‘FOR LOVE OF A MERMAID – GEOFFREY’S QUEST’ – A caption to a randomly chosen picture!



All his life Geoffrey wanted to meet and fall in love with a Mermaid. As a small child he was drawn to the legend that if one should kiss a Mermaid then she would become whole.  And so it was that for as long as he could remember he dreamed, wrote sonnets and bored his friends shitless talking about Mermaids. 

So then, when on a wild autumnal morning good fortune smiled and he did eventually stumble across one, the only thought in his head was, ‘My God no; this is so wrong!’ He stopped dead in his tracks and thought this thing through some more.  You see, Geoffrey had always supposed – on the basis of the pictures in his childhood books – that the top half would be ‘all woman’ not, as appeared to be the case here, ‘all fish.’  His train of thought now racing at a pace of knots he pondered over the point, ‘Should I kiss her?’  After a good deal of dithering he eventually decided that a ‘kiss’ may not be sound idea.  In all likelihood he reasoned, ‘I might end up with a bloody great fish!’  Obviously, with romance in mind, that would never do.  Geoffrey trudged off home a disappointed man.

Later that day, down the pub, his Australian mate Nobby pointed out that, ‘Whichever way you look at it mate, you got it right when you said, ‘Wrong!’ 


Shirley backed herself to win this one and has told me that this is too long to have the right to be called a ‘caption!’

MOTHER CROW’S PROTEST – Another piece of ‘silly’ verse for the grandchildren!




It’s midnight in the forest,

A full moon shines down bright,

The trees begin to whisper,

“Let’s sing a song tonight.”


“Let’s sing an old sea shanty,”

Said the ancient tall Oak tree,

“Or perhaps a lullaby,

I know one, let me see.”


But all the Elm’s protested,

“We want some rock & roll,”

“OK then,” replied the Oak,

“Yet my preference would be soul.”


“I’ll have none of this,” Mum Crow said,

“I’ve just got the kids to bed,

You’ll wake them, and what’s more,

Put a tune inside my head.”


“Well can we have a rustle then?”

The conifers politely asked,

“No peace and quiet is what I want,

Mum Crow said of this task.


As one the trees all shouted,

“Well you crows squawk all day,

We never get a wink of sleep,

You do it June till May.”


“But crows can’t help their squawking,

God made them just this way,

And trees are meant to be silent,

And never have their say.”


“What a cheek,” said Willow,

“We let you build your nest,

Amongst our tallest branches,

Our finest and our best.”


With that the wise old Owl,

Appeared as in a dream,

“Will you lot all shut up now,

You disrupt this wondrous scene.


We only get a full moon,

Once upon a month,

And you lot are quite literally,

Giving me the hump.


 Let’s be at one with nature,

Let crows have the odd squawk,

Let trees rustle in the wind,

And no one gets to talk!”





We are sat around the kitchen table in a little cottage in South Devon playing Scrabble with Shirley’s mad, yet oddly adorable Aunty Ida. A rotund old dear who no longer has a lap to speak of!   Even though she is no academic, Ida plays scrabble a lot and invariably wins I was told before the game kicked off.  ‘Piffle’ I thought to myself, ‘I’ll beat her hands down!’

Ida plays her tiles first.  The word is ‘BEX.’  Dumfounded I politely ask what that word means.  “BEX as in Bex Bissel, the hand held carpet cleaner.”  I want to tell her that that word is, if sticking strictly to the rules, not allowed.  Still, it was just her first go!  I decide to let the matter drop.  When next her turn comes she lays upon the board, ‘TAVI.’ I am perplexed. “What pray does ‘TAVI’ mean?”  “Short for TAVISTOCK she responds!”  Shirley senses the red mist rising within me and kicks (a little harder than necessary I felt) me under the table thus stopping my proposed rant in its tracks!

The game carries on thus until nearly all the tiles are used up.  Aunty Ida has established by this time an unassailable lead.  On the inside I am fuming.  Then she plays what can only be described as the ‘clincher.’   ‘KENWOOD!’  “No, I am not having it; not on a seven letter word.  This is wrong.  What the bloody hell are you going to tell me ‘KENWOOD’ stands for?”  “KENWOOD CHEF FOOD BLENDER,” she says, as if I am stupid and should have known that all along, in that charming West Country drawl.  Ida departs saying, “Well better luck next time!”  Murder is on my mind I can tell you.

