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Everything posted by Sir_Nigel
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But where are your minorities your underprivileged classes? Your disadvantaged immigrants your poor huddled masses? You surely canât be serious you call this integration? A sea of white male faces - a single token Asian? I came to join the brotherhood, to rally to the cause but find a vile travesty of the trade description laws No persons of restricted growth I find to my dismay and not a single one of you admits to being gay Where are those with special needs have you robbed them of their rights? the alternatively-abled wheeled out of sight? I travelled in my gap year - saw hardship and barbarity I bought this hat in Paraguay to show my solidarity Youâre liars, bigots, hypocrites No donât deny Iâve seen you - no signs supporting Palestine not an ethnic hat between you. What a place this could have been And yet you let it fail You Little England chauvinists, who read the Daily Mail The puzzled crowd of onlookers who witnessed this tirade now drifted off indifferent to the accusations made. The earnest wispy-bearded chap was left to stew and brood. His whole idea of PC World seemed somewhat misconstrued.
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Well I dunno Why not write what you know? Thatâs what people say (meaning Just Go Away) but then thereâd be books about doubt and blank looks as you stare at a screen thinking: Wots it all mean? Surely itâs right to let fancy take flight to summon up creatures with fearsome features - two headed things with flippers and wings. But that may not be quite your cup of tea Forget what I said. Iâm out of my head.
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Anyone know of any brass bands..
Sir_Nigel replied to Stevi3's topic in Sheffield News & Discussions
The City Of Sheffield Band proudly present a Chritmas spectacular with special guests BOOBS & BRASS and former Black Dyke Soprano Cornet MICHELLE IBBOTSON THE CUTLERS HALL CHURCH STREET SHEFFIELD SUNDAY 12TH DEC Tickets ÂŁ8 & ÂŁ6 concessions available from the Coventry Building Society, Norfolk Street Sheffield or tel : John on 0114 2864421 or 07831 199116 and he will post them out to you -
Glad you enjoyed this. Thanks for your comments.
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The dove - symbol of peace and love was free and was perched on the curtain rail looking at me. For several days I had heard the trapped bird descending, itâs doom impending. Scraping, flapping, spookily tapping, at first thinking: Christ, we got a poltergeist. before wishing grimly: Donât die in my chimney. Now the creature (which lives in a bird house next door) had crapped on the sofa and crapped on the floor. I sighed, flung the doors wide and pointed outside. (I once faced a blackbird in a similar position which sensibly departed of its own volition.) But this bird wouldnât go. And I couldnât reach it so, I said Sod it. And started to prod it to try and persuade to find its way out, with a toy plastic sword (which was lying about.) I coaxed, cajoled and nudged but it stubbornly wouldnât be budged. So I poked. Pushed. Jabbed. Very nearly stabbed. Then, tired of being whacked, it attacked. Thrashing, slashing, man and bird clashing. Fighting, smiting, nearly broke the lighting. White feathers were shed in the battle overhead. Yes I fought a dove - symbol of peace and love. Forever my name will be tarnished with shame. Thatâs him, theyâll say, to the RSPCA. This shabby affair has no honour or glory The tale wonât be told in a fireside story. No minotaur vanquished with courage and guile. No dragon was slain on some desolate isle. I didnât emerge from it bloody and battered, my sword in my hand, my enemies scattered, to proclaim to the populace trembling in dread: The kingdom is safe! Heed my foeâs severed head! âCause it wasnât a dragon - it was a dove - recognised symbol of peace and love. No fearsome beast just the thing you fear least. An unseemly affray, then the dove flew away. It now sits aloof on a neighbourâs roof. Seemingly unruffled by the feathery scuffle. Lucky, I feel, that my sword wasnât real for how theyâd complain if Iâd cleft it in twain. But hey - itâs OK. It ran away. Weâll save that idea for another day.
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Skitterinâ on the pavement takinâ to the air, swoopinâ through the precinct - another world up there Gettinâ high on the breeze, you can do what you please. But a sudden descent, all energy spent, sees you stuck in the scrub by the boarded up pub. Trapped with the crap from McDonalds and Spar and the titty page torn from the Daily Star. Gazinâ at the sky, the lowlife driftinâ by. You shoulda got binned but you rode on the wind You flew which is more than most Cheesy Wotsit bags ever do.
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Heâs calling his dog in the high moorland fog where folks climb the pathway to ramble and jog Shouting its name with a growing despair his voice falling flat in the deadening air Comes across me, wonders where it could be and tells me the cost of this rare pedigree. Up here you can stroll and not see a soul. But you nod when you do âcos theyâre up here like you. But this beer-belly chap in his Adidas cap just brings it to crap. Leaving copious piles over treacherous miles And you donât get a nod from the ignorant sod. Somewhere out there where the track rises steep He let it go crapping and snapping at sheep. So, All Poop, No Scoop, with your dog in pea soup. Try not to worry but you may have to hurry for your dog may alarm a cantankerous farmer. And likely as not could be callously shot. Now he heads west unsuitably dressed. Westwards is harsh - just tussock and marsh. I helped him decide; It went that way, I lied.
