelf
Minimalist – Register of dwarf mothers
Molest – The girl most like a gangster’s girlfriend
Munchkin - keep cannibalism within the family (see Antifreeze)
Novice - lacking the necessary tool to securely hold the piece of wood
Outside - the team no longer batting
Overlord - halo
Uxbridge English Dictionary - part 2
Deform – remove from class
Delinquent – The chain snapped
Delusion – removing the toilet
Demure – Device to silence cattle
Deplete – Iron out the folds
Deride – get off the horse
Dermatologist – German rug expert
Detail – found at the back of West Indian dogs
Devastate – a very large pack of forwards
Devoid – Shaped like a Coronation Street shopkeeper
Digester – Welsh comedian
Dipole – Welshman brought up in Warsaw
Diversity – Welsh seat of higher education
Divine – where Jamaican grapes are grown
Effluent – highly computer literate
Ejaculate – Inform Yorkshireman that he is not on time
Etiquette – Prince Philip’s miniature loft
Evolution – sticky hand cream
Exclaim – failed compensation attempt
Delinquent – The chain snapped
Delusion – removing the toilet
Demure – Device to silence cattle
Deplete – Iron out the folds
Deride – get off the horse
Dermatologist – German rug expert
Detail – found at the back of West Indian dogs
Devastate – a very large pack of forwards
Devoid – Shaped like a Coronation Street shopkeeper
Digester – Welsh comedian
Dipole – Welshman brought up in Warsaw
Diversity – Welsh seat of higher education
Divine – where Jamaican grapes are grown
Effluent – highly computer literate
Ejaculate – Inform Yorkshireman that he is not on time
Etiquette – Prince Philip’s miniature loft
Evolution – sticky hand cream
Exclaim – failed compensation attempt
Uxbridge English Dictionary - part 1
If there's anyone out there that isn't familiar with Radio 4s "I'm sorry I haven't a clue" - it often features a round entitled "Uxbridge English Dictionary" - as opposed to be somewhat better known Oxford version.
The players take turns in coming up with definitions of words that may be a tad off the mark. Hopefully most of these haven't already been used on the show (I didn't nick any, honest!)
Abacus – Swedish pop quartet use unsuitable language
Abattoir – French trio impersonate Swedish group
Adroit – Brummies agree on correctness of advertisement
Antifreeze - when she's too big to consume in one meal (see Munchkin)
Artichokes – Mr. Garfunkel splutters and coughs
Bastion - tiny but unpopular charged particle
Behold - a hive
Cemented – driven mad by sailors
Conclusion – Magician makes nose disappear
Confine – the scam is working well
Confluence – Faked hypnosis
Conjoin – blend together more than one scam
Constrain – Transport prisoners by rail
Continental - be driven mad by Europeans
Contraband – Nicaraguan musical group
Convergence – Lead a man to falsely believe he is the first
Convince – Appropriate Van Gogh’s money by deception
Convulsion – A deep dislike of Tories
The players take turns in coming up with definitions of words that may be a tad off the mark. Hopefully most of these haven't already been used on the show (I didn't nick any, honest!)
Abacus – Swedish pop quartet use unsuitable language
Abattoir – French trio impersonate Swedish group
Adroit – Brummies agree on correctness of advertisement
Antifreeze - when she's too big to consume in one meal (see Munchkin)
Artichokes – Mr. Garfunkel splutters and coughs
Bastion - tiny but unpopular charged particle
Behold - a hive
Cemented – driven mad by sailors
Conclusion – Magician makes nose disappear
Confine – the scam is working well
Confluence – Faked hypnosis
Conjoin – blend together more than one scam
Constrain – Transport prisoners by rail
Continental - be driven mad by Europeans
Contraband – Nicaraguan musical group
Convergence – Lead a man to falsely believe he is the first
Convince – Appropriate Van Gogh’s money by deception
Convulsion – A deep dislike of Tories
The "stars" that never quite made it
I really must get round to doing a poem based on this one day. Here's a few of the solo artists who, for some reason, never quite made it to the top ...
Fred Zeppelin
Derek Andy Dominos
Eartha Windenfire
Kate Usquo
Colin (US pronunciation) Stones
Damon Corner
Herman Hermit
Rudy Blues
Jeff Starship
Ron Etts
Bing Crimson
Bea Gees
Tim Tations
Sue Preems
Brad Company
Jack Sabbath
Sue Oystercult
Dee Rex
Che Cargo
Steff Leppard
Dinesh Mode
Jen Ursiss
Menna Twerk
Lou Order
Pat Shopboys
Shelly Marr
Stan Dauballet
Kyle Council
Sue Pertramp
Dai Doe
Frank Ferdinand
Cath Abian
Fred Zeppelin
Derek Andy Dominos
Eartha Windenfire
Kate Usquo
Colin (US pronunciation) Stones
Damon Corner
Herman Hermit
Rudy Blues
Jeff Starship
Ron Etts
Bing Crimson
Bea Gees
Tim Tations
Sue Preems
Brad Company
Jack Sabbath
Sue Oystercult
Dee Rex
Che Cargo
Steff Leppard
Dinesh Mode
Jen Ursiss
Menna Twerk
Lou Order
Pat Shopboys
Shelly Marr
Stan Dauballet
Kyle Council
Sue Pertramp
Dai Doe
Frank Ferdinand
Cath Abian
A topical sporting poem
Well, what with the sports news being full of England winning the ashes and speculation as to the gender of a successful female (?) athlete, what could be more topical than a poem about gender fraud in cricket?
This one was inspired by the incorrect use of a well known expression on the BBC news. I can't say any more without spoiling the poem but think of it as being like someone I once knew who used to use the word "Touche" when the phrase they really wanted was "pot calling the kettle black."
As the Test Match Special team declined to share it with the nation, the task falls to me ...
The tale of Andy/Pandy
Andy was a sporting lad – his passion being cricket
And he was never happier than when standing at the wicket.
At school he took no notice and failed all his exams –
His only interest being cricket, he had no other plans.
Dedicated, focused, he was completely single minded
And to any other path in life he was completely blinded.
Careers advice came and went, he didn’t want to know
‘Cos as soon as he was able Andy planned on turning pro.
He thought that in a year or two, winning trophies for his county
The national selectors would offer him a mighty bounty.
