The three R's to Windows tech support: Restart, Reboot amd Reinstall
Hardware: the parts of a computer that can be kicked!
RAM disk is NOT an installation procedure!
1f u c4n r34d th1s u r34lly n33d t0 g37 l41d!
There are 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary, and those who don't.
What boots up must come down.
I tried setting my Hotmail password to "penis". It said that my password wasn't long enough.
Crap! Someone knocked over my recycle bin. There are icons all over my desktop!
MACINTOSH stands for Most Applications Crash. If Not, The Operating System Hangs!
I haven't lost my mind; it's backed up on tape somewhere.
ASCII stupid question, get a stupid ANSI.
People who deal with bits should expect to get bitten.
How do I set my laser printer to "stun"?
Error: problem exists between keyboard and chair!
If brute force doesn't solve your problems, you're not using enough!
The world is coming to an end - please log off!
It works! Now, if only I could remember what I did!
If a train station is where the train stops, what's a work station?
A life? Cool! Where can I download one of those?
To err is human, but to really foul things up requires a computer!
The only problem with troubleshooting is that sometimes trouble shoots back!
Thursday, 9 June 2011
Monday, 23 May 2011
Three Classic Poems
A Strange Wild Song
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"
He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"
Lewis Carroll
The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
J Milton Hayes
Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death
Matilda told such dreadful lies,
It made one gasp and stretch one's eyes;
Her aunt, who, from her earliest youth,
Had kept a strict regard for truth,
Attempted to believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not she
Discovered this infirmity.
For once, towards the close of day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the telephone
And summoned the immediate aid
Of London's noble fire-brigade.
Within an hour the gallant band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With courage high and hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British cheers and loud
Proceeding from the frenzied crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the ballroom floor;
And took peculiar pains to souse
The pictures up and down the house,
Until Matilda's aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the men to go away,
It happened that a few weeks later
Her aunt was off to the theatre
To see that interesting play
"The Second Mrs. Tanqueray".
She had refused to take her niece
To hear this entertaining piece:
A deprivation just and wise
To punish her for telling lies.
That night a fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda shout!
You should have heard her scream and bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To people passing in the street--
(The rapidly increasing heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidnce) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little liar!'
And therefore when her aunt returned,
Matilda, and the house, were burned.
Hilaire Belloc
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"
He thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"
Lewis Carroll
The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.
He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.
He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.
On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.
He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.
He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.
She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.
When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.
His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.
J Milton Hayes
Matilda Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death
Matilda told such dreadful lies,
It made one gasp and stretch one's eyes;
Her aunt, who, from her earliest youth,
Had kept a strict regard for truth,
Attempted to believe Matilda:
The effort very nearly killed her,
And would have done so, had not she
Discovered this infirmity.
For once, towards the close of day,
Matilda, growing tired of play,
And finding she was left alone,
Went tiptoe to the telephone
And summoned the immediate aid
Of London's noble fire-brigade.
Within an hour the gallant band
Were pouring in on every hand,
From Putney, Hackney Downs, and Bow.
With courage high and hearts a-glow,
They galloped, roaring through the town,
'Matilda's House is Burning Down!'
Inspired by British cheers and loud
Proceeding from the frenzied crowd,
They ran their ladders through a score
Of windows on the ballroom floor;
And took peculiar pains to souse
The pictures up and down the house,
Until Matilda's aunt succeeded
In showing them they were not needed;
And even then she had to pay
To get the men to go away,
It happened that a few weeks later
Her aunt was off to the theatre
To see that interesting play
"The Second Mrs. Tanqueray".
She had refused to take her niece
To hear this entertaining piece:
A deprivation just and wise
To punish her for telling lies.
That night a fire did break out--
You should have heard Matilda shout!
You should have heard her scream and bawl,
And throw the window up and call
To people passing in the street--
(The rapidly increasing heat
Encouraging her to obtain
Their confidnce) -- but all in vain!
For every time she shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little liar!'
And therefore when her aunt returned,
Matilda, and the house, were burned.
Hilaire Belloc
Friday, 8 April 2011
What Doesn't Kill You...