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Did I mention that each copy comes with a voucher for 30p off at Poundstretcher and a complimentary lemon scented hand wipe? But only for the first 5,012 customers. Donât delay.
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Ladies and gentlemen who congregate here can I tempt you away from your liquor and beer? I have gathered my works in a prominent tome to be read at your leisure by the fire at home. You might turn away with indifference or scorn ignoring this upstart so poor and forlorn But this struggling poet has offspring to feed who keenly await a benevolent deed piously praying that God will provide âcos they ainât had a meal since Michelmastide âShall we eat tonight father?â asks the youngest of seven âand will mummy gaze down from her new home in heaven?â âAnd shall we yet slumber in soft feather beds with a warm humble cottage over our heads?â Oh what should I say to poor malnourished Tim? If you donât want to do it for me - think of him. Cursory Rhymes available on Lulu http://stores.lulu.com/store.php?fAcctID=773603
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Poor little tree the tortured, twisting tree battered by the wind off the cruel North Sea Tapping at the window crying: âPlease help me, Iâm a young thin tree.â Pounded through the night then shattered, ruined, brought by the lee. In the stillness of the day I stand where you now lay And though itâs true you were blocking the view Iâm still sorry for you. That blue and yellow bird so regularly heard habitually clings and cheerfully sings. But where he sits with the other tits he can no longer see the sea. That favourite perch will no longer be. A final taunting breeze stirs the dying leaves A rabbit watches boldly Scram rabbit, I say coldly Poor tree, inspiring poetree in me.
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Sometimes I wonder, Earth, despite your vast age and remarkable girth and the fact that youâre all anyoneâs known since birth, whether youâre really worth saving. This may be contentious and seldom ever stated, but Iâm starting to think youâre a little overrated. And whilst this opinion may only be mine Iâm working to hasten your expected decline. In case youâre oblivious and havenât a clue Iâll give you the gist of my problems with you. Your transit is dull and predictable Your sunsets a boring clichĂ©. Your deserts ho hum your vistas hum drum and your mountains just get in the way Your environment should be much better - seas warmer and hot places wetter. To snowstorms I think you should say no and who needs a frigging volcano? But youâre also quite mean and vindictive. You set out to hurt and destroy - sending storm, flood and hurricane or rivers of fire like the whims of a nasty small boy. And spotting a small and innocuous town youâll wobble and shake âtil the buildings fall down. When people in sandals cry âDown with the car!â I donât think they realise how horrid you are. Have you any idea how you get on the tits of the people who live in the poorest bits? After heaping both drought and disease on their backs You then think itâs funny to blow down their shacks Not once have you thought of the trouble you make when you turn a subcontinent into a lake. On a personal level I quite fail to see What exactly it is that youâve got against me. Like the number of times Iâve been caught in the rain And just as Iâve dried off you do it again! Or that time I was meant to be catching a flight But you kept us all fogbound in Leeds for the night. And why do you always send 3 feet of snow When you know Iâve got somewhere important to go? When I think of the hassle a bad winter brings I wonder: Why bother recycling things So Iâm not going to switch off my lights any more And Iâll run over cyclists in my 4x4 Though some may admonish and call it a sin Iâll chuck all my bottles in the newspaper bin And if it gets personal between you and I Iâll turn up the heating âtil you burn up and die. Iâll stick hot greenhouse gas up your fat selfish ass. âCos I wonât be the saviour of your dreadful behaviour. When one day you find yourself drifting in space Devoid of all plant life and the whole human race Youâll cry âOh, no, Where did everyone go? Is it something I said? They canât all be deadâ And spinning there emptily you can pause to reflect on the way you behaved and the lives you have wrecked. Lucky for you, youâll have plenty of time to start off again with primordial slime.
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Dead frog outside primary school
Sir_Nigel replied to droplink's topic in Sheffield News & Discussions
Allo Everyeebodee!, I am a crazee Frenchperson and I âeard that there is a dead frurg lying dead in ze road. âMon dieu!â I exclaimed because as a crazee Frenchperson I lurve ze frurg legs and would very much like to claim ze delicious frurg legs for myself. You can âave ze frurg body as everyone knows le frurg body eez poisonous and vile and I think maybe many small children âave already poked it with lolly sticks and said eeeuugh. However, ze legs are mine! Bon appetit -
Dead frog outside primary school
Sir_Nigel replied to droplink's topic in Sheffield News & Discussions
Please don't mock. I find this thread quite rivetting. -
Thankyou. Glad this brought some light relief.