After she has gone home – I didn’t feel inclined to give her a lift – Shirl and I run through a post-match analysis of what went wrong.  “The thing is,” said my wife, “She has no idea she was cheating; it’s just the way she plays!” then adds, “It’s only a game!”




‘Tis the occasion of the Last Supper and with Mary (sweet Mary) at his side JC asks, “Would you think the less of me if I slipped you one?”  Mary just smiles her gorgeous smile he knows so well.  JC takes that as a good sign, and under the table slips her a Mentos – the thing is he didn’t want to share the whole packet with the others and was concerned that her breath was ‘chucking up’ a bit what with all the garlic in the goat vindaloo she’d just gobbled down!

HARRY’S GUARDIAN ANGEL – A caption from a randomly selected picture!



Harry was so grateful to have a guardian angel.  He felt as safe as houses everywhere he went – no matter how precarious the venue!  However, this early morn, fast asleep with his head nestled gently in her lap he has no idea that, just last night his angel had been on the ‘raz’ with all the other angels.  A bucket of shots and a vindaloo inside her; her tummy rumbling something awful, she takes a furtive glance away from poor Harry and prepares to slip out a silent one.  She knows, in her heart of hearts this one may stink something awful!  She prays so hard that Harry doesn’t notice, or even worse takes a tumble as she daren’t risk moving a f**king inch right now!  


A stab at a difficult one she chose for me today!




BREAKING NEWS FROM ‘THE WASHINGTON DAILY DRIVEL’ – the paper that is the voice of the common man!

After days of speculation former secretarial aid to none other than President Barrack Obama, Monika Surname sat, tearful before the cameras at a hastily put together press conference in Washington DC. There she made public what had, up to now, only been the subject of supposedly malicious rumour, namely that the President has a ‘listening to the female orgasm’ fetish.

Under a flurry of flashing camera lights, reporters from all over the globe listened intently as Monika, tissues at the ready, sobbed throughout as she plainly struggled to explain exactly what she knew and moreover why she was now ready to speak out.   Ms Surname stated that, “When the news broke that the President had been – with the aid of government agencies and at the taxpayer’s expense – scouring the planet covertly seeking out recordings of the orgasms of high profile women, some, like Angela Merkel, leaders of nations we are allied to I felt I could no longer keep my mouth shut.” She went on to add, “It is all so very wrong and I regret now that I didn’t come (so to speak) out with all this ages ago.”

Following a brief ‘time-out’ to recover some semblance of composure, Ms Surname continued, “During my time working with the President he had, for example, sent me home with a CD copy of the Jane Birkin and Serge Gainsbourg song ‘Je t’aime… moi non plus”, a song which achieved notoriety for its salacious lyrics with a backing of ecstatic female moaning, culminating in an apparent orgasm at the song’s finale.  I feel shamed that I adhered to his requests and freely admit that I was eventually able to perform a fine rendition of the song even though he wouldn’t allow me to use a backing track with the music on it.  Regularly, he had me sit under his desk in the Oval office and perform – the same desk in point of fact that another Monika once sat under when being seduced by a previous Democrat President!  From my vantage point let me just say that I can confirm Mr President really did ‘get off’ listening to me thus whilst multi-tasking, signing off documents and such like. Over time I tired of this and threatened him with a gagging order.  This most probably was a silly thing to do on my part as he picked up the ‘gagging’ part of what I had said and made me use a gag thereafter.  Personally I didn’t think this added anything to my rendition although he plainly preferred it that way!”  Finally, and clearly suffering from the strain of it all Ms Surname added, “I understand that through the auspices of the White House a tape was made of Trudie Styler yet the President was none too happy about it as the recording went on too long for his personal taste.”

Our sources can confirm that Monika Surname did indeed once hold a secretarial position on the President’s staff and presently is in a legal battle with the government over compensation in respect of her dismissal earlier this year.