Apologies in advance for the content of this post, but I have things I need to get off my chest, and find it very difficult to vocalise my emotions, which is part of the reason I started this blog in the first place. But, where to begin? Well, I suppose I should start with an admission.
I have suffered from depression for most of my life. Even as a child I remember feeling like I wanted to just hide away from the world. I can't remember when it started - maybe it was when my dad died, but I'm inclined to think it started before that. My God, it's quite scary to think that I may have had this problem as far back as junior school!
When I think back, I spent most play times sitting on the wall of the playground, all alone, watching the other kids play. I was alone a lot back then. And during lessons I'd sit quietly, hoping no-one would notice me. If the teacher asked the class a question, I'd never put my hand up, even if I knew the answer. God forbid! I really didn't want to give the other kids a reason to make fun of me. I learned really early how to put up invisible walls between me and the rest of the world - in other words, I retreated inside myself. Shut myself off.
I have an extremely poor self-image and fully expect to be disliked/ridiculed/derided etc by everyone I meet. Most of the time I can fake it, make people think that everything in my garden is rosy, but then it can take one tiny little thing to send me over the edge - maybe an innocent remark, taken the wrong way, or some imagined insult or slur. I react completely out of proportion to the perceived injury, and have been known to cause quite a scene, for which I am, later, absolutely mortified.
I find it really hard to ask for help when things get on top of me, as they frequently do. This is because I don't believe I deserve it, even though, if things were reversed, I'd help anyone in need. I have actually been known to give someone my last fiver, knowing that I'd never get it back, just because I felt their need was greater. Many's the time I've allowed a so-called friend to treat me as a human doormat because I thought I deserved nothing better.
But now, due to my stubborn refusal to admit that I was over-reacting, I have managed to alienate the one person in my life that means the most to me - my son. He now wants nothing more to do with me, and who could blame him? For most of his life he has had to endure my deepest depressions and been helpless to understand what was wrong with me. I'm sure that at times he even thought, wrongly, that he was to blame.
Little did he know that he was the bright and shining centre of my dark, unforgiving universe.
I'm so sorry, son, for all the pain and anguish I've caused you down the years. I'm so grateful to you for putting up with me for as long as you have - I owe you so much! I'm so glad that you have found a partner worthy of you, and that she and the kids make you so happy. I wish you well and you can always be sure that I love you all very much. Of course, you'll never read these words, but I had to put them down in black and white for my own benefit.
So I'll grieve for a while, and there will be tears, because I have no choice but to let you go. I bear you no ill will for your decision. Enjoy your life, son - live and love to the fullest. Try to forget the bad times and concentrate on the good. You have a glowing future ahead of you. Meanwhile, I'll carry on with the day-to-day business of my life and hope that you can find it in you to think of me kindly now and then.
I have suffered from depression for most of my life. Even as a child I remember feeling like I wanted to just hide away from the world. I can't remember when it started - maybe it was when my dad died, but I'm inclined to think it started before that. My God, it's quite scary to think that I may have had this problem as far back as junior school!
When I think back, I spent most play times sitting on the wall of the playground, all alone, watching the other kids play. I was alone a lot back then. And during lessons I'd sit quietly, hoping no-one would notice me. If the teacher asked the class a question, I'd never put my hand up, even if I knew the answer. God forbid! I really didn't want to give the other kids a reason to make fun of me. I learned really early how to put up invisible walls between me and the rest of the world - in other words, I retreated inside myself. Shut myself off.
I have an extremely poor self-image and fully expect to be disliked/ridiculed/derided etc by everyone I meet. Most of the time I can fake it, make people think that everything in my garden is rosy, but then it can take one tiny little thing to send me over the edge - maybe an innocent remark, taken the wrong way, or some imagined insult or slur. I react completely out of proportion to the perceived injury, and have been known to cause quite a scene, for which I am, later, absolutely mortified.
