I was walking the pooches along our deserted beach,late in the evening.
It was dark,peaceful,silent…ok…boring - BUT - with a silent sound that was cacophonous in it’s non-existent resonance,a spaceship landed right beside me! “Good Heavens”,I thought,“not an everyday experience. Mayhap I’ll finally be able to answer the vox populi,clamouring it’s voracious need to know if there are interesting aliens populating distant galaxies!” [a question we all hope for an answer to]
But the night held naught but disappointment-for,as I waited expectantly,with bated breath,I met…
Howya Pug.
My old Granny, God be good to her, used to say that you can tell a lot about a man by the way he walks, it’s not something that I ever studied as I’m not really interested in how men walk, that’s their own business, there are different men in all walks of life with all sorts of different walks, there are those who walk with a wiggle, there are those who take long steps, short steps like Hercules Poirot, you can tell a horseman like the poet said “‘O’er the hills and down the road came a man who’s legs were bowed”
Then you have the tight arses, as this 17th century poet noted “His farts let off a horrible hum, so he chose to walk with a clenched bum” a clenched bum is an angry bum so beware of those with anger in their bums.
My own walk is completely natural, nothing quirky or kinky in that department, but I can do a good impression of the John Wayne walk when I have a few jars on me., much requested by the lounge ladies on a Saturday night.
I remember Karen and Susan, Karen sold her favours to lads, much to the disdain of her friend Susan, who was promiscuous FOC. When Susan saw the trappings of Suckcess, Cars, Clothes, Holidays, it was only a matter of time till Susan turned “Pro”.
Years ago If you called a girl a Pro you’d get a smack in the mouth, and rightly so, it was short for a prostitute, now the word means something completely different, a professional, good at what they do, though I suppose some prostitutes are experts in their own field too, They even have a Mac Pro computer.
A gay man was called a Bummer here back in the 1950’s, and a loose woman ‘a wagon’, wagon is still used a bit today but the meaning is harmless, it means the person is a joker, a messer, not to be taken seriously, I’m a bit of an old wagon meself, so’s the wife. There’s a thought, would you call a jokey Nun a covered wagon?
“Three wheels on my wagon and I’m still rolling along
The cherokee are after me
But I’m singing a happy song
Hickidy hockidy hickidy high
Us pioneers, we never say die
Half a mile up the road there’s a hidden bend
And we can watch those Cheokee go galloping by”
The local Undertakers seem to be one of the only High Street Businesses that are thriving, in this current economic climate, so, I am thinking of setting up shop as one, I already have my slogan "Once They’re gone, They are gone.
No that wasn’t him Gummy, I think that was some other Dick. Dicks, Vans, and Dykes are ten a penny in Holland. Dick Wettington I believe that was, on account of his finger being in the dyke for so long. The Dick RJ is talking about was in that Hitchcock thriller “Dyko” I believe he played a Dykopath Taxidermist who stuffed his Mother and hid her in the fruit cellar along with all the other pickled old fruits, should have hid her here and she’d never be found.
You’ll have to excuse my voice as I have a very heavy cold on me and I can’t pronounce me words properly.
“Once they’re gone they’re gone” They sure are Spitty
Well,they are unless they return as lactose-intolerant,vegetarian,tree-hugging,nuclear-protesting,equality-insistent,gay-pride-marching,badger-saving zombies,who insist on knitting their own cutlery and holding activity groups to discuss the the headline-wording of the next leaflet campaign regarding the rights of dandelions not to be considered as weeds…
Funny you should mention Dandelions Pug, I’m sitting here in the shed looking out the window and the Dandelions are sprouting up all over the place, when the missus sees them it will be off with their heads like a light. I’m sure there must be a good use for them, these Islands are awash with them for the best part of the year, surely that white milky stuff inside them has to be good for something besides rubbing it on warts. I think they are a pretty little plant, anyway who decides whether a plant is a weed or not, look at the beautiful little Daisy for example, condemned to be decapitated as soon as it raises it’s pretty little head, may God forgive them is all I can say.
While we’re at it what about the rights of the crimson bottomed bee? I haven’t see a genuine red arse since I was a teenager, have they become extinct? Surely they have as much right to live as any other creature. Save the crimson bottomed bee I say, perhaps some kinky politician who goes in for spanking could patron the cause.;-)
Kent, I like Kent, the Market Garden of England, East, and West Sussex, they just roll off the tongue, Hertfordshire, Berkshire, easy peasy, but, that other county, Su…Sur…Surr…Surrey Seems to be the hardest Word.
They even have a Mac Pro computer.