And in the test arena he would take the centre stage
Five wicket hauls and centuries whilst still of tender age.
Many films have taught us what should happen in this tale -
He makes it big then crashes down, his career doomed to fail.
Then one last chance, against the odds, he has his glory day
But alas for poor Andy it just didn’t work that way.
For his club he played quite well and some he did impress
But county trials came and went without any success.
As a semi-pro, in the leagues, at least he could get paid
But when it came to the first class game, he couldn’t make the grade.
Even when it dawned on him that he’d never be the best
Andy couldn’t lose that urge he had to one day play a test.
He’d never be a Botham, Kapil Dev or Bishan Bedi
But could he get to play a test - if they thought he was a lady?
He started to experiment with a bra and rugby socks.
He shaved his legs, bought perfumes and a supply of pretty frocks.
He changed his voice, bought a wig and grew his nails quite long.
And washed his feet six times a day to hide the manly pong.
Just one more step and he could surely gain that sporting fame
All he had to do now was select a female name.
He toyed with many options, Cathy, Debbie, June and Flora
And finally decided he would call himself Pandora.
This seemed a brilliant choice as he was always known as Andy
So he wouldn’t be confused at all when someone called out “Pandy!”
Things were back on track again, he was really on a roll
He went to a solicitor and got his name changed by deed poll.
And soon enough, in the ladies’ game, through the ranks he rose
Taking wickets, scoring runs whilst wearing ladies’ clothes.
He chatted to the other girls of hand cream, love and flowers
And made a point of never being seen whilst in the showers.
And sure enough the day came when he got the sought for call
“It’s England here, we’ve watched you play, good form with bat and ball.
So come on Pandy, raise your game, don’t even think of failure
Don’t be meek, for come next week, you’ll play against Australia.”
After so much disappointment, words alone could not express
His absolute elation, so he donned his favourite dress.
When his day of fame arrived, he’d want to look his best
So he bought some extra Immac for his arms and cheeks and chest.
The waiting seemed eternal but soon the big day came
And off he went to Edgbaston – the setting for the game.
The sky was blue, the toss was won and the pitch looked nice and flat.
Said the English captain to the Aussie “I think we’ll have a bat.”
But soon enough with saddened faces the openers returned
As, how to bowl on English pitches, the Aussie girls had learned.
And the moment Pandy dreamed of, finally came alive
As she strode out to the middle with England twenty nine for five.
The crowd of sixty seven made a noise like many more
And from Pandora confidence exuded every pore.
“I’ll knock your bloody head off” said the bowler, over the din.
“Okay, good luck” Pandora said “and may the best man win.”
The Aussie girls ran in hard with swing and seam and bounce
But Pandora wasn’t to be outdone and savoured every ounce.
She drove the ball and cut and swept like May, Lamb or Hutton
Although she may have dressed like Lamb, she really was just mutton.
She ground it out, her dream come true, the runs began to flow.
And soon she had her fifty and then decided to let go.
The scoreboard started flying around, they’d make three hundred yet
But as they quickened up the pace Pandora began to sweat.
She carried on regardless ‘til her score was eighty two
Then signalled to the balcony – her gloves were soaked right through.
When a century on debut is all that occupies your mind
It’s easy to forget what, in your kit bag, they may find.
The substitute dashed inside and soon found Pandy’s kit.
Gillette Mach 3 – unusual, but she gave no thought to it.
The thing that raised her interest, amongst sweaters, shirts and socks
Was the moment when her hand touched upon Pandora’s box.
And just as in the myths of old, all Hell was soon let loose.
The chairman of selectors was seen trying to tie a noose.
Management met behind the scenes with every member fuming
As Pandy moved to ninety eight, her maiden century looming.
In ran the Aussie bowler but she overstepped the mark.
The ball flew through mid-wicket and almost left the park.
The crowd rose to their feet with cheering and cat calls.
Not quite what Pandy’d meant when she prayed to have no balls.
And the folks down there at Edgbaston still speculate today
About the silent England balcony as she left the field of play.
A hundred and fifty three not out – an innings long and brave
She climbed the steps to great applause then went to have a shave.
And the next day’s papers praised her, and her great achievement
Sympathising with her family about their sad bereavement.
With greed perhaps she’d run downstairs to sign the sponsors’ deals
Which is not a great idea for a bloke in six inch heels.
They got the team’s own doctor to certify the death
And had a quick cremation, hardly pausing for a breath.
To help allay suspicion, they blamed it on “the pox”
But we all know the real truth of the tale of Pandora’s box.
This one was inspired by the incorrect use of a well known expression on the BBC news. I can't say any more without spoiling the poem but think of it as being like someone I once knew who used to use the word "Touche" when the phrase they really wanted was "pot calling the kettle black."
As the Test Match Special team declined to share it with the nation, the task falls to me ...
The tale of Andy/Pandy
Andy was a sporting lad – his passion being cricket
And he was never happier than when standing at the wicket.
At school he took no notice and failed all his exams –
His only interest being cricket, he had no other plans.
Dedicated, focused, he was completely single minded
And to any other path in life he was completely blinded.
Careers advice came and went, he didn’t want to know
‘Cos as soon as he was able Andy planned on turning pro.
He thought that in a year or two, winning trophies for his county
The national selectors would offer him a mighty bounty.
And in the test arena he would take the centre stage
Five wicket hauls and centuries whilst still of tender age.
Many films have taught us what should happen in this tale -
He makes it big then crashes down, his career doomed to fail.
Then one last chance, against the odds, he has his glory day
But alas for poor Andy it just didn’t work that way.
For his club he played quite well and some he did impress
But county trials came and went without any success.
As a semi-pro, in the leagues, at least he could get paid
But when it came to the first class game, he couldn’t make the grade.
Even when it dawned on him that he’d never be the best
Andy couldn’t lose that urge he had to one day play a test.
He’d never be a Botham, Kapil Dev or Bishan Bedi
But could he get to play a test - if they thought he was a lady?
He started to experiment with a bra and rugby socks.
He shaved his legs, bought perfumes and a supply of pretty frocks.
He changed his voice, bought a wig and grew his nails quite long.
And washed his feet six times a day to hide the manly pong.
Just one more step and he could surely gain that sporting fame
All he had to do now was select a female name.
