Funny isn’t it, it’s very sunny and hot here today and I’m in the shed working me fingers to the bone, I look out the shed window and there’s the wife, she’s throwing the ball for the dog, but he’s not interested, she has just brought him back from the dog pampering parlour and he’s scalped. She then says to me, who’s sweating like a pig in the shed even with the fan going, “Jimmy, Rocky is not in the humour for his ball today, I think he’s too warm” I looked up at her and smiled a sarcastic smile “Well it’s a pity about him isn’t it, with his 50 quid haircut he should be grand and cool, no fear of you flinging 50 quid my way and sending me out for a few cool pints”
Wives, they just take you for granted don’t they.
Ah women - y a talking my language now - the breed with the hidden agenda - have you ever wondered why women are attracted to men - no it’s not the obvious [sex] it’s the hidden agenda - what do men first think of when they score a woman - well it’s not little bambinos is it - come lads be honest you horny bastards.
they only see one first major role - yes propagate the species and we thought that was our goal!
then their thoughts turn to carpets; curtains ; and new curlers!!
no time for pints of guiness; cigars or bourbon!! why do you think we invented the garden shed??
The elders always said to me as a boy that the women are worse that the men Gummy, took me a long time to find that out for meself.
Anyway behind it all we still love them.
I served two years in the reserve forces back in the early 1960’s, hated every day of it, although several members of the family were army types in the past, the army was certainly not for me.
I was a gunner in the 19th heavy mortar battery, we used to go off every year for two weeks to the Glen of Imaal in Wicklow to the firing range, kids is all most of us were, 16 and 17, we hadn’t a clue, it was just like a big game of soldiers with real guns. There were five of us on a mortar and one day some fella put the charges onto the shell the wrong way, the shell slid down the barrel and we all put our hands to our ears waiting for the big bang. Nothing happened! the shell just hit the bottom of the barrel and stayed there, I believe the army name for it is a misfire, the five of us made a bee line for the cover of the forest behind us, thinking the whole gun was going to blow up. Then a couple of cursing officers had the job of taking the loaded shell out again, they had a special metal pole thing for the job, (don’t ask me the army name for it, they have their own names for everything, only officers were allowed use it) sooner them than me. I remember one officer was called Cromwell and as I watched from the cover of the trees I already had the words of his epitaph written in me head.
“Here lies Harry Cromwell
Because he didn’t handle the bomb well”
More please Jem … more!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
How I miss my garden shed
A refuge indeed, like wots been said
Now there’s nowhere for me to go
To sulk , when I feel down or low
The shed is where we can let it all be shed
Shake off the mothers apron strings
Just be a man with arrow and sling
And do ya god damned best
Pick ya nose till all is clear
Fart at will from here to here
Smoke the pipe let fumes ascend
But breathe in air so don’t get the bends
Play ya music loud as hell
Want more coffee just ring the bell
Look at nudes upon the screen
Feel the urges and apply more cream!
Keep the door locked bared to all
Entry free to bards and all
But keep the feline species out
They want to fuss and clean you out
Fall asleep to blues and jazz
That’s the real razzammataz
Wake to silence it’s just bliss
Don’t even need to give a kiss!
A fine and worthy tribute to a man’s shed Gummy, God bless your pen.
God made the world in six days and he rested on the seventh. As he slept he was uneasy, he knew he had forgotten something but couldn’t think what it was, then it came to him and he got up bright and early on the eight day, went down to the bottom of his heavenly garden and built himself a shed.
So all you lads with sheds remember this, God didn’t forget us for long and one could even say the man’s shed is the eight wonder of the world, treasure it fellas for it could be our last bastion of peace and solitude.:-)
CREEPER!..yes-that’s what I endure,
in the shed I refer to as ‘mine’.
Because Yes,Dear decided it looked not quite right
and along the walls put Russian Vine.
Now,I have no problem with plants,let them be,
no matter their colour or type;
but this Russian Vine is a pain in the arse
and it FAR outweighs it’s gardener’s hype.
Because every time I open ‘my’ door
to gain access to ‘my’ shed,y’see;
the poxy vine creepers have crept under the eaves
and insist upon tangling with me.
So,as any bloke would,I rip the sods out
so my face [though it be no great beauty]
can move around ‘my’ shed without being whipped
as if it were that poxy plant’s duty.
BUT-here be the moral of this dire tirade-
I never strip it more than I need.
Because the one time I stripped the sod almost to ground
Yes,Dear’s vocals made both my ears bleed!
