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Do Not Read If Easily Upset


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Just heard from a mate of mine who went to the Lake District for a couple of days Pike Fishing. He has a campervan so lodgings aren?t a problem. Anyway, he decided to take his little Jack Russel dog with him. He said that he had a great time, I think he went on Grasmere Lake and had over a dozen Pike to twenty pounds.


As you can imagine, he was full of it, and couldn?t wait to get the photo?s developed. He set off for home about 5.a.m. in the morning so that he wouldn?t get caught up in traffic, and he would be in plenty of time for work.


When he got home at about 6.30.a.m. his wife met him in the drive as he drew up. How did it go? she asked. And did the dog get plenty of exercise? And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. He had forgotten all about the dog and left it up the Lakes.


His wife went spare with him, you could hear her screaming and shouting at him from around the corner. They phoned the police station at Penrith, to see if the dog had been found. It hadn?t been seen but the police said they would keep an eye open for it. To make matters worse, the dog needed regular life saveing medical attention from the vet.


My mate and his wife drove all the way back to the Lakes to see if they could find it, but they couldn?t. They put some posters up in a few shop windows, and left their address and phone number with the local police. In one last hope they decided to stay overnight incase it turned up, but sadly it didn?t. They drove all the way back home in stoney silence. But Guess what was sat on the doorstep waiting for them when they got home?
























Two pints of milk.

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Sorry you didn't get it mate. I will now go outside in the nuddy and get the wife to beat me with a sprig of Holly as punishment. I will stay outside until tomorrow dinnertime. And if I freeze to death, it will be all your fault.


The nuns used to charge good money for that kind of service I can tell you.


[ 23.12.2007, 14:40: Message edited by: Wingnut ]

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Reet then Steve lad. I've decided to let you off this time. I'll come inside and get warm by the fire. Eeeehh, you had a reet lucky escape them milad.


An I'll tell thee summat else for nowt anall:


It can be proved algebraically that women are evil



women take up time and money, which you can express as


women = time x money


but it's well known that "time is money" hence


women = money x money


i.e. women = (money)^2


But "money is the root of all evil"


i.e. money = sqrt(evil) so money^2 = {sqrt(evil)}^2


hence (money)^2 = evil




women = evil



Who'd ave thunked that then eh?


[ 23.12.2007, 20:46: Message edited by: Wingnut ]

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It looks like I?ll be getting two jumps at the pantry door for me Christmas dinner.


I said I?d meet me granny at Lilly Turners house this afternoon, and we could go t market for our Christmas Turkey. I knew I should have gone earlier cos when I got there, she was as drunk as a fiddlers bitch, sprawled full tilt on the hand sewn rag rug. I forced half a lemon down her throat. Get it down yer neck woman and stop gagging, it?ll do yer good, Lilly told her.


After half an hour of projectile vomiting the colour slowly came back to her face, and we set off for the market. Somebody suggested it would be quicker if I took her in a Donegaul taxi, so I got the old wooden wheelbarrow from the coal shed and loaded her up. I refuse to use the buzz?s. ?1.40 they want to embezzle out of me for a short buz ride into town. It only used to be tuppence. And I could always find the odd tanner or frippeny bit which somebody had dropped in the used ticket box.


Half way down Dallam Lane, I saw Norma Snipples and her boyfriend Snotty Oliver having a pavement debate, being Christmas Eve, they were three sheets to the wind. Snotty spotted me and said, ehup Wingnut, where yer goin with that bundle of old rags? Don?t yer know the rag yards shut till Thursday?


That was it. Snotty Oliver had insulted me poor owld granny. Ave im Wingnut! slurred me granny. Me eyes glazed over and I grabbed hold of Norma Snipples and threw her over the wall which used to be the owld railway sidings. Me granny was sat on Snottys shoulders doing her best to pull his wig off. Snotty had certainly met his match with me granny I can tell yer.


I broke me heart crying as I told me granny that it was now too late to get a turkey as everywhere would be closed. Never mind Wingnut she said, Yer granddads gone poaching we his ferrets. Oh Iye, me granddad knew a thing or two about mouching allright, but that?s another story.



Thanks for putting up with my ramblings A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all




[ 24.12.2007, 22:05: Message edited by: Wingnut ]

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  • 3 weeks later...

2008 is upon us, and as I sat in the cold and hard horsehair stuffed armchair listening to the cockroaches in the gas cupboard, and watching me granny slurping tea from a saucer that she had got from Billy Bowen, one of Warrington?s last rag tatters, that?s what they were called in her day, either that or rag and bone men. I never did understand where the ?bone? part of their job description came into it. Maybe at one time they used to take corpses down to the cemetery?


How brilliant I used to think as the owld tatters rattled two saucers together leading a horse and cart down the road shouting; yagga yagga bone? It wasn?t a speech impediment, that was the call of the Tatter. Of course it wasn?t just old rags they were collecting. If you got well in with these men, you could have first pickings on any old bikes that people were getting shut of. All you had to do was to hold onto the horse, while the owld tatter nipped in the Horse & Jockey for a quick pint, before he got weighed in at the old rag yard on Winwick Road.


If you ever ventured into the rag yard early on a Saturday morning, you would often see a bloke by the name of Lofty crawling out from beneath the bundle of rags that were piled in the middle of the yard. This is where Lofty used to sleep. Hail, rain, or snow it didn?t matter. This was Lofty?s home. I can picture him now in his oily black cap and old army blouse lurching about the place. He didn?t walk, he lurched everywhere with a woodbine hanging from the corner of his mouth.


Aaah! It has just struck me that I still have a chest of drawers with glass handles that are actually threaded into each drawer. The nearest description that I can get to it is from one of Millers Antiques books, described as a servants chest of drawers from Victorian times. It still has pride of place in my house. Thank you very much Mr. Bowen, or was it Oggy Daniels?


Anyhow, I digress too much. This slurping tea out of a saucer business??? It was something practiced by the French aristocrassy. Me granny was a Lady of distinction I?ll have you know. Now if only I could work out why she sat with her hands clasped together as she twiddled and rotated her thumbs 50 times in a clockwise direction, and then 50 times in an anti- clockwise direction???maybe it was just just to even thing up and make it feel right.



If you are interested in how people lived and managed in the 1800?s, then there is a new costume drama starting this Sunday on BBC. ( Larkrise to Candleford). Or just Candleford I?m not sure which. This was at a time before nervous complaints were invented. The only food they had was what they grew, bartered for, or could catch. A bit like me granny really.


[ 10.01.2008, 10:41: Message edited by: Wingnut ]

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