He toyed with many options, Cathy, Debbie, June and Flora
And finally decided he would call himself Pandora.
This seemed a brilliant choice as he was always known as Andy
So he wouldn’t be confused at all when someone called out “Pandy!”
Things were back on track again, he was really on a roll
He went to a solicitor and got his name changed by deed poll.
And soon enough, in the ladies’ game, through the ranks he rose
Taking wickets, scoring runs whilst wearing ladies’ clothes.
He chatted to the other girls of hand cream, love and flowers
And made a point of never being seen whilst in the showers.
And sure enough the day came when he got the sought for call
“It’s England here, we’ve watched you play, good form with bat and ball.
So come on Pandy, raise your game, don’t even think of failure
Don’t be meek, for come next week, you’ll play against Australia.”
After so much disappointment, words alone could not express
His absolute elation, so he donned his favourite dress.
When his day of fame arrived, he’d want to look his best
So he bought some extra Immac for his arms and cheeks and chest.
The waiting seemed eternal but soon the big day came
And off he went to Edgbaston – the setting for the game.
The sky was blue, the toss was won and the pitch looked nice and flat.
Said the English captain to the Aussie “I think we’ll have a bat.”
But soon enough with saddened faces the openers returned
As, how to bowl on English pitches, the Aussie girls had learned.
And the moment Pandy dreamed of, finally came alive
As she strode out to the middle with England twenty nine for five.
The crowd of sixty seven made a noise like many more
And from Pandora confidence exuded every pore.
“I’ll knock your bloody head off” said the bowler, over the din.
“Okay, good luck” Pandora said “and may the best man win.”
The Aussie girls ran in hard with swing and seam and bounce
But Pandora wasn’t to be outdone and savoured every ounce.
She drove the ball and cut and swept like May, Lamb or Hutton
Although she may have dressed like Lamb, she really was just mutton.
She ground it out, her dream come true, the runs began to flow.
And soon she had her fifty and then decided to let go.
The scoreboard started flying around, they’d make three hundred yet
But as they quickened up the pace Pandora began to sweat.
She carried on regardless ‘til her score was eighty two
Then signalled to the balcony – her gloves were soaked right through.
When a century on debut is all that occupies your mind
It’s easy to forget what, in your kit bag, they may find.
The substitute dashed inside and soon found Pandy’s kit.
Gillette Mach 3 – unusual, but she gave no thought to it.
The thing that raised her interest, amongst sweaters, shirts and socks
Was the moment when her hand touched upon Pandora’s box.
And just as in the myths of old, all Hell was soon let loose.
The chairman of selectors was seen trying to tie a noose.
Management met behind the scenes with every member fuming
As Pandy moved to ninety eight, her maiden century looming.
In ran the Aussie bowler but she overstepped the mark.
The ball flew through mid-wicket and almost left the park.
The crowd rose to their feet with cheering and cat calls.
Not quite what Pandy’d meant when she prayed to have no balls.
And the folks down there at Edgbaston still speculate today
About the silent England balcony as she left the field of play.
A hundred and fifty three not out – an innings long and brave
She climbed the steps to great applause then went to have a shave.
And the next day’s papers praised her, and her great achievement
Sympathising with her family about their sad bereavement.
With greed perhaps she’d run downstairs to sign the sponsors’ deals
Which is not a great idea for a bloke in six inch heels.
They got the team’s own doctor to certify the death
And had a quick cremation, hardly pausing for a breath.
To help allay suspicion, they blamed it on “the pox”
But we all know the real truth of the tale of Pandora’s box.
Catching up (again)
Thought it was time to upload some more nonsense for the world and his wife to ignore. So I thought I'd publish some (hopefully) humerous poetry - see other entries for this month.
In the meantime, I had a little dalliance with the old swine flu. Not much to write about really except that it was pretty mild with not much in the way of severe symptoms. The highlight of the whole thing was a conversation I had with the "thoroughly trained" girl on the National Flu Pandemic Hotline.
I informed her that my temperature was 102 degrees.
"Wow," she said "is that in Celsius?"
I pointed out that if it was, I would by now have been cooked in my own juces and ready to be served. I don't think she understood. What's more alarming was that she had no idea what "Fahrenheit" was and had no handy chart for converting between the two systems - so I had to do it for her.
My next mistake was to admit that I had spent the previous afternoon snoozing on the setee when she asked if I had experienced any sleepiness or drowsiness. Wrong answer. This got me passed on to the emergency out of hours medical service and I then had to have the same lengthy conversation with a doctor who agreed that, she had, on reflection, been a tad over cautious.
She did however kindly give me my reference number to get some Tamiflu and even told me which chemist to visit - urging me to do it straight away to gain maximum benefit. This was on Saturday morning. She then went on to tell me that the chemist in question would not be open until Monday. This time, I think she did understand the absurdity of the last two statements (with a little help from yours truly).
Fortunately, I knew she was talking rubbish and that the chemist was currently open and my "flu buddy" kindly went and did the deed.
So, in case you're wondering, there were no side effects whatsoever from Tamiflu and within a week I felt perfectly okay again and even managed to not infect anyone else, as far as I am aware.
In the meantime, I had a little dalliance with the old swine flu. Not much to write about really except that it was pretty mild with not much in the way of severe symptoms. The highlight of the whole thing was a conversation I had with the "thoroughly trained" girl on the National Flu Pandemic Hotline.
I informed her that my temperature was 102 degrees.
"Wow," she said "is that in Celsius?"
I pointed out that if it was, I would by now have been cooked in my own juces and ready to be served. I don't think she understood. What's more alarming was that she had no idea what "Fahrenheit" was and had no handy chart for converting between the two systems - so I had to do it for her.
My next mistake was to admit that I had spent the previous afternoon snoozing on the setee when she asked if I had experienced any sleepiness or drowsiness. Wrong answer. This got me passed on to the emergency out of hours medical service and I then had to have the same lengthy conversation with a doctor who agreed that, she had, on reflection, been a tad over cautious.
She did however kindly give me my reference number to get some Tamiflu and even told me which chemist to visit - urging me to do it straight away to gain maximum benefit. This was on Saturday morning. She then went on to tell me that the chemist in question would not be open until Monday. This time, I think she did understand the absurdity of the last two statements (with a little help from yours truly).