I find it really hard to ask for help when things get on top of me, as they frequently do. This is because I don't believe I deserve it, even though, if things were reversed, I'd help anyone in need. I have actually been known to give someone my last fiver, knowing that I'd never get it back, just because I felt their need was greater. Many's the time I've allowed a so-called friend to treat me as a human doormat because I thought I deserved nothing better.
But now, due to my stubborn refusal to admit that I was over-reacting, I have managed to alienate the one person in my life that means the most to me - my son. He now wants nothing more to do with me, and who could blame him? For most of his life he has had to endure my deepest depressions and been helpless to understand what was wrong with me. I'm sure that at times he even thought, wrongly, that he was to blame.
Little did he know that he was the bright and shining centre of my dark, unforgiving universe.
I'm so sorry, son, for all the pain and anguish I've caused you down the years. I'm so grateful to you for putting up with me for as long as you have - I owe you so much! I'm so glad that you have found a partner worthy of you, and that she and the kids make you so happy. I wish you well and you can always be sure that I love you all very much. Of course, you'll never read these words, but I had to put them down in black and white for my own benefit.
So I'll grieve for a while, and there will be tears, because I have no choice but to let you go. I bear you no ill will for your decision. Enjoy your life, son - live and love to the fullest. Try to forget the bad times and concentrate on the good. You have a glowing future ahead of you. Meanwhile, I'll carry on with the day-to-day business of my life and hope that you can find it in you to think of me kindly now and then.
Thursday, 24 February 2011
More Favourite Poems
My Sister Jane
And I say nothing – no, not a word
About our Jane. Haven’t you heard?
She’s a bird, a bird, a bird, a bird.
Oh it never would do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
Each day (we daren’t send her to school)
She pulls on stockings of thick blue wool
To make her pin crow legs look right,
Then fits a wig of curls on tight,
And dark spectacles – a huge pair
To cover her very crowy stare.
Oh it never would do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
When visitors come she sits upright
(With her wings and her tail tucked out of sight).
They think her queer but extremely polite.
Then when the visitors have gone
She whips out her wings and with her wig on
Whirls through the house at the height of your head –
Duck, duck, or she’ll knock you dead.
Oh it would never do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
At meals whatever she sees she’ll stab it –
Because she’s a crow and that’s a crow habit.
My mother says ‘Jane! Your manners! Please!’
Then she’ll sit quietly on the cheese,
Or play the piano nicely by dancing on the keys –
Oh it would never do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
Ted Hughes
This was another favourite of mine, growing. I think I kind of identified with Jane, being a rather diffident, shy and gangly child myself!
Here's another poem I love dearly!
From a Railway Carriage
Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!
Robert Louis Stevenson
If only I could write like that! Wonderful!!!
Cheerio friends, till next time!
Dawn x
And I say nothing – no, not a word
About our Jane. Haven’t you heard?
She’s a bird, a bird, a bird, a bird.
Oh it never would do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
Each day (we daren’t send her to school)
She pulls on stockings of thick blue wool
To make her pin crow legs look right,
Then fits a wig of curls on tight,
And dark spectacles – a huge pair
To cover her very crowy stare.
Oh it never would do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
When visitors come she sits upright
(With her wings and her tail tucked out of sight).
They think her queer but extremely polite.
Then when the visitors have gone
She whips out her wings and with her wig on
Whirls through the house at the height of your head –
Duck, duck, or she’ll knock you dead.
Oh it would never do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
At meals whatever she sees she’ll stab it –
Because she’s a crow and that’s a crow habit.
My mother says ‘Jane! Your manners! Please!’
Then she’ll sit quietly on the cheese,
Or play the piano nicely by dancing on the keys –
Oh it would never do to let folks know
My sister’s nothing but a great big crow.
Ted Hughes
This was another favourite of mine, growing. I think I kind of identified with Jane, being a rather diffident, shy and gangly child myself!
Here's another poem I love dearly!
From a Railway Carriage
Faster than fairies, faster than witches,
Bridges and houses, hedges and ditches;
And charging along like troops in a battle
All through the meadows the horses and cattle:
All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
Here is a tramp who stands and gazes;
And here is the green for stringing the daisies!
