G12Ravda

My doctor recommended a five-a-day diet so I now have 5 rashers and 2 fried eggs. . Gotme appetite up, reading that one JB.

Hey JB. Well expressed. Nice to see that you're still scribbling away. Have you tried 'Forward Poetry'? It's a good site and you'll enjoy the positive response from the other contributors. Merry Christmas.

Excellent, amusing read sir. It's the first time I've been on here, for a long while. Glad that I did.

Anyone know what the police were doing on Hollinsend Road this morning?

Thanks for the walk. I enjoyed going along your way and seeing all those people. Well done Sir.

Has anyone any info on the attempted abduction of a boy outside Gleadless Primary School this morning?

BOGOF! I wish they would, with their sofa adverts, 'double-discounts' etc Nice work JB. They all want our money and dangle the carrot; from SCS to Holland & Barrett. Briz

I saw Joe Cocker there, when he went under the name of Vance Arnold, I think. Poor old Joe's gone and soon, the pub. As Bob Dylan used to sing, "The times they are a changing."

Poor little buggar! I know it's a bit heartless but is it their fault, for being so tasty? Good, fun rhyme JB. Have you read Benjamin Zephaniah's turkey poem. If not John, look it up, online. It's worth watching. Keep plugging away JB. Briz

So sad John and so true. Briz

That took me back John. Fortunately I've not needed to work o'ertime for years now. Hope to jack work in completely, later this year. Should find more time to get on't Forum them. Keep sending 'em in John. Folk need summat to mek 'em smile, these days. Briz (That's a name I write under.)

Love it John, I know the feeling. It reminded me of One I wrote about William Tell. I'll put it on here, if I can. The apple of his eye According to Swiss legend, the archer, William Tell, had got the local tax-collector mad, as chuffin' hell. He handed Tell a punishment, which filled his heart, with dread. He'd got to shoot an apple from the top of his son's head. The stories, that were handed-down claim William's aim was true but eighty-paces was too far and, as the sharp bolt flew. A bird swooped down, above his son and landed in a tree. He copped the arrow, in his eye, as he looked up, to see. Someone in the crowd cried “Ouch! That's done the lad no favours. Perhaps dad shudda paid a call, to ye olde shoppe, Spec-savers!" (Sorry!) Briz 17/6/14

Lucinda Lastikova Lucinda Lastikova is a girl that men would lie for. She’d attributes that many girls would say that they would die for. We first met, as I drove my car, from off the dock, at Dover. She always made an entrance, did the lovely Lastikova. I was waiting in a queue, as she crept from ‘neath a lorry. She slipped into my car so fast & breathed, “Please help me, sorry.” Before I could protest, she coiled her arms around my neck; Just as a copper beckoned me. Oh no! a border-check. I slowly wound my window down & thought, “He’ll have me soon.” Lucinda blew a kiss to him and whispered, “Honeymoon.” The look of envy on his face assured me we’d get through. And as we drove to safety, Lucinda said, “You’ll do.” I stopped the car at Woolage Green, expecting her to leave. She pleaded she’d nowhere to go & wept into my sleeve. I started-up the car again & got to the M2. Heading now for Gillingham, not knowing what to do. She sobbed, in broken English that her parents had to pay Some men, who said they’d find her work, back here, in the UK. But once they left her homeland, in faraway Ukraine, The work the men had planned for her, had been made very plain. “I ran away & hid.” She said, “I won’t be a sex-slave.” Then thanked me for my help & purred I must be very brave. I wallowed in her flattery & felt I was in Heaven, Not in the Dartford tunnel, heading for the M11. As we continued north, Lucinda told me of her plight And pleaded would I take her home, to shelter, for the night. I turned off the M11 for food, then shopped awhile, in Leicester. She looked a million dollars, when I’d fed her up & dressed ‘er. Her fashion-sense was trashy, mini-skirted & high-heeled But with her face and figure, she’d a look that still appealed. She kissed me, once back in the car & breathed, “You’ve been so kind. I don’t know how to thank you. Have you anything in mind?” I said I’d make the spare bed up, when we got to my flat. She kissed me, long & hard and said, “There’ll be no need for that. I get so scared, when I’m alone, have dreams, the whole night through. Nightmares of those horrid men; please let me sleep with you!” She made me promise she’d be safe, in my flat, as she slept. I snuggled-in, beside her, well, a promise must be kept! The night was just incredible. Where did she learn all that? And God knows what my neighbours heard, in the adjacent flat. Her one night stay turned into weeks, we lived as man & wife. The weeks turned into months, it was the best time in my life. I kept her, as she’d nothing but her gratitude was good. She repaid me & very well, the only way she could. She taught me things I never knew, the sex was just fantastic. Her drawers were up & down so much, I called her “Lucy Lastik!” I found out, quite by accident, when I came home, one day. Lucinda showed her gratitude to everyone, that way. She was paying a delivery-man, who’d brought some online shopping. She must have bought an awful lot, ‘cos, boy he took some stopping! I chucked them both out, in the street, our love-affair was over. And that’s the last I ever saw of Lucy Lastikova. So, if you’re channel-crossing, then before the ferry’s docked. Watch out for Juicy-Lucy & take care your doors are locked. For, though the sex was super & it was, believe you me. I later tested positive, for bloody H.I.V.! Briz 28/8/14

