Play me Old King Cole
That I may join with you
All your hearts now seem so far from me
It hardly seems to matter now
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weâ've lost the broken pieces
so canât fix the pot no more
weâve tried to stick some together
but itâs lost that inner core
when once we sang a merry tune
now the gaps donât wet our whistle
we thought we had âforever glueâ
but it got worn down by the weather?
[well I am tryin me best under extremely difficult conditions?]
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Sometimes things are gone
And there is nowhere to go
Just get a Sur ron
And become a so and so.
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once there used to be many knights
and the odd wench or two [very odd]
weâd sit around and flash our swords
and topple a few crowns
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In nights of old
When nights were cold
And toilets werenât invented
Youâd wipe your arse
On a piece of grass
And the you were contented
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OK in the raw spirit of our founder letâs keep the stories goin?
I was watchin a doco of the life and times of Nat King Cole - what a man - so well respected in his genre and supported by great composers and arrangments. But never had a cigarette out of his mouth?
He was adored by the rest of the top singers of the day ; Ella F ; Sammy D ; Frankie S etc etc - but he had his problems - particularly with the southern states who gave him a hard time. He also at a later stage cheated on his wife several times i believe and finally succombed to cancer from his smoking. His wife was abroad at the times and came back to support him but her final comment was " if he survived the treatment she wouldnât be staying but if he didnât she would honour his death and funeral.
this is my all time favorite:
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That reminds me. A decade or so ago I was in a local jewellery shop with my Lovely Cousin, for what reason I can no longer remember.
Anyway, there was a couple with a young lad of perhaps four or five years old. Whilst the Mum was at the counter, and to keep the little lad ockie-pied, the Dad began to sing that very song about roasting yer nuts on a fire. Everyone in the shop stopped for a moment to listen a-cause the chap had a most excellent singists voice.
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In days of old,
When Knights were bold,
And toilets werenât invented.
They dug a hole in the middle of the road,
And sat there quite contented.
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Now I see, that is where the term âPot Holeâ originated.
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Sound work lads, there is a nice gentle flow of scribbles running through this thread, makes for pleasant reading, glad to see Gummy is keeping âAbreastâ of things in another section, yeh just canât keep a good breast man down can yeh. 
Well the Grand National, the greatest horse race in the World in my opinion is done and dusted, I had no luck in the race as usual but I know a nice fella who should have been on the 50/1 winner âNoble Yeatsâ
Nat King Cole, God be good to him, reminded me of RJâs tale (at least I think it was RJ.) about a chess convention in London back in the 80âs.
They had gathered in the foyer while their bookings were being sorted out, as you can imagine the talk was all about the game of chess.
A man, who was not part on the group went in to register and when he seen the gathered noisy crowd he asked the porter was was going on.
âNothing much Sir, just chess nuts boasting in an open foyerâ
Remember this from sixty six?
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Nice one Jem, I will store that one for a few years, then wheel it out when context is right. 
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Jem good to read ya - but if ya gonna tell us about the winner of the big race at least a few days before might help? My son usually spots those I wondered what happened to him this time? remember that young lass over here who became a great joker winning the melbourne cup a few times I wonder what happened to her? there are a few lady jockies [jockers] who follow the racers on here and I havenât seen them lately namely Mags and the Scots spider lady with her legs wandering all over the place and that lovely cigar smouldering away!! - I call them the LSâs groupies!! ; last week my doc asked me to produce some samples - on three seperate ocassions ; non- contaminated and in a pot - just try diggin some out each early morn and puttin in a small pot - have to have steady hands i can tell ya!! Then I call the transport and say âhi poo transport pleaseâ life gets hard sometimes. No spittie it is not time for mirth ?
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When I were a lad, holidays were spent visiting my paternal Grandma in Bristol, and my maternal Granny in Zumerzet.
Gradually as R Dar advanced through work, we started to spend a fortnight in a B & B each summer, usually in the West Country. Eventually R Mar booked us into a farm in Cornwall on the Lizard penisular, and it was fandabidozy. So much so that we went every year for how long I canât remember.
Bed, breakfast, evening meal, clotted cream fresh from kitchen, milk fresh from the milking parlour across the lane. Local fish and meat, home grown wedgibles. We always put on weight when we stayed there.
R Mar was from farming stock, so we werenât completely iggorent townies when it came to things agoricultiral.
I got to drive the tractor, pronounced track-er, shovelled dung then went much spreading with a fantastic machine that produced a 20m fan of the stuff out the back as the liquid moo-poo was spread as it was pumped through a propeller. The sh1t really did hit the fan.
Thankfully, Farmer very sensibly checked the wind direction afore we started.
I watched farrowing pigs giving birth, and on one memorable occasion, helped a cow to produce twin calves. This involved Farmer tying a rope around the calfâs hooves whilst still inside the mother, then four of us heaved on said rope until the young-uns popped out.
At some point, Farmerâs young old son wandered up. Well he must have seen aminals pulled out of all sorts of places such as hedges and ditches etcetera because he said, âSilly calf. Howâd ee get in there?â then wandered off again.
My big brother and I were allowed to go ratting with our airguns. Later when we were older and licenced, we were allowed to take our scatter-guns.
Farmer bought one himself, but couldnât hit anything with it. I had a go and brought back a wascally wabbit about half an hour later. There was nothing wrong with the gun.
Farmer had all sorts of farm related stories including one about a problem with the local telephone exchange. If someone dialled any number with a 9 in it, it went straight through to the emergency operator.
âEmergency, which service please?â
âArtificial insemination moi dear.â
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wot a fffffffffffâŠippin lifestyle - zumerzet royalty heh- kids of the manor - no bows and arrows then??
comin home must have felt depressin?? - sounds like Five go to treasure zummezet!!
we went to chester once and stayed in a caravan - but we kept lookin around for a toilet then we nearly fell down into it - a hole in the ground with planks across it. butlins holiday camps and cheap boarding houses - but there was still the excitement of leaving home for a while and at least doin summat different!!
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Oh, we started with bows and arrows and crossbows when we lived in a modest semi in a small Lincolnshire village. All kids stuff to start with. Rubber suckers on the ends of the arrows and all that.
Then we progressed to air pistols and air rifles after we moved to Doncaster, which is around the point where we started gong to this particular farm in Cornwall.
I got a hunting crossbow when I was an apprenti living in a hostel, then after a few more years my brother and I separately got our shotgun licences. I probably went on holiday to the same place for about a dozen years, but my parents kept going until they were in their eighties, so just over thirty years in total.
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wow that was a tale of consistencies - as it often was in the âolden daysâ when people werenât buzzing around flying off to exotic places and sorta deserting the old country and the home resort industry. However that could also be brutal in its own way heh. but I am sure there are more good tales than bad. we just all seemed to want to spread our wings see more of the world and jet about? and so other countries like spain and portugal benefitted from our holiday trades and many more countries so wealth was getting spread about the world more I guess?? but uk could be the loser. did the uk holiday industry ever recover from all those changes?
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Folks liked âPackagesâ coz they didnât want to plan or think. 
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the old boarding houses of the '80âs - very good descriptions of them and their various inhabitants in âKingdom by the Seaâ by Paul Theroux - father of the other wacko who tries to make docos around the world!!
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Old as the world, one wacko earning a crust off the back of other wackoâs, âthatâs entertainmentâ
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brave new worlds - through the wormhole - turning normal brains into savant thinking brains to identify enemy weaponry on the ground allowing drones to attack and destroy - the new neural warfares game - and get this one once converted it is permanent?
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