Here is a cart runaway in the road
Lumping along with man and load;
And here is a mill, and there is a river:
Each a glimpse and gone forever!
Robert Louis Stevenson
If only I could write like that! Wonderful!!!
Cheerio friends, till next time!
Dawn x
Monday, 3 January 2011
To Uncle Den - In Sympathy
Lillian Florence Barnden 1907-2010
Death is Nothing at all
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Henry Scott Holland
I didn't know your mother, Uncle, but I read your blog and wished I had. She certainly sounds like someone I would have gotten on well with.
With heartfelt sympathy and all my love to you and yours,
Dawn xxx
Death is Nothing at all
Death is nothing at all.
I have only slipped away to the next room.
I am I and you are you.
Whatever we were to each other,
That, we still are.
Call me by my old familiar name.
Speak to me in the easy way
which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed
at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word
that it always was.
Let it be spoken without effect.
Without the trace of a shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same that it ever was.
There is absolute unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind
because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you.
For an interval.
Somewhere. Very near.
Just around the corner.
All is well.
Henry Scott Holland
I didn't know your mother, Uncle, but I read your blog and wished I had. She certainly sounds like someone I would have gotten on well with.
With heartfelt sympathy and all my love to you and yours,
Dawn xxx
Sunday, 14 November 2010
Christmas Musings
There's nothing like Christmas to bring out the rhymester in me. Im fact, it's becoming a bit of a tradition. Starting with the following:
Compliments of the Season
As the yuletide season nears
I thought I'd take the time
To send a greeting to you all
And compose this little rhyme.
I've racked my brains for something new
To say that won't sound trite,
But everything's been done to death.
I just can't get it right!
Like "Wish you well on this Noel"
Or "Have a Cool Yule!"
Or "Hark! The merry yuletide bell!"
(Oh! Come on! Think, you fool!)
I guess I'll have to face the facts
It's an impossible mission.
And after all, it's Christmas time!
So why break with tradition?
To everyone who reads these lines
This wish rings loud and clear
Have a Very Merry Christmas
And the Happiest New Year!!!
Then there was the one I wrote when I was working at the fish and chip shop and working Christmas Eve:
Merry Fishmas and a Chippy New Year!
'Tis the night before Christmas, and all through the place
The fishcakes are vanishing without a trace.
The fish, the sausages, the chicken, the pies
Disappearing like magic before our eyes!
The pace is so hectic, the fryer feels frazzled
While the counter assistants are dazed and bedazzled!
The till's begun smoking - it can't take much more!
And still we've got people pouring in through the door!
The shop's full to bursting - we can't fit them all in,
And if this was a pub, we'd yell "No room at the inn!"
But the tide of humanity is now ebbing away
And all is at peace at the end of the day.
Still one thing remains for the staff here to do.
Here's our Christmas message to each one of you.
To quote C C Moore (and I hope that's alright!)
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Then three years ago, this one:
A Christmas Toast
The Christmas season is almost here.
The shops are filled with delights.
Everyone's busily wrapping up gifts
And untangling fairy lights.
But at this time of year it's nice to recall
The loved ones who matter the most.
So to all of the people who enrich my life
I'd like to raise this toast!
May your days be blessed with happiness,
Your nights with peaceful dreams,
And may you find fulfilment
And success in all your schemes!
And now, here's my latest effort!
Christmas List
Here's Santa in his workshop.
He's looking pretty p****d
'Cos some great thieving mongrel's
Gone and pinched his Christmas list!
How's he gonna know for sure
If a child's been good or bad?
And if that list doesn't show up soon,
He's gonna get quite mad!
The elves are getting nervous
As the accusations fly,
And they're on the verge of walking out!
What a catastrophe! Oh, my!
The reindeer are indignant
To be turfed out of their stable
While Santa searches frantically,
Upturning everything he's able.
Then, just as all looks hopeless
And Santa's fit to drop,
In rushes Mrs Claus saying
"I've just been to the shop,
To get some last-minute items,
And you won't guess what I've done!
I pulled out my list - and lo and behold!
I'd picked up the wrong one!"
Well, Santa stood there staring
At his wife through tears of joy!