Fortunately, I knew she was talking rubbish and that the chemist was currently open and my "flu buddy" kindly went and did the deed.
So, in case you're wondering, there were no side effects whatsoever from Tamiflu and within a week I felt perfectly okay again and even managed to not infect anyone else, as far as I am aware.
Florence - an historical poem
This piece of silliness was inspired by a comment I overheard (thanks June) as a lady tried to describe another lady to her friend. I can't say a lot more without giving away the gag.
Anyway, nearly all of this is true, with one slight adjustment to history ...
Florence
Little Florence was born back in 1820
To a family that was blessed with plenty.
And they derived their fun and games
From messing around with the family names.
Mum’s name was Smith and dad’s was Shore
“Not good enough – we’ll use them no more.”
Her uncle’s name could hardly fail
So Florence became Miss Nightingale.
Named after the city of her birth
This could have led to so much mirth
If her parents hadn’t taken pains
To live in Tuscany and not in Staines.
Her sister must have worn a frown -
Born in the Greek part of town.
Could parents really be so dopey
To call their girl Parsinope?
But with talk of names we do digress
From the points we really should address
So let us focus on the tale
Of the famous Florence Nightingale.
The fact that I can now reveal
That her ample skirts did conceal
A defect passed down by her mother
One leg much shorter than the other.
As Florence used to hobble round
She made a most alarming sound.
Her footsteps walking down the road
Like a string of “A”s in Morse code!
With a six inch gap between her knees
She stood at forty five degrees.
“Quite a problem” the doctor said
But great for leaning over a bed.
These words had a profound effect
And her new career she did select.
To her family’s disgust and cursing
Florence decided to enter nursing.
Having finished all her training
Florence soon began complaining
She even helped to change the law
To make life better for the poor.
This sort of thing can soon annoy
The 1850s Hoi Polloi.
So driven by their jealous fear
They sent her off to the Crimea.
Looking back it seems quite quirky
Where she ended up - in Turkey.
For a front line post she’d been hopeful
But ended up in Constantinople.
She said “I really think I’d rather
Be somewhat nearer Balaklava.”
But the local hospital was full
In the place we now call Istanbul.
And whilst the view was more than scenic
The hospital was not hygienic.
And the poor sanitary conditions
Killed more than did Russian munitions.
They cleaned the sewers, scrubbed the wards
Bringing hope to injured hordes.
And Florence’s familiar clip … clop
Patrolled the wards with her bucket and mop.
With one leg short and one leg tall
‘Twas a miracle that she didn’t fall.
She struggled on, she was no wimp
She was “The lady with the limp.”
Anyway, nearly all of this is true, with one slight adjustment to history ...
Florence
Little Florence was born back in 1820
To a family that was blessed with plenty.
And they derived their fun and games
From messing around with the family names.
Mum’s name was Smith and dad’s was Shore
“Not good enough – we’ll use them no more.”
Her uncle’s name could hardly fail
So Florence became Miss Nightingale.
Named after the city of her birth
This could have led to so much mirth
If her parents hadn’t taken pains
To live in Tuscany and not in Staines.
Her sister must have worn a frown -
Born in the Greek part of town.
Could parents really be so dopey
To call their girl Parsinope?
But with talk of names we do digress
From the points we really should address
So let us focus on the tale
Of the famous Florence Nightingale.
The fact that I can now reveal
That her ample skirts did conceal
A defect passed down by her mother
One leg much shorter than the other.
As Florence used to hobble round
She made a most alarming sound.
Her footsteps walking down the road
Like a string of “A”s in Morse code!
With a six inch gap between her knees
She stood at forty five degrees.
“Quite a problem” the doctor said
But great for leaning over a bed.
These words had a profound effect
And her new career she did select.
To her family’s disgust and cursing
Florence decided to enter nursing.
Having finished all her training
Florence soon began complaining
She even helped to change the law
To make life better for the poor.
This sort of thing can soon annoy
The 1850s Hoi Polloi.
So driven by their jealous fear
They sent her off to the Crimea.
Looking back it seems quite quirky
Where she ended up - in Turkey.
For a front line post she’d been hopeful
But ended up in Constantinople.
She said “I really think I’d rather
Be somewhat nearer Balaklava.”
But the local hospital was full
In the place we now call Istanbul.
And whilst the view was more than scenic
The hospital was not hygienic.
And the poor sanitary conditions
Killed more than did Russian munitions.
They cleaned the sewers, scrubbed the wards
Bringing hope to injured hordes.
And Florence’s familiar clip … clop
Patrolled the wards with her bucket and mop.
With one leg short and one leg tall
‘Twas a miracle that she didn’t fall.
She struggled on, she was no wimp
She was “The lady with the limp.”
Poem - The Best Men
A true story ...
The Best Men
A rhyme we all know urges us to remember
The events that occurred on the 5th of November.
And given the couple, it seemed only right
That my friend should get married on Fireworks Night.
Some names have been changed to protect the deluded
Some horrors omitted but most are included.
This was a wedding where no-one brought tissues
For the bride and the groom, well they had certain issues.
Bertie (we’ll call him) was fond of a drink
And his wife, soon to be, took this trend to the brink.
They made Darby and Joan look like Joseph and Mary
As every five minutes one or other’d get lairy.
And neither could claim to be new to the game
Some say she’d forgotten her own maiden name.
And Bertie had walked many a good mile
When he took his regular trips down the aisle.
The venue for weddings – the community hub
Is often a church but in this case, a pub.
But nothing tacky you must understand
For they even brought in a two piece band.
Whilst somewhat alarmed to be named as Best Man –
With alcohol likely to ruin the plan –
I did all I could so that things would go well
And I’d get no blame for the wedding from Hell.
The wedding day came and to my surprise
The bride and the groom had both managed to rise.
She was away being made up and dressed
We went for a “half” with his dad and the rest.
I had no control over half the equation
And looking at Bertie I suspected evasion
Might cross him mind with him now corpus mentis
If I let him escape I’d soon need a dentist.
It seemed a bit wrong to drink in the pub
So we went down the road to the local club.
Spirits and ale served to quell any nerves
But the journey back involved a few swerves.
And now at the venue things seem okay.
The bride has arrived – looks like we’re away.
Any time now, with vows made they’ll be kissing
When somebody whispers “The bride has gone missing.”