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Iâm expressing my thanks to Armitage Shanks Standing there a-gleaming in serried white ranks What would we do in a world without you Do it out the window? with a warning Halloo? âSorry Mrs Ware, didnât see you there Youâll find a good conditioner should get it out your hair.â But we can be discreet thanks to Armitageâs feat No need to thrust your bottom out and do it in the street The world we now see is mercifully free of bottoms looming overhead for everyone to see. Itâs wonderful to know there are places you can Go No cries of âMind the Carpet thereâ or âLook Out Down Belowâ No-one has a cause to lean from upper floors and squirt a neighbourâs Scottie dog to thunderous applause or to choose a quiet lot to fertilize a spot Or tiptoe down an alleyway for a surreptitious squat. And rare now is the soul who has to dig a hole so raise a glass to Armitageâs porcelain bowl.
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Snotty nose, O snotty nose, where it comes from nobody knows. Itâs not a cold, Iâve had the flu - the Swine, the Bird and the Man type too. Recovered, recuperated, good as new. but the stubborn, sudden, snotty nose still hangs around, it comes and goes, its conquest needing several blows. Iâm offered tissues by girls who have issues with a hanky. Theyâre manky, they squeal, unhealthy as well â now use this gel. But Iâm not diseased I just sneezed. And now Iâm OK And will be probably be so for the rest of the day. This brief visitation surely shows how fickle is the snotty nose.
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If youâre thinking of scrimping and saving to replace your front lawn with block paving âcos your parking space then will be double and natureâs just far too much trouble Just think as you rip up the turf what your project will do to the Earth. And if youâre considering decking just think of the lives youâll be wrecking: From wriggling invertebrates to creatures with wings - all sorts of multi-limbed, dark, crawly things inter-reliant for growing and feeding all part of the circle of living and breeding. That wonder of nature will no longer be when your garden resembles an NCP. You may be content with the landscape youâve got as you plonk down a lone token plant in a pot but the birds and the bees will have packed up and fled âcos their living environment is sterile and dead. But youâre happy your Vectraâs parked right by the door and you wonât have to mow that old lawn any more. But please donât complain when it pours down with rain and the flood overwhelms the inadequate drain. Like wildlife, the water must journey elsewhere for thereâs no getting through that impermeable layer. And onward and wide the development spreads as mowers and shears lie rusting in sheds and even those people professing to care are probably thinking: Thereâs plenty to spare. But in time you may wonder and think that itâs weird how the birds flew away and the bees disappeared Then the skies will be silent and no flora or tree will be left in the wastes of the vast concrete sea.
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A heartfelt and moving piece of work. It could perhaps do with a little pruning. I would forget about any restrictive demands of format and the number of syllables. Itâs more important that it âfeelsâ right. Areas for improvement? - âback to us allâ sounds a little clumsy â you donât even need a rhyme there, none of other verses do. You could lose the âquiet, still quietâ which is a little unnecessary. You could try: âthe crescendo is slowly building. Take a look at the capitalisation too â it doesnât always need to be at the beginning of each line. Also, would it be more accurate to call it The Conductor rather than Composer? Apart from that, good work.
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I didnât fancy Fatima but liked her sister Thinima I asked her to go out with me and took her to the cinema. She seemed a pleasant jolly girl and very nearly glamorous, I bought her drinks and chocolate with hopes of something amorous. Ignoring Renee Zellweger I fumbled for a breast or two but suddenly she said to me âIâve something to confess to youâ She told me that her family had suffered quite a tragic fate I ceased my furtive groping then and asked her to elaborate. Her father was an Irishman whoâd settled down in Rotherham He gave his daughters silly names and thought it wouldnât bother âem. âThereâs Windypoo and Sanilav and poor distraught Clemydiaâ âIâm glad that wasnât youâ I said âIâd like as not get rid oâ ye.â âAnd Grizabell and Porkylips and baby sister Beverlyâ (theyâd finally stood up to him and remonstrated heavily) Her father hoped to mould the fate of her and her beloved twin, although they were identical, he hoped theyâd grow: one fat, one thin âHe claimed weâd be uniqueâ she said âand puzzle folks at spelling bees.â âYour mother must be poopedâ I said âshe popped âem out like shelling peasâ The sisters took a further step to stop his foolish practises they did what Lizzie Borden did and chopped him up with axes. I didnât ask her out again, for other girls Iâd sooner pick. I donât know if sheâs traumatised or just an effing lunatic. I rather have a lady with no baggage and no axe to grind A girl named Jane or Mary of the common, more relaxter kind So donât forget the message here, this isnât just for merriment If your loins are proving fruitful donât be temped to experiment Whether youâre malevolent or barely have an ounce of sense just ponder on this story and itâs gruesome, blood-soaked consequence.