We did try to speak with Michelle Obama in order to get her take on this chain of events although neither she nor her representatives were available to comment in depth.  Personal friend and mentor to Michelle, Valerie Penthouseburger, however, was prepared to pitch in, saying, “Hey, some people have a foot fetish; some even a limbless one.  What’s the big deal?”

Given the furore over America ‘listening in’ currently receiving so much press this new information certainly provides a different slant on the whole issue.  Could this revelation be the real reason this great nation of ours has been, ‘listening in?’  Conspiracy theorists will be having a field day!

WHAT ‘HARDELOT’ MEANS TO AN ENGLISHMAN IN FRANCE – observations from a recent trip!


  • I forgot to get a newspaper. This meant I was bored rigid just sat in the car on the 35 minute train journey with Eurotunnel. Then I spotted a regular house fly flitting about the carriage. I wondered if it had got on board in Calais or in Folkestone – whether it was an English fly (Hector perhaps) or a French one (more than likely a Jean-Paul) – perhaps even an illegal (say, Dumitru from Romania). Or, thinking on, if this was its first journey or was it planning on the return trip. Say it was Jean-Paul not realising he had travelled under Le Manche (as he would know the English Channel) and he got out at the UK end. More than probable his family would never see him again. Maybe it could be a ‘stateless’ fly – born and bred on the train. What ‘fly rights’ could a stateless fly have in the dimension of ‘flydom? Questions, questions – will they never cease to plague me thus!
  • When in France we visited a town by the sea called HARDELOT. I asked Shirley if she thought it should be twinned with the UK town FELTHAM near STAINES which sounds more like a nasty habit than it does town names no less – not that they have much in common as Feltham is a tip and Hardelot is rather grand. Also, I pondered the point as to whether or not HARDELOT had a ‘camera club.’ If so I bet members of similar clubs from towns nearby would take the piss out of the Hardelot boys! Yet I bet when new photographic model Svetlana showed up she could be forgiven for assuming the worst then pleasantly surprised when she got to keep her kit on as invariably the HARDELOT boys prefer floral sessions giving them the opportunity to play with their wide-angled lenses.
  • You may not believe it but this is 100% true. A really scruffy, ‘chucking up’ more than a little street beggar in Le Touquet (this couldn’t, I am sure, happen anywhere else on the planet) asked me for my spare change whilst swigging from a bottle of Bollinger Champagne. I wanted to take a picture but Shirley wouldn’t let me – she never really explained why.
  • There is a village not far from the city of Lille named ‘Tourette’ – I swore rather a lot when driving through it for reasons I cannot explain.
  • Whilst sat in the kitchen of the house we were renting Shirley said, “How do I defrag a tablet?” Wow, how the English language has evolved. To me it sounded like she wanted to tell off an aspirin!
  • Also, at the Inter-Mache, in the check-out queue, there were loads of people lashed up with full trollies of stuff. Seeing a French bloke with just a single packet of cling film I indicated that he could go ahead of me. He looked totally bemused and from his body-language clearly thought I was ‘joshing’ him and therefore didn’t take up my kind offer. Then I remembered they don’t do much in the way of queuing in France – he most probably thought I was a gay bloke making advances! 
  • BONUS POINT – Over the years I’ve noticed that, in general, women in France seem to like themselves and are very confident – certainly more so than the UK. I started thinking as to ‘why?’ Shirley is of the view that blokes are better mannered toward women there. Probably true! The thing is, Shirley purchased a great big chunk of horsemeat salami and her breath stunk of garlic for the next 48 hours – and I mean really ‘knock you over with a single breathe’ form of foul odour. In my well-mannered English way I told that she was stinking the f**king place out! That dented her confidence a bit and she walked around with her hand over her mouth not liking herself much for the rest of our stay in France!




IKEA, anxious to branch out and expand their business model, decide to take on the dating agencies by introducing a range of flat-packed humans! This week’s ‘Buy One Get One Free’ offers the possibility of ‘Mix and Match’ – meaning there’s something for virtually everyone when seeking out their perfect partner!


Well Shirley nearly did me with this one – hope I got it right!