Trying our best to be most discreet
At the back of the room three of us meet.
“It’s only two minutes – she can’t have got far”
And in unison we all go and search in the bar.
The obvious location fails to deliver
So we look in the streets and check in the river.
Where she had gone I never discovered
But a phone call informed us the bride was recovered.
Taking your seat to hand groom the ring
On the face of it seems like a simple thing.
This was the job with which I was tasked
Thinking that I was the only one asked.
This illusion was shattered abruptly when
We discovered that Bertie had four Best Men.
Each stuperous evening - another best mate
And another Best Man for his special date.
The service proceeded with speed if not grace
And the groom’s mother cried - despair on her face.
As they rushed through the vows the couple were thinking
“Hurry up mate” we want to get drinking.
With all said and done we drank and we ate
And debated where might lie their fate.
Some gave it six months before she’d be leaving
Pessimists ventured the end of the evening.
The Best Men convened within bar’s easy reach
And decided who should be making the speech.
I think we drew lots and I was the loser
Making a speech for my mate in the boozer.
Far be it from me to ever disparage
The cynical views re. the length of the marriage.
In spite of the widespread doubts and fears
They held it together for roughly two years.
No-one can claim this time was delightful
And fuelled with booze it soon became spiteful.
Night spent in cells, police and injunctions
Soon took the place of everyday functions.
The house was re-mortgaged to enable libation
The money all gone, she made straight for the station.
Took the shirt off his back and even his vest
And the property was very soon repossessed.
Bertie is quick to make the admission
“You said it would happen” – a face of contrition.
But undeterred by all the trouble and strife
I hear that he’s working on his next final wife.
The Best Men
A rhyme we all know urges us to remember
The events that occurred on the 5th of November.
And given the couple, it seemed only right
That my friend should get married on Fireworks Night.
Some names have been changed to protect the deluded
Some horrors omitted but most are included.
This was a wedding where no-one brought tissues
For the bride and the groom, well they had certain issues.
Bertie (we’ll call him) was fond of a drink
And his wife, soon to be, took this trend to the brink.
They made Darby and Joan look like Joseph and Mary
As every five minutes one or other’d get lairy.
And neither could claim to be new to the game
Some say she’d forgotten her own maiden name.
And Bertie had walked many a good mile
When he took his regular trips down the aisle.
The venue for weddings – the community hub
Is often a church but in this case, a pub.
But nothing tacky you must understand
For they even brought in a two piece band.
Whilst somewhat alarmed to be named as Best Man –
With alcohol likely to ruin the plan –
I did all I could so that things would go well
And I’d get no blame for the wedding from Hell.
The wedding day came and to my surprise
The bride and the groom had both managed to rise.
She was away being made up and dressed
We went for a “half” with his dad and the rest.
I had no control over half the equation
And looking at Bertie I suspected evasion
Might cross him mind with him now corpus mentis
If I let him escape I’d soon need a dentist.
It seemed a bit wrong to drink in the pub
So we went down the road to the local club.
Spirits and ale served to quell any nerves
But the journey back involved a few swerves.
And now at the venue things seem okay.
The bride has arrived – looks like we’re away.
Any time now, with vows made they’ll be kissing
When somebody whispers “The bride has gone missing.”
Trying our best to be most discreet
At the back of the room three of us meet.
“It’s only two minutes – she can’t have got far”
And in unison we all go and search in the bar.
The obvious location fails to deliver
So we look in the streets and check in the river.
Where she had gone I never discovered
But a phone call informed us the bride was recovered.
Taking your seat to hand groom the ring
On the face of it seems like a simple thing.
This was the job with which I was tasked
Thinking that I was the only one asked.
This illusion was shattered abruptly when
We discovered that Bertie had four Best Men.
Each stuperous evening - another best mate
And another Best Man for his special date.
The service proceeded with speed if not grace
And the groom’s mother cried - despair on her face.
As they rushed through the vows the couple were thinking
“Hurry up mate” we want to get drinking.
With all said and done we drank and we ate
And debated where might lie their fate.
Some gave it six months before she’d be leaving
Pessimists ventured the end of the evening.
The Best Men convened within bar’s easy reach
And decided who should be making the speech.
I think we drew lots and I was the loser
Making a speech for my mate in the boozer.
Far be it from me to ever disparage
The cynical views re. the length of the marriage.
In spite of the widespread doubts and fears
They held it together for roughly two years.
No-one can claim this time was delightful
And fuelled with booze it soon became spiteful.
Night spent in cells, police and injunctions
Soon took the place of everyday functions.
The house was re-mortgaged to enable libation
The money all gone, she made straight for the station.
Took the shirt off his back and even his vest
And the property was very soon repossessed.
Bertie is quick to make the admission
“You said it would happen” – a face of contrition.
But undeterred by all the trouble and strife
I hear that he’s working on his next final wife.
Poem - Christmas Time Again
Yes, as awful a prospect as it is, with September almost upon us, it will be the extended "festive" season in no time at all.
Perhaps, like me, you relish this with the same sort of enthusiasm as a dental appointment for some root canal work. If so, read on ...
This was originally written (and performed) as a song. For any musos out there, it's in 6/8 time just think DUM DADA DADA DUM DADA DADA
Chords (in G) are:
Line 1: G C
Line 2: G D
Line 3: G Em
Line 4: C D G
Then repeat line 4 with some backing vocals singing "It's christmas time again" - Easy!
Christmas time again
Now Christmas time is once again here
The sleigh bells ring and the children all cheer
And every adult trembles with fear
‘Cos it’s Christmas time again.
The TV adverts make me want to scream
It feels like I’m having a terrible dream
The shops are still selling sun tan cream
But it’s Christmas time apparently.
Men dressed as Santa want all my dough
I’ll punch the next bloke that says “Yo ho ho!"
Shove his charity box where it doesn’t show
“Merrrry Christmas!”
Five quid a child just to go in the grotto
Cobblers to that unless I win the lotto
“Bah humbug” seems to be a good motto
When it’s Christmas time again.
The kids don’t want bikes or new party frocks
They’ve all got to have the latest X-box
And all I ever get are more bloody socks
And a year’s supply of Lynx.
And I must attend the wife’s works Christmas bash
Be on best behaviour and spend loads of cash
Oh sod it, I think I’ll just go on the lash
As it’s Christmas time again.