Hi David. So sorry to hear of your sister's untimely demise. I lived on Thornville Road, just off Whixley Road. My elder sister was a Sunday school teacher and cub-mistress. (Baghera, I think.) I never joined the uniformed lot but attended Darnall Baptist church until I was twelve years old.

To David Beresford. Have you a sister, called Betty? Did you go to Darnall Baptist Sunday school? Mary and Margaret Slack did. They lived on Bridport Road, I think. The May family had the shop, by the open yard, opposite the 'tip'. Mrs Nutt ran the other shop, the off- licence, with her daughter, Edna. Betsy Dyatt is a name I recall too. A small, attractive, dark- haired girl. Old memories which still strike a chord.

Well done Sir Nigel. Same sharp humour and inimitable style

Hi. Does anyone know what's being built, near Birley golf course? Birley Lane/Valley Moor?

A pair of shorts (for Andy Murray) Flag of convenience Andy Murray's a Scot, through & through. His flag's a white cross, backed with blue. So, isn't it funny, when it comes to money, his flag has some red on it too! . Bravehearts? Sean Connery & Andy Murray, urged Scots to vote 'Yes' & not worry. That's easy to say, when you're safe, far away - in the tropics or mansion, in Surrey! Briz 19/9/14 (so pleased that you stayed with us Scotland)

Well put John. Let's hope they all live happily ever after. I couldn't make out your last line 'til I realised that 'sort' should be sought (I think)

A dog's life A man walked in the doctor's. He'd had a nasty fall. He had a bump, upon his head and, in his mouth, a ball! The fall had really shaken him. It had him seeing stars and since then, he's been tempted, to chase after passing cars. He crouched beside the doctor and sniffed hard, at his leg, then put the ball down, on the floor, as gently as an egg. “You've got to help me doctor, I can't think straight at all. I want to pee up lamp-posts and go running, for this ball.” The doctor looked quite puzzled, as he watched & shook his head. “You seem to think that you're a dog, that's obvious.” he said. He asked the man how long he'd known, that he'd got something up. The man began to pant & said - “Well, since I were a pup!” G12Ravda 18/9/14

You miss your dad & I still miss mine. I'm glad I didn't miss this though. Well done John.

You are not alone. The sign is a distraction and a hazard. Briz

Smart Alec (Salmond paste -d) The Scottish people hate Westminster. Nothing wrong with that. But hatred's made a smokescreen, for that grotesque, smirking rat. He covets his position and longs to be the boss, while living the delusion that he's something of a cross; between their hero, Wallace and the late Nelson Mandela. He ought to be in care, at least; the sad, demented fella. He's more like Arthur Scargill, at his poor, deluded worst. His ego's so inflated - I can't wait for it to burst! Whether yes or whether no, I'll respect their decisions. Like us, they deserve better from the bloody politicians! Briz 16/9/14

Excellent topical and very funny piece of verse. Briz

How sad. Such a waste. Screwed up, by the Hollywood fame machine and American politicians.