Of course, time for a bit of reverse Psychology.
I also know there is more than one kind of dog leg. Anyone who has been to sea, would know this. I love posting useless information. Beam me up Spotty, I feel like a wooden top.
,
there is a reply to this - well more than one actually - but I daren’t post it!!!
I’m intrigued:mrgreen:
yes you can be very intriguing - and sweet and pied - or is that pie eyed?? curiouser and curiouser said Alice - yes said Lucy in the sky with diamonds I feel like a spittie spittie fire at the moment and where is pug the plugs and RJ with his little ‘r’? - oops that’s torn it!
Aww my old Nannie called me Alice.
She said I was always chasing white rabbits. 
Good Night from me.
and day dreams?? - and it’s good morning from him and goodnight to her!
spittie bumped into these two lovely ladies lady and told them about your furious activities and they offered to help and do want to see ya jackhammer!!
Gummy, it’s an Office I’m building, not a Love Shack!!!
On a building site, the only thing that should be “Hard” is the Hats.
ya wife doesn’t believe that one does she ? - office at your age?
I’m a late developer.
Anyway, this House is like Trotters Flat.
So that’s what they mean by “A hard day at the office”
Being a benchman in a work shop all me life I’m ignorant of office work.
Well blow me down, an OFFICE!, the rest of us poor peasants have to be content with sheds, shacks, cabins and huts, but Spitty has to have an OFFICE!, pardon me your humble servant.
I am sure spitty meant Orifice .
I am a little worried now, Spitty told me to get in his office.
I wondered if it was my speedy typing or something else.
He never said I needed a hard hat.:shock:
confucius say " man who needs to feel important needs to have office"
confucius say " women with big tins don’t need hard hats!
Mmm cheeky boy:lol:
Now for a bit of culture.
The Bard speaks
and you answer
Which stage are you at now?
All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.
At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.
And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.
Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.
And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.
The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.
Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything
Que?
I’m just making a staged protest at the moment thank you RJ
Follow my way with RJ
he comes with knowledge; wot he says
the buddhists say the middle way
but RJ asks ‘que que que que?’
well I’m in fifty shades of grey!!