So I drink wine and beer in copious amounts
And then I set eyes on the girl from Accounts
I slip her my best lines – I’m ready to pounce
Well, it’s only once a year innit?
I take her outside – the air’s cold as a freezer
To help keep her warm I cuddle and squeeze her
Oh Christ, I think it’s a cross dressing geezer!
Christmas Bloody Christmas.
After three months of build up it’s now Christmas Eve
The kids are off school and I’m off on leave
One more mince pie and I’m sure I’ll heave
“Huuueeeey” - Christmas again.
The kids lie awake all excited in bed
For some fat bloke to come, all dressed in red
Next year I’ll tell them the old bugger’s dead
Yeah, that’ll save a few bob at Christmas.
Now it’s four in the morning on Christmas Day
I can’t go to bed ‘till the kids drift away
So I slip ‘em a Vallium and think “Hooray!”
A year before Christmas again.
The morning has come and the family’s here
The mother-in-law brings me no festive cheer
I’ve hidden the mistletoe out of blind fear
Help! It’s Christmas again.
The missus’s mother is no Christmas fairy
She’s out of her head on egg nog and sherry
And any time now she’ll start to get lairy
Not much peace and goodwill here mate.
And now the old trout has been drinking my whiskey
Oh bloody hell, now she’s getting quite frisky
I’m off to the pub – this is getting too risky
Why couldn’t I have been Jewish?
I stand at the bar in a line of new sweaters
Men that were wealthy, transformed into debtors
Some want to leave home, they write their wives letters
And Christmas cheer abounds.
The log fire burns and we stare at the embers
Come up with a plan to cancel Decembers
But we’re all too drunk and no-one remembers
‘Till it’s Christmas time again.
And again …
And again …
And again …
Perhaps, like me, you relish this with the same sort of enthusiasm as a dental appointment for some root canal work. If so, read on ...
This was originally written (and performed) as a song. For any musos out there, it's in 6/8 time just think DUM DADA DADA DUM DADA DADA
Chords (in G) are:
Line 1: G C
Line 2: G D
Line 3: G Em
Line 4: C D G
Then repeat line 4 with some backing vocals singing "It's christmas time again" - Easy!
Christmas time again
Now Christmas time is once again here
The sleigh bells ring and the children all cheer
And every adult trembles with fear
‘Cos it’s Christmas time again.
The TV adverts make me want to scream
It feels like I’m having a terrible dream
The shops are still selling sun tan cream
But it’s Christmas time apparently.
Men dressed as Santa want all my dough
I’ll punch the next bloke that says “Yo ho ho!"
Shove his charity box where it doesn’t show
“Merrrry Christmas!”
Five quid a child just to go in the grotto
Cobblers to that unless I win the lotto
“Bah humbug” seems to be a good motto
When it’s Christmas time again.
The kids don’t want bikes or new party frocks
They’ve all got to have the latest X-box
And all I ever get are more bloody socks
And a year’s supply of Lynx.
And I must attend the wife’s works Christmas bash
Be on best behaviour and spend loads of cash
Oh sod it, I think I’ll just go on the lash
As it’s Christmas time again.
So I drink wine and beer in copious amounts
And then I set eyes on the girl from Accounts
I slip her my best lines – I’m ready to pounce
Well, it’s only once a year innit?
I take her outside – the air’s cold as a freezer
To help keep her warm I cuddle and squeeze her
Oh Christ, I think it’s a cross dressing geezer!
Christmas Bloody Christmas.
After three months of build up it’s now Christmas Eve
The kids are off school and I’m off on leave
One more mince pie and I’m sure I’ll heave
“Huuueeeey” - Christmas again.
The kids lie awake all excited in bed
For some fat bloke to come, all dressed in red
Next year I’ll tell them the old bugger’s dead
Yeah, that’ll save a few bob at Christmas.
Now it’s four in the morning on Christmas Day
I can’t go to bed ‘till the kids drift away
So I slip ‘em a Vallium and think “Hooray!”
A year before Christmas again.
The morning has come and the family’s here
The mother-in-law brings me no festive cheer
I’ve hidden the mistletoe out of blind fear
Help! It’s Christmas again.
The missus’s mother is no Christmas fairy
She’s out of her head on egg nog and sherry
And any time now she’ll start to get lairy
Not much peace and goodwill here mate.
And now the old trout has been drinking my whiskey
Oh bloody hell, now she’s getting quite frisky
I’m off to the pub – this is getting too risky
Why couldn’t I have been Jewish?
I stand at the bar in a line of new sweaters
Men that were wealthy, transformed into debtors
Some want to leave home, they write their wives letters
And Christmas cheer abounds.
The log fire burns and we stare at the embers
Come up with a plan to cancel Decembers
But we’re all too drunk and no-one remembers
‘Till it’s Christmas time again.
And again …
And again …
And again …
Wednesday 12 August 2009
Newslink July 2009
This newsletter was created (free of charge) for Mudeford Men's club by Lware Limited. Please note that most formatting and some images may be absent.
NEWSLINK
The Newsletter of the Mudeford Men’s Club
July 2009
A banker’s bonus Newslink!
Who’d have thought it! All those editions begging for some input and here we are having to produce an extra issue just a month after the last one! This was unplanned so apologies to all those that normally contribute – we’ll still have the “planned” Newslink in September or early October.
Charity fundraising
On 18 June, Norman Grindley, Liz Westall and I went to the Fortune Centre of Riding Therapy at Avon Tyrrell for their open day. The organisation was one of the recipients from this year's charity donations and we thought it would be nice to follow up on where the money went.
Norman, Corrie and Liz.
Original caption removed for the sake of my health.
The centre was larger than we expected with a "courtyard" of around 80m x 40m surrounded on three sides with the stables and the main administrative building occupying the fourth side. The live-in guests stay at another site and travel by minibus whereas various local schools and organisations send pupils for day sessions.
They have in the region of two dozen horses, looked after by the young people using the centre - under the supervision of the staff.