Then with great haste he loaded up
His sleigh with every toy.
He apologised to all his friends
For his behaviour all that day
And promised that they'd find
A little extra in their pay!
So, calamity averted,
Santa sped off on his way
To deliver all the presents.
Then came home at break of day.
His missus stood there waiting
With a surprise in store -
She said "It's a technological age!
Who needs written lists any more?
I've bought us both a laptop
Yours is blue and mine is pink,
So we can tell them both apart."
She said, "Now. What do you think?"
"Oh! Clever, clever woman!"
Santa cried, "What a great idea!
I'll start a spreadsheet to keep a tab
On the chidren from year to year!"
Well, I suppose it was inevitable,
Even necessary, on the whole,
That technology would eventually
Find it's way to the North Pole!
And finally...
I hope that you've enjoyed my rhymes.
It's always been my passion
To make my readers smile, and bring some ease,
After a fashion.
And though I know it's early still
(November's not yet done)
Here's a heartfelt wish from me to you...
Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
Compliments of the Season
As the yuletide season nears
I thought I'd take the time
To send a greeting to you all
And compose this little rhyme.
I've racked my brains for something new
To say that won't sound trite,
But everything's been done to death.
I just can't get it right!
Like "Wish you well on this Noel"
Or "Have a Cool Yule!"
Or "Hark! The merry yuletide bell!"
(Oh! Come on! Think, you fool!)
I guess I'll have to face the facts
It's an impossible mission.
And after all, it's Christmas time!
So why break with tradition?
To everyone who reads these lines
This wish rings loud and clear
Have a Very Merry Christmas
And the Happiest New Year!!!
Then there was the one I wrote when I was working at the fish and chip shop and working Christmas Eve:
Merry Fishmas and a Chippy New Year!
'Tis the night before Christmas, and all through the place
The fishcakes are vanishing without a trace.
The fish, the sausages, the chicken, the pies
Disappearing like magic before our eyes!
The pace is so hectic, the fryer feels frazzled
While the counter assistants are dazed and bedazzled!
The till's begun smoking - it can't take much more!
And still we've got people pouring in through the door!
The shop's full to bursting - we can't fit them all in,
And if this was a pub, we'd yell "No room at the inn!"
But the tide of humanity is now ebbing away
And all is at peace at the end of the day.
Still one thing remains for the staff here to do.
Here's our Christmas message to each one of you.
To quote C C Moore (and I hope that's alright!)
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"
Then three years ago, this one:
A Christmas Toast
The Christmas season is almost here.
The shops are filled with delights.
Everyone's busily wrapping up gifts
And untangling fairy lights.
But at this time of year it's nice to recall
The loved ones who matter the most.
So to all of the people who enrich my life
I'd like to raise this toast!
May your days be blessed with happiness,
Your nights with peaceful dreams,
And may you find fulfilment
And success in all your schemes!
And now, here's my latest effort!
Christmas List
Here's Santa in his workshop.
He's looking pretty p****d
'Cos some great thieving mongrel's
Gone and pinched his Christmas list!
How's he gonna know for sure
If a child's been good or bad?
And if that list doesn't show up soon,
He's gonna get quite mad!
The elves are getting nervous
As the accusations fly,
And they're on the verge of walking out!
What a catastrophe! Oh, my!
The reindeer are indignant
To be turfed out of their stable
While Santa searches frantically,
Upturning everything he's able.
Then, just as all looks hopeless
And Santa's fit to drop,
In rushes Mrs Claus saying
"I've just been to the shop,
To get some last-minute items,
And you won't guess what I've done!
I pulled out my list - and lo and behold!
I'd picked up the wrong one!"
Well, Santa stood there staring
At his wife through tears of joy!
Then with great haste he loaded up
His sleigh with every toy.
He apologised to all his friends
For his behaviour all that day
And promised that they'd find
A little extra in their pay!
So, calamity averted,
Santa sped off on his way
To deliver all the presents.
Then came home at break of day.
His missus stood there waiting
With a surprise in store -
She said "It's a technological age!
