Leisurely Scribbles (part 5) (Part 1)

Hobbies & Pastimes Hobbies & Pastimes: Chat / Discussions
1821

I don’t know about the rest of you lot, but my learning days are well and truly over, I don’t see the point of learning anything else at my age, now if I was around when the retiring age reaches 110 I might consider taking a course in knitting or basket weaving. :slight_smile:

Our patron chap is saint Dunstan, died 19th of May 986 aged 79, he also covers, Locksmiths, Musicians, Blacksmiths, and Silversmiths. Despite his name he never smoked in his life. Looks like you and me have the same patron saint Pug.
A ‘Smith’ is a person who works in metals, it annoys me when I hear educated journalists calling famous writers ‘Wordsmiths’, words ain’t metal, so there is no such thing as a wordsmith.:twisted:

“A smith, or metalsmith, is a person who makes things from metal. … They were often poor, itinerant workers (walking from place to place looking for jobs”

1822

Last weekend an old friend of mine showed me his collection of old farm machinery and tools, he keeps them in a huge barn at the back of the little public house he owns in Galway. I love looking at old inventions, machines especially, what were they used for and who used them.

I once invented an asbestos lip shield in the days before tips were popular on cigarettes, it enabled one to get every possible drag from your smoke, smoke your Woodbine to the bitter end. Then came disaster, they discovered asbestos was a deadly substance, end of that idea.;-):slight_smile:
But when something dies something else is born, hence this bit of nonsense.

The Girl with the asbestos lip shield.

She was the hottest thing in town, too hot to handle
Hotter than the flame at the tip of a candle
But one thing God had sadly omitted
Her lips were so hot she had to have an asbestos shield fitted
The Dentist did a very good job and you couldn’t spot it
And each time she dribbled she took a tissue to blot it
All of the Boys stayed clear and were afraid to kiss her
And when she didn’t show at the dances no one would miss her
Then the Circus came to our little hick town
And everyone started to gather round
A Fire eater from Russia, Ivan was his name
Known all over the World as a master of the flame
He copped her standing by the strongman’s trailer
Eagerly warming up a frozen Arctic Sailor
“Come into my tent, and I’ll show you a treat” He cried
She dropped the melted Sailor and stepped inside
What happened in there I will never know
But when she came out her cheeks were all aglow
Then she prayed and thanked the Heavens above
At last she had found her own true love.

It’s true what they say, as God makes them he matches them.:slight_smile:

1823

I love looking at old machinery and tools too Jem :slight_smile: they were often made by craftsmen and built to last not to break and be discarded.
I have some of my Dads and Grandads old tools, they are a joy to use and I ‘feel’ their history when using them.

1824

Sorry Gumbuddy, crossed wires, you was talking Bollocks, I was talking Bollox.

1825

Yes indeed Meg, the craftsmen really took pride in their work in the old days, Great to hear you still use those tools, I have an old Sheffield Steel draw plate, I use it for drawing down gold and silver wire, it’s over 150 years old and still does a perfect job.:wink:
I enjoyed his collection and would have stayed all day in the barn listening to him telling me the history behind the objects, but then a familiar voice from the back door of the pub pierces the clear country air “Jimmy!, time to catch the bus back into town” Phyllis was getting impatient and a man’s gotta do what a mans gotta do…or else.:lol:

1826

Is it about the Rock Face, or the Interface?

1827

Saint Sebastian was a Martyr, You need Robert Junior for Saints, he’s a dab hand at them all. I used to know a certain Martyr.

Martyr, Rambling rose of the wildwood
Martyr, with your fragrance divine
Rosebud, of the days of my childhood
Watched you bloom in the wild wood
and I hoped you’d be mine (David Whitfield 1953) Sorry David, only messin’:smiley:

Yes I watched Martha bloom in the wilds of the the back roads where she lived with her Father in one of the last of the country cottages that were part of the old village, the Father was a huge man of rough appearance, ’Gongo’ the lads used to call him on account of him resembling a Gorilla, he was very jealous of anyone who dared pay attention to his beloved Martha, in the end he outlived his daughter who died aged 36 of a broken heart when he forbid her to marry the local barman. She would have been about 20 when he proposed to her. The barman had buggered off to Chicago when he couldn’t have her hand in marriage, Martha became an embittered woman and never spoke to any folks in the area, sad story but true.
Chicago was a heaven back then for barmen who knew their job well, a lot of Irish barmen went on to open their own bars there eventually.

1828

don’t you mean botox? for filling in the spaces?

1829

No, I meant an anti-aphorism.

1830

As I sit here,glancing back through the now 183 pages of rambings,certain posts really do stand out. Which brings home the truth of the adage ‘it’s quality,not quantity,that counts’. After all,Neville Armstrong walked upon the surface of the Moon but once-yet nobody ever gets his name wrong…

1831

Nigel Armstrong, I remember him too Pug, according to Quakers new ad he did it all on a bowl of their porridge, great stuff indeed.:wink:

Do you ever come across people who expect you to be a mind reader?
There I was yesterday sitting at a table in the pub with several others, then one of the women turns to me and takes me by the my jacket sleeve “Wait till I tell you Jem, poor Wilfred took a turn this morning, I panicked, didn’t know what to do with him, so I called Maggie next door, she’s great in a crisis, her young Tony is a medic in the Army so she called him, he was on his break and he dropped into me, Velda you know is having his baby, anyway Wilfred is alright now, I left him asleep in the chair, Charlie is looking after him, wasn’t I lucky Maggie was in?”
I hadn’t a clue who or what she was talking about until old Henry put me in the picture “Wilfred is her 10 year old Labrador, and Charlie is her bachelor brother who lives with her” “Oh I see” says I, I thought Wilfred was her husband and Charlie her son.
I think I have one of those faces that people love to tell their troubles to, what used to be known as a confession box face in the old days.
Speaking of confession, I remember as a boy getting confession every Saturday afternoon, one Saturday I asked the priest a question “Father, is it a sin to put your hand on a girls bum?”
“Of course it is my boy, sure if it wasn’t we’d all be doing it”:slight_smile:

1832

You don’t get many naturists in Ireland, what with the horrible weather who could blame them keeping their kit on, you’d want to be hardy for that over here, only the commando sand-in-your-arse type naturists survive in this climate.
That reminds me of that tough hardy outdoor character we had here, “Bare O’Grylls”, he used to walk about half naked in all weathers with nothing on but a lion cloth. Back in the Winter of 1966 when the great snows hit, Bare was caught out while doing a 50mile trek up the Kerry mountains, a very determined chap, and with no way of summoning help he survived in a cave for three months on a diet of Sheep shite and Shamrock plants, he was posthumously awarded the golden harp for his achievement, great man God rest his soul.

The Optimistic Naturist. (a sausage factory production)

As the month of February goes out with a bang
And the sting of Winter leaves it’s soggy tang
I raise my hopes for bright warm weather
So I can go out and swim in the altogether
To prance around the pool full of bounce and frolics
And a wooly tea cosy to cover my Horlicks

With Tulips and Daffodils in my hair
No wonder the old ladies stop and stare
“What’s that swinging from side to side?” they ask, as they gaze
“I don’t know Mabel, but it’s seen better days”
Then the Sun sets and I put on my gear
I’m really looking forward to a very good year.:slight_smile:

1833

A Good Year may become Tyre Some.

1834

See what Tom jones started off? He came out with a song years ago called ‘Sex Bomb’, barred on all airlines because one is not allowed say the word ‘Bomb’ on a plane, and rightly so. could you imagine the panic if somebody shouted in midair “There’s a Sex bomb on board”:smiley:
Now we have ‘Weather Bomb’ coming from the weather people after Doris went wild, I imagine when the next budget is announced it will be so sever that they will call it a ‘Shit Bomb’ If you win the lottery or unexpectedly inherit a fortune that will be a “Cash bomb’, mark my words these will all be new terms to be used everyday soon.;-):slight_smile:

1835

:lol:

1836

The nursery school students, having graduated to junior school, are becoming accustomed to the new requirements. Their new teacher insists that they cease talking baby talk at once. " You need to use ’ big people’ words" she continually demands.

She asks Samantha what she has done over the weekend.

" I went to visit my Nana."

“No, you went to visit your GRANDMOTHER. Use big people words!”

She then asks Nigel what he has done.

“I took a ride on a choo-choo.”

“No, you took a ride on a TRAIN, use big people words!”

She then asks little Johnny what he has done.

“I read a book”.

“That’s wonderful, What book did you read?”

Johnny puffs out his chest and replies “Winnie The Shit.”

1837

I just had my chest waxed-very much NOT a painless procedure.

…should’a gone to Pec Shavers…

1838

:lol: “Winnie the Shit” indeedy, I do Believe that was Hitlers pet name for Churchill.:wink:

:lol: You do come up with them Pug. I see there’s a new adult film out “Shaving Ryan’s Privates”:wink:

Do you ever get the feeling some people think you can read their minds? they throw names about and expect you to know who these folks are just because they know them.
Yesterday I was sitting at a table in the pub with a few others of mixed sex when one lady takes hold of me jacket sleeve “Wait till I tell yeh Jem, Wilfred took one of his turns this morning, I was in an awful state as Charlie was out getting his hair cut, I called Mabel next door, she’s great in a crisis, Tony her youngest is a medic in the army and dropped into her for a cup of tea and a chat, she sent him in and he was marvellous with Wilfred, he fixed him up and he’s grand now, he’s resting on the armchair and Charlie is back to look after him, wasn’t I lucky Mabel was in?”
I hadn’t a clue who or what she was talking about until old Albert on the other side of me filled me in “Wilfred is her 10 year old Labrador and Charlie is her older single brother who lives with her” “Oh I thought Wilfred was her husband and Charlie was her son”
I think I have one of those faces that people love to tell their troubles to, a confession box face me granny used to call it. Father Jem, maybe I missed me calling.:smiley:

1839

Yesterday I was sitting at a table in the pub with a few others of mixed sex

sounds almost as painful as Pug having his chest waxed - having ya sex mixed in a pub - the mind boggles - Oi - it’s the way I tell em to be sure to be sure!

ps: tell me Jem how many times a day baring sundays would ya mix ya sex??

1840

There once was a bloke who had worked hard all his life, never went to the pub and had saved all of his money, and was a real miser when it came to his cash.

Just before he died, he said to his wife,“When I die, I want you to take all my money and put it in the casket with me. I want to take my money to the afterlife with me.”

And so he got his wife to promise him, with all of her heart, that when he died, she would put all of the money into the casket with him.

Well, he died.

He was stretched out in the casket, his wife was sitting there - dressed in black, and her friend was sitting next to her.

When they finished the ceremony, and just before the undertakers got ready to close the casket, the wife said, “Wait just a moment!”

She had a small metal box with her; she came over with the box and put it in the casket.

Then the undertakers locked the casket down and they rolled it away.

So her friend said, “Girl, surely you were not foolish enough to put all that money in there with your husband.”

The loyal wife replied, “Listen, I’m a Christian; I cannot go back on my word. I promised him that I was going to put the money into the casket with him.”

“You mean to tell me you put that money in the casket with him!?!?!?”

“I sure did,” said the wife.

"I got it all together, put it into my account, and wrote him a cheque.