For any doubters out there, I can say this. We approached one young lad with learning disabilities and asked him his name and how long he had been at the centre in a friendly fashion. He was able to answer us but was very shy, didn't like making eye contact and clearly felt uncomfortable, so we pestered him no more. However, he was completely confident to climb into the stable (unsupervised) with a tonne of live horse, clamber all around it fitting the bridle and saddle and getting it ready for riding. It was really heart warming to see how confident the young man was in the presence of such a large animal and what self esteem he must have gained from the bond he had developed with it.
Our money went in part to fund the purchase of a new horse and partly towards the ongoing target of refurbishing the tack room. This is where most of the learning takes place and the youngsters have sessions aimed to develop their reading, writing and communications skills in addition to learning the ins and outs of horse maintenance! The building is currently very much of the breeze-block and hay-bale variety and could do with something a little more accommodating for learning. Currently, they have raised about one third of the £300,000 needed for the project.
Norman, Corrie and Liz.
Original caption removed for the sake of my health.
The centre was larger than we expected with a "courtyard" of around 80m x 40m surrounded on three sides with the stables and the main administrative building occupying the fourth side. The live-in guests stay at another site and travel by minibus whereas various local schools and organisations send pupils for day sessions.
They have in the region of two dozen horses, looked after by the young people using the centre - under the supervision of the staff.
For any doubters out there, I can say this. We approached one young lad with learning disabilities and asked him his name and how long he had been at the centre in a friendly fashion. He was able to answer us but was very shy, didn't like making eye contact and clearly felt uncomfortable, so we pestered him no more. However, he was completely confident to climb into the stable (unsupervised) with a tonne of live horse, clamber all around it fitting the bridle and saddle and getting it ready for riding. It was really heart warming to see how confident the young man was in the presence of such a large animal and what self esteem he must have gained from the bond he had developed with it.
Our money went in part to fund the purchase of a new horse and partly towards the ongoing target of refurbishing the tack room. This is where most of the learning takes place and the youngsters have sessions aimed to develop their reading, writing and communications skills in addition to learning the ins and outs of horse maintenance! The building is currently very much of the breeze-block and hay-bale variety and could do with something a little more accommodating for learning. Currently, they have raised about one third of the £300,000 needed for the project.
The Race for Life
Jane Randle (right) would like to thank the Club, friends and her relatives in helping her raise over £500 in the Race For Life, which she completed on Sunday 21st June, and looks forward to doing it again next year.
It is with deep regret that we have learned of Jane’s recent passing, since the first issues of this newsletter went to print. Our deepest sympathies to all her family and friends.
Helping local schools
June – Thanks to your efforts the Club was able donate almost 7,500 Tesco and Sainsbury vouchers to Mudeford Junior School and Burton Nursery.
The vouchers can be redeemed against various items of schools equipment. See the Charities notice board for “Thank you” letters.
What’s been happening …
Assistant Steward Rob Boulton survived his recent painful encounter with a cricket ball. He is currently suing his former games teacher for his advice to “keep your eye on the ball” and will shortly be transported to London Zoo to mate with Ching Ching.
Spot the difference competition
Pussyfoot – 27th June 2009.
Another successful Pussyfoot with no less than 123 diners attending. In addition to the superb food, the audience enjoyed comedy from the excellent Russ Williams.
A special thank you to the many, many people who worked so hard to make this event a success and in particular to Mark Roper for his great help in handing over Pussyfoot and all other Entertainments related matters.
Caption competition?
A collection held on the night for Armed Forces Day raised a fantastic £427.90 as well as a £40 donation to Julia's House.
Sports and games news
Snooker – Pussyfoot Pairs
John Sheppard and Tony Mathews are the proud winners of this year’s snooker doubles competition.
Poker by Dave Hastings
On Sunday 31st May, some of the winners from the recent poker league went to Portsmouth to play in the Redtooth League regional final. One of our players Alex Feast did extremely well and came 5th – qualifying for the National Finals.
Alex and Joey
Our in-house league was won by Richard Thomas. The top 16 in the league fought a tough battle to decide the winner of the League Final on Sunday 28th June. With big prize money at stake all wanted to be the winner.
Richard Thomas and Joey Hastings
However honours again went to Phil Marchi (below) after a long afternoon of play.
The top 8 were as follows.
1st Phil Marchi
2nd Rob Boulton
3rd Greg Lisk
4th James Blackshaw
5th Gordon Wallace
6th Neil Haskell
7th John Challen
8th Richard Thomas.
Entertainment news
On 20th June, there was an experimental mini-bingo session during the half time interval on Saturday night. This certainly increased numbers in the lounge but not to the extent that we could afford to do it too often. We may try it once more a bit later in the year.
Anyway, the winner of the £100 full house was Sharon Morgan who,
as you can see, soon attracted the attentions of dubious men!
“Look at my wad”
I only needed one number myself but if winning means you have to hug Malcolm, I’ll pass!
The Fab Beatles – 15th August 2009.
This band is one of the best Beatles tributes around and, I can assure you, they cost a few bob! Some extra money became available due to a change in the way certain parts of the Entertainments budget are funded and it was agreed that a special treat for the members, in these difficult times, was in order!
The event has been advertised as “Members only” however, following a review by the Committee, it has now been decided that non-members may be signed in, in the usual way for a £1 fee. However, please note: there must be NO reserving of seats for people who have not yet arrived. Also please keep the bar area clear for service - gentlemen are encouraged to make the short trip to the Men’s Bar if overcrowding becomes a problem.
Anyway, whatever happens, the advice is GET IN EARLY as it will be busy. If you want a seat, get in VERY early! The band will be on at about 9pm and there will be a disco and an extension.
I’m delighted to report that some of you have been making use of the Entertainments Suggestion Box in the Lounge. So far most of the suggestions have been anonymous – but that’s okay. Requests so far include:
· A steel band – we’re looking into this one and may go for a Caribbean evening next summer
· The return of Blitz Disco – Darren will be back in January and July 2010
· Soul Intention will play the club in August and the Mudeford Crabs in November.
From "Miss Understood" – three suggestions for bands:
· Penny Arcade - booked for February
· Rapport – booked for March
· Poky – booked for January
Please bear in mind that a LOT of suggestions for acts are coming in. I do take a look at them all but inevitably we can’t book everyone and at least two thirds of all suggested bands are 50s and 60s music and I think it would become a bit “samey” if we booked them all!
August
1st - Filmed Race Night (extension)
8th - Coroma Disco
Sunday 9th - Adagio (lunchtime)
15th - The Fab Beatles & disco (ext.)