Who needs written lists any more?
I've bought us both a laptop
Yours is blue and mine is pink,
So we can tell them both apart."
She said, "Now. What do you think?"
"Oh! Clever, clever woman!"
Santa cried, "What a great idea!
I'll start a spreadsheet to keep a tab
On the chidren from year to year!"
Well, I suppose it was inevitable,
Even necessary, on the whole,
That technology would eventually
Find it's way to the North Pole!
And finally...
I hope that you've enjoyed my rhymes.
It's always been my passion
To make my readers smile, and bring some ease,
After a fashion.
And though I know it's early still
(November's not yet done)
Here's a heartfelt wish from me to you...
Merry Christmas, everyone!!!
Friday, 5 November 2010
Some More of my Favourite Poems
The Lion and Albert
There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle,
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im,
And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn't know what to do next,
Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert',
And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!'
Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom -
Quite rightly, when all's said and done -
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?'
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!'
The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?'
Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert,
'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.'
Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller;
I think it's a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we've paid to come in.'
The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying 'How much to settle the matter?'
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?'
But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' -
So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told 'im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing,
'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'
Marriott Edgar
Faithless Nelly Gray
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!'
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' -- alas!
You will not be my Nell!'
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off -- of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, --
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
Thomas Hood
The Tale of Custard the Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Ogden Nash
There's a famous seaside place called Blackpool,
That's noted for fresh air and fun,
And Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom
Went there with young Albert, their son.
A grand little lad was young Albert,
All dressed in his best; quite a swell
With a stick with an 'orse's 'ead 'andle,
The finest that Woolworth's could sell.
They didn't think much of the Ocean:
The waves, they were fiddlin' and small,
There was no wrecks and nobody drownded,
Fact, nothing to laugh at at all.
So, seeking for further amusement,
They paid and went into the Zoo,
Where they'd Lions and Tigers and Camels,
And old ale and sandwiches too.
There were one great big Lion called Wallace;
His nose were all covered with scars -
He lay in a somnolent posture,
With the side of his face on the bars.
Now Albert had heard about Lions,
How they was ferocious and wild -
To see Wallace lying so peaceful,
Well, it didn't seem right to the child.
So straightway the brave little feller,
Not showing a morsel of fear,
Took his stick with its 'orse's 'ead 'andle
And pushed it in Wallace's ear.
You could see that the Lion didn't like it,
For giving a kind of a roll,
He pulled Albert inside the cage with 'im,
And swallowed the little lad 'ole.
Then Pa, who had seen the occurrence,
And didn't know what to do next,
Said 'Mother! Yon Lion's 'et Albert',
And Mother said 'Well, I am vexed!'
Then Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom -
Quite rightly, when all's said and done -
Complained to the Animal Keeper,
That the Lion had eaten their son.
The keeper was quite nice about it;
He said 'What a nasty mishap.
Are you sure that it's your boy he's eaten?'
Pa said "Am I sure? There's his cap!'
The manager had to be sent for.
He came and he said 'What's to do?'
Pa said 'Yon Lion's 'et Albert,
'And 'im in his Sunday clothes, too.'
Then Mother said, 'Right's right, young feller;
I think it's a shame and a sin,
For a lion to go and eat Albert,
And after we've paid to come in.'
The manager wanted no trouble,
He took out his purse right away,
Saying 'How much to settle the matter?'
And Pa said "What do you usually pay?'
But Mother had turned a bit awkward
When she thought where her Albert had gone.
She said 'No! someone's got to be summonsed' -
So that was decided upon.
Then off they went to the P'lice Station,
In front of the Magistrate chap;
They told 'im what happened to Albert,
And proved it by showing his cap.
The Magistrate gave his opinion
That no one was really to blame
And he said that he hoped the Ramsbottoms
Would have further sons to their name.
At that Mother got proper blazing,
'And thank you, sir, kindly,' said she.
'What waste all our lives raising children
To feed ruddy Lions? Not me!'
Marriott Edgar
Faithless Nelly Gray
Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
And used to war's alarms;
But a cannon-ball took off his legs,
So he laid down his arms.