Oh woe is you
But here’s what to do
Russian vines are well and good
But they might react on the shed wood
So get some stuff and treat it right
And you’ll rest in peace at night.:-)
They say we are advancing
But it feels like ‘lost the plot’
Where have those care free days all gone
When a dot was still a dot………………
Our senses are assailed each day
With horrors near and far
They flash up our phones and screens
Nothing has been debarred
I can remember private times
With a sort purred radio sound
Only the posh had phones back then
These were the golden times
We could sit in peace and quiet
For as long as we damned well liked
No newspapers delivered to the door
We borrowed each others bikes
Yes indeed Gummy, we’re living in sad times in Europe, nothing but death and misery all about, and it’s always the innocent who had no say in the matter who suffer and die, what has the human race sunk down to I ask myself.
It’s nice to look back to the peaceful days, and I thank God I have the memory of them to cherish.
We were happy and contented back then, contented because what you never had you never missed, and you had the wealthy folks too, they were just lucky and we never begrudged them their luck, they also got sick and died like the rest of us, money doesn’t end your worries, may ease the financial burden, but that’s about all. Today everyone is obsessed with material junk, fame, and greed, so sad.
Oh,Jem…think again,me ol’ mate…don’t forget the unsung.
Every single day,around this planet,millions of people go to the aid of those in sudden need,be it from a car accident,or an atrocity,to less vauded deeds,such as giving blood,donating a kidney,rushing into a burning building to bring out a stumbling granny or a terrified child,etc etc…but good deeds don’t make the news. Well,not unless they’re ‘airworthy’,such as the Chilean miners being rescued,or-well,you get the picture.
No,mate-don’t despair. A few anti-social turds making tea-time tv news does NOT depict humanity as it really is. After all,the loudest noises make your ears ring…but it’s the whispered “I love you” that quickens your heart-and even the worst atrocities don’t stop people running TOWARD them…
[CENTER]My grandchildren give me hope.
In unexpected ways at times & with an uncomplicated agenda.
My youngest recently studied very closely the scarlet thread veins which occur widely across my face, tracing some with her little finger.
Then she announced
“Grandad Bob, you are cracking up!”
…out of the mouths of babes comes to mind…
[/CENTER]
Very true Pug, well said.
Ah yes kids RJ, they are so bluntly honest, they say what they see, not to worry, I cracked up years ago and never felt better since.
I’ll never forget that warm sunny evening in late May when my love and I strolled ‘neath the chestnut trees in the Phoenix Park, the birds were a twittering in the leafy branches and the sweet smell of Lilac perfumed the air.
As we neared the Furry Glen she reached for her handbag, opened her purse and produced a five pound note and in 1964 a fiver was a fiver. “This is yours” she says. I was bewildered as to how it was, she saw this and went on to explain that it was the marriage savings money I had given her two weeks previous and she had forgotten to lodge it. What a stroke of luck, I had an awful thirst on me and was flat broke, hence the walk in the park.
We were on the next bus into town and into the Crow Bar for beer, music. and dancing, to hell with the trees and the twittering birds, nurture before nature I always say, and I was right, I’ve the best nurtured body around these parts for me age.;-)
Speaking of romance, my old mate Dan Kelly, who was also my best man when I got married, used to keep Hamsters, he loved the things, the lads in the local used to call him “Hamster Dan”. His wife was very fond of flowers and Dan was a dab hand at growing them, every year she would get Tulips from Hamster Dan. Boom, boom, rat-tat-a tat!
Jem, what if you half cracked up, neither, nor, what then?
Ah that’s a hard one Spitty.
I suppose we can all crack up, physically and mentally. The question is which would you prefer to happen first?
I prefer the physical cracking up, that starts to show on the face in the form of wrinkles, funny how your bum doesn’t wrinkle, well mine doesn’t, it’s as smooth as the day I was born.
So I suppose one might be half cracked up at about sixty, after that it’s cracking time all the way to the graveyard, and if you live too long your face will resemble a bucket of tripe when they finally box you.
Crinkley Bottom, was Mr Blobby in meltdown? I think I spotted the initiative, matter over mind.
Why is Sesquipedalophobia such a long word?
Be afraid … be VERY afraid. So long & see you later. I’m away for a couple of weeks/
Some people are strange when it comes to words Spitty, I know one old fella in the bookies and he will only back horses with long names, another woman only backs horses with the word “Boy” in the name, it takes all sorts don’t it.:shock:
Have a nice break RJ, my regards to your good lady, see you soon.;-)
I had heard about foot binding before but I didn’t think it was true, but then I was never a well travelled man, I find google fantastic.
“Foot binding became popular as a means of displaying status (women from wealthy families, who did not need their feet to work, could afford to have them bound) and was correspondingly adopted as a symbol of beauty in Chinese culture”
Wealthy women with squashed smelly feet, one would run a mile from them.
Can you imagine the stink coming off a foot that has not seen the light of day for several years? I mean when they take off the bindings for the first time, Yuk!
There’s a thought, seeing that mens ears continue to grow all the time, why not bind them when they reach 50?, I’ve been some old lads with enormous ugly ears…and they are still growing!