22nd - Soul Intention
Sunday 23rd - Alan Roberts (lunchtime)
29th - BBC Radio’s Jason Dean Disco (ext.)
September
5th -Brian Moon & the Satellites
Sunday 6th - Paul Hammond & Marrow Comp
12th - Laurence
19th -Envy
Sunday 20th - Adagio (lunchtime)
26th - Die Heidelberger Boys
October
3rd - The Bugattis
Sunday 4th - Alan Roberts (lunchtime)
10th - Coroma Disco
17th - Filmed Race Night (ext.)
Sun 18th - Paul Hammond
24th - Blowin’ Free
31st - The Eve of All Hallows (ext.)
Bavarian Night – Sat 26th September
The evening will be fancy dress and features Oompah band - Die Heidelberger Boys. The dress code has been relaxed for the evening so, pull on your lederhosen, don your brightest braces and place a feather in your jauntily angled hat and get down to some serious roistering!
The Eve of All Hallows!
This year Halloween falls on a Saturday so that seems like a good excuse to push the boat out a bit. We’re not giving too much away at this stage but, I can say that there will be an extension, there will be a fancy dress disco with Pete Mitchell with (good) prizes up for grabs and there will be entertainment from “The Mindboggler”.
Dinner Dance 2010
Following discussions with the Main Committee and the Entertainments Committee, it has been agreed to try out a minor change at Dinner Dance next year, in response to a suggestion received.
The disco will remain, as in previous years, but the band and the comedy act will be removed and the money used to pay for a full dance band of around 20 musicians playing from 9-11pm.
Online message boards
Did you know that we now have our very own online message board / forum? Well, we do.
I think this could be a real asset if we all start to use it. You can use the service to:
Receive communication from the Committees and give them your views
Find out about entertainment
Get the results of Club sports and games
Make announcements (birth, marriages and deaths)
Advertise items for sale (FREE!)
Advertise your business (FREE!)
Have a general chat with friends about anything you like – it’s not all Club related!
There are two ways to access the boards. Either click on the link from the Club’s website or enter
http://mudefordmens.proboards.com/
into THE ADDRESS BAR of your browser (the address bar is usually at the very top left of the screen – don’t type it into a Google search bar!)
Your letters and emails
Here’s a letter from Denise Hayes to the Chancellor (despite threats, daughter Julia Brolan hasn’t yet sent in her smutty rhymes!)
That’s £10 of drinks at the bar for Denise and a pint each for Ray Watson and Brian Jerrard (see Marrow Competition) for their contributions.
“Dear Mr. Darling,
Please find below my suggestion for fixing Britain's economy. Instead of giving billions of pounds to banks that will squander the money on lavish parties and unearned bonuses, use the following plan. You can call it the Patriotic Retirement Plan:
There are about 20 million people over 50 in the work force. Pay them £1 million apiece severance for early retirement with the following stipulations:
1) They MUST retire. Twenty million job openings - unemployment fixed.
2) They MUST buy a new British CAR. Twenty million cars ordered - auto industry fixed.
3) They MUST either buy a house or pay off their mortgage - housing Crisis fixed.
4) They must send their kids to school / college / university - crime rate fixed
5) Buy £50 of alcohol / tobacco a week - there's your money back in duty / tax etc.
It can't get any easier than that!
P.S. If more money is needed, have all members of parliament pay back their falsely claimed expenses and second home allowances.”
And from Ray Watson …
Ray sent in a “fascinating” article all about WD40. Unfortunately, it took up 2½ pages which would cause the Committee some distress when they saw the photocopying bill, so here’s a heavily edited version …
Q) Before you read to the end, does anybody know what the main ingredient of WD-40 is?
The product was created in 1953 in a search for a rust preventative solvent and degreaser (water displacement compound) to protect missile parts. They were successful at the 40th attempt – hence “WD40.”
Some of the 43 uses listed by Ray include:
1. Cleans and lubricates guitar strings.
2. Keeps flies off cows.
3. Removes lipstick stains.
4. Loosens stubborn zips.
5. Untangles jewellery chains.
6. Removes tomato stains from clothing.
7. Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors.
8. Keeps bathroom mirror from fogging.
9. Lubricates prosthetic limbs.
10. Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell).
11. Removes all traces of duct tape.
12. Spray on relief for arthritis pain.
13. WD-40 attracts fish. Spray a little on live bait or lures and you’ll be catching the big ones.
14. Removing crayon from walls. Spray on the mark and wipe with a clean rag.
A) The basic ingredient is FISH OIL.
Coming soon …
Marrow comp – Sunday 6th September
Regular prize winner in our own Marrow Comp – Brian Jerrard – kindly sent in a newspaper clipping from the 27 September 1983 issue of the Echo. Under the imaginative headline “John grows a massive pumpkin” it features Southbourne Ex-Servicemen’s Club member John Sellick and his pumpkin which weighed in at 271¾lbs a mere 227lbs heavier than our winner last year.
So, come on MMC, they may have won the Frank Sellick Trophy this year but let’s see if someone can beat that pumpkin! And going by last year’s entries, it won’t be Denis Webb!
Ladies night – Wednesday 9th Sept.
(To be confirmed)
Not 100% definite yet but it looks very much like a trip to the Pavilion to see That’ll Be The Day. See the notice board for further details.
Club BBQ?
Again, not confirmed but keep an eye out for a possible barbecue or hog roast (at the rear of the Club, with the car park partially closed off) sometime this summer.
Stop press …
Card players will be familiar with “one-eyed jacks” but it seems to me that “one-eyed Gordons” are rather more common.
Think about it, our great leader, Mr. Brown is famously one-eyed after a rugby injury (but being a politician he has two faces and so the total remains as one would expect).
Goal keeping legend Gordon Banks famously lost the use of an eye when his car crashed into a ditch.
No surprise then that Gordon Nash should spend many hours wandering around the Club last Friday, complaining to anyone who’d listen about the sudden deterioration of his vision in one eye. Alas, such was the degree of deterioration that he was the only one who couldn’t spot the fact that he had a lens missing from his specs!
Contact Newslink
Write to Newslink via the Club.
E-mail via the Club web site. Or call Rich Leyshon on xxxxxxxxxxxx.
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