Now as they bore him off the field,
Said he, 'Let others shoot;
For here I leave my second leg,
And the Forty-second Foot.'
The army-surgeons made him limbs:
Said he, 'They're only pegs;
But there's as wooden members quite,
As represent my legs.'
Now Ben he loved a pretty maid, --
Her name was Nelly Gray;
So he went to pay her his devours,
When he devoured his pay.
But when he called on Nelly Gray,
She made him quite a scoff;
And when she saw his wooden legs,
Began to take them off.
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!'
Is this your love so warm?
The love that loves a scarlet coat
Should be a little more uniform.
Said she, ' I loved a soldier once,
For he was blithe and brave;
But I will never have a man
With both legs in the grave
'Before you had those timber toes
Your love I did allow;
But then, you know, you stand upon
Another footing now.'
'O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
For all your jeering speeches,
At duty's call I left my legs
In Badajos's breaches.'
'Why, then,' said she, 'you've lost the feet
Of legs in war's alarms,
And now you cannot wear your shoes
Upon your feats of arms!'
'O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
I know why you refuse:
Though I've no feet, some other man
Is standing in my shoes.
'I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
But, now, a long farewell!
For you will be my death' -- alas!
You will not be my Nell!'
Now when he went from Nelly Gray
His heart so heavy got,
And life was such a burden grown,
It made him take a knot.
So round his melancholy neck
A rope he did intwine,
And, for his second time in life,
Enlisted in the Line.
One end he tied around a beam,
And then removed his pegs;
And, as his legs were off -- of course
He soon was off his legs.
And there he hung till he was dead
As any nail in town;
For, though distress had cut him up,
It could not cut him down.
A dozen men sat on his corpse,
To find out why he died, --
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads
With a stake in his inside.
Thomas Hood
The Tale of Custard the Dragon
Belinda lived in a little white house,
With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse,
And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon,
And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink,
And the little gray mouse, she called her Blink,
And the little yellow dog was sharp as Mustard,
But the dragon was a coward, and she called him Custard.
Custard the dragon had big sharp teeth,
And spikes on top of him and scales underneath,
Mouth like a fireplace, chimney for a nose,
And realio, trulio, daggers on his toes.
Belinda was as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chased lions down the stairs,
Mustard was as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Belinda tickled him, she tickled him unmerciful,
Ink, Blink and Mustard, they rudely called him Percival,
They all sat laughing in the little red wagon
At the realio, trulio, cowardly dragon.
Belinda giggled till she shook the house,
And Blink said Week!, which is giggling for a mouse,
Ink and Mustard rudely asked his age,
When Custard cried for a nice safe cage.
Suddenly, suddenly they heard a nasty sound,
And Mustard growled, and they all looked around.
Meowch! cried Ink, and Ooh! cried Belinda,
For there was a pirate, climbing in the winda.
Pistol in his left hand, pistol in his right,
And he held in his teeth a cutlass bright,
His beard was black, one leg was wood;
It was clear that the pirate meant no good.
Belinda paled, and she cried, Help! Help!
But Mustard fled with a terrified yelp,
Ink trickled down to the bottom of the household,
And little mouse Blink strategically mouseholed.
But up jumped Custard, snorting like an engine,
Clashed his tail like irons in a dungeon,
With a clatter and a clank and a jangling squirm
He went at the pirate like a robin at a worm.
The pirate gaped at Belinda's dragon,
And gulped some grog from his pocket flagon,
He fired two bullets but they didn't hit,
And Custard gobbled him, every bit.
Belinda embraced him, Mustard licked him,
No one mourned for his pirate victim
Ink and Blink in glee did gyrate
Around the dragon that ate the pyrate.
Belinda still lives in her little white house,
With her little black kitten and her little gray mouse,
And her little yellow dog and her little red wagon,
And her realio, trulio, little pet dragon.
Belinda is as brave as a barrel full of bears,
And Ink and Blink chase lions down the stairs,
Mustard is as brave as a tiger in a rage,
But Custard keeps crying for a nice safe cage.
Ogden Nash
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