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Everyoneâs a pervert in Pervertland All who volunteer or want to lend a hand Those âhelpfulâ individuals are not to be trusted If I told you what they did youâd be queasy and disgusted They want to travel freely with children in their car? Hasnât anybody questioned what sickos they are? God only knows how they turn out that way But we need a bit a paper to state that theyâre OK They all need to be registered, verified and cleared Weâll tick a box to prove that theyâre not seriously weird Weâll give them our permission then weâll go for all the rest And donât presume to question â for only we know best. How could you object to this - donât you understand? Everyoneâs a pervert in Pervertland
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What exactly did I do? What precisely did I say that you feel the need to monitor me and take my rights away? Have I murdered anybody? Or was my grievous sin to carelessly throw paper in the ordinary bin? Did I call for death and sacrifice to overthrow the state? Or did I pay my motor tax that little bit too late? Did I fly into a tower in a hijacked jumbo jet? Or crave the simple pleasure of an indoor cigarette. Was I ranting on a website for harsh despotic rule? Or trying to get my children in a slightly better school Iâm not a new Bin Laden or a would-be Al Capone Though admittedly I once did 33 in a 30 limit zone. You want to hear my phone calls and see what I have seen. And soon youâll have a satellite to tell you where Iâve been And anyone who doesnât do exactly as you say you turn the bloody screws on them and make the buggers pay. And hard-fought rights and liberties are trampled underfoot as you wield your mighty sledgehammer to crack some harmless nut. You donât have any remedies but claim youâve found a way - You want to take my fingerprints, extract my DNA. And what reward for those who show political adherence? - our institutions broken down by party interference as decades of accomplishment, efficiency and pride have slowly been eroded by a bureaucratic tide. We slip another rung or two despite the frantic spin of the dead eyed politician with the unconvincing grin So fine me, tax or sue me. And otherwise soundly screw me. Iâll take my punishment âcos what did I do? I went to the ballot box and voted for you.
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Strict metre and form may be seen as the norm but it shouldnât always be just diddle diddle dee. Go out on a limb for a lark or a whim who cares if they sniff as you improvise and riff as long as youâve said what goes on in your head, avoided clichĂ© and you like it that way.
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They tell me I oughta save water. But Iâm just not shorta water. The reservoir is bursting, the roads are in flood It seems like this downpour has settled in for good. But they still say I oughta be good and save water. One day in the future, Iâve heard people tell You may have to walk 15 miles to a well. Youâll queue for 2 hours, they earnestly said And carry it back in a jug on your head. Or wait at a pump in some shanty town dump to be jostled by sentries in a murderous grump. That sounds pretty bleak Had me blue for a week But then I revived my rebellious streak. I wonât block up the drain and then use it again just âcos theyâre forecasting bugger all rain. I will wallow and bathe and perhaps misbehave - soak a girl with a hosepipe. Cos the water wonât save. Itâs not like a bank It wonât keep in the tank âCos if you donât use it, it goes fetid and rank. Iâll spray it and splash it And fight to the last before girls in wet T shirts are a thing of the past. Donât call it a crime for in 30 years time itâll be teeming with tadpoles and covered in slime And then when Iâm ancient I will horrify kids With scandalous tales of what bad Grandpa did Theyâll cry: What? You did what? With what??? Surely not. âŠGod itâs hot. I suppose Iâll be sprightly though not quite all there in a worn floppy hat in an old garden chair Mildly fixated, as my story suggests, with clinging damp cotton on large golden breasts. My attitudes now I may yet come to rue Will I wish that Iâd hoarded a bucket or two, regretting my stance with a penitent tear ? Or will I still think itâs a silly idea.
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Whilst I'm in an obituary writing mood: There was a time when you were It the girls all wanted to be you, They wanted your hair They envied your eyes expressed amazement at your teeth and whispered and nudged about your nipples. Boys wanted your hair, teeth, eyes, smile, body, your bronzed limbs, your general sun-kissed American wholesomeness And more. They were fixated and obsessed by your nipples Unfettered for the first time ever on TV Every week For free Did you see? They asked. Last night? On TV? Phooeee. We grew up You faded We looked elsewhere You showed you were more than all that Faded some more. Then the brightest bloom was gone.
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I wouldnât say I was a fan of that gifted but much troubled man But I hope theyâll remember his prime Not the ravages of fortune and time Theyâll remember his work and not ask - Whatâs with the hat and the mask. Just put on their favourite song Without wondering where it all went wrong Theyâll forget all the legal wrangling and forgive the baby dangling and the Neverland fairground and toys and dubious relations with boys They wonât waste their time on reflection of his rather odd nose and complexion theyâll reflect on this curious subject and acknowledge that nobodyâs perfect So remember the man at his best and discard the unfortunate rest.