GAME OF LIFE

 

What I want to know is why it is that

Now I have become one of the old farts

And I’m finally holding all the cards

Everyone else decides to play darts

THE LAST OF THE SUMMER WHINE

 

No sooner had the stumps been pulled

Then the Vintage Aussie Whine was served

Made from their abundant sour grapes

It was to toast an English victory well deserved

BALLOONING

 

Of all the pastimes

Which defy all logic

Hot air ballooning

Must be the most fantastic

You take off

With no controls to ponder

At the mercy of the wind

Into the great blue yonder

Floating up and away

Heart fit to blow a gasket

Gripping the handrail

And stood in a picnic basket

A Bunsen burner flames

Under a piece of fabric

Hot air ballooning

Must be the most fantastic

THE GIMME

 

If the “Gimme Putt”

Is the best you can do

Then I would have to say

That Golfs not for you

TALES OF A YOUNG ANGLER – SOUTHGATE BOATING LAKE 1966

 

My father was a keen angler and my older brother followed suit and in time so did I.

There was a difference between my brother and me however namely that he was a good fisherman like my dad, and I was useless.

Amongst other things I couldn’t bait my hook properly, I was loud and noisy and terribly clumsy.

If I managed to avoid falling in the river, lake, or stream. I would drop something in the water instead.

The inherent problem with fishing for me was (A) the fishing rod was twice as long as me and (B) the line had a hook on the end.

I would get snagged in weeds or bushes or trees, passers-by, my dad, my brother, a boat, in fact you name it I would get hooked on it.

But if all of that wasn’t enough to qualify me as a useless angler then the fact that I had never caught a fish would have sealed it.

For three years I fished with my dad or my brother or with mates and nothing.

And the longer it went on the smaller my angling peer group became.

I was so desperate to catch a fish, but the harder I tried the worse I got.

I even dreamed of catching fish and in those dreams, I caught them by the dozen on unbaited hooks and I reeled them in effortlessly,

But when I woke again next morning, I was the same crap angler I was the night before who nobody wanted to fish with.

So, it was for this reason that I found myself fishing alone at the age of nine on Southgate Boating Lake.

I had been there all day and hadn’t even got a bite so just before I decided to call it a day I cast my line in again, this time from the boat jetty.

My float went plop about forty feet from the jetty, and I nodded to myself with satisfaction.

Within a minute or two I became aware of something digging into my foot.

I waggled my wellied foot in an effort to dislodge the source of the discomfort.

But when I put my foot down, I realised I had just succeeded in moving the offending article more securely under my foot.

There was only one solution to the problem and that was to remove my boot and shake out the debris.

I lay my rod on the jetty and sat down next to it and removed my welly.

As I shook it a small pebble bounced off the jetty and splashed in the water which is when I realised my float was bobbing franticly in the still water.

I had a bite, and it was a bloody good one.

I didn’t have time to replace my welly so I quickly stood up and snatched up my rod and line and struck.

I felt instinctively I had it hooked and began reeling it in my maiden catch.

And there I stood on the Southgate Lake boat jetty reeling in my catch wearing only one welly.

Moments later I landed the thrashing writhing monster of the deep, a three-inch long Gudgeon the most beautiful fish I had ever seen.

And in timely fashion just as the fish appeared a small group of angling friends were passing to verify the breaking of my angling duck and I would no longer have to fish alone.

I was so grateful for that tiny fish and incidentally that was the only Gudgeon I ever caught.

IN THE LONDON MARATHON

 

In the London marathon

One of my friends ran

Dressed as a chicken

While another one ran

Dressed as an egg

I don’t know who came first

THE PRACTICE SWING

 

If your practice swing

Is the best you can do

Then I would have to say

That Golfs not for you

WHY UNITED?

My mate asked me why

I’m a United fan

I replied that it was

Because my brother Dan

Supported the Reds,

Also my dad was a United man

And my mum was a

Lifelong United fan

So that was why I was also

A Man United fan

 

“That’s ridiculous” he said

“What if your brother was a thug?

Your mum was a prostitute

And your dad was on drugs

What would you be then?

You poor misguided fool?”

“Well obviously” I replied

“Then I'd support Liverpool”

FOUL WEATHER GOLFER

 

If you don’t mind playing Golf in the rain,

Snow, Storm, Tempest or a hurricane,

Then not wishing to burst your bubble

It’s not just your golf game that’s in trouble

A DAY AT THE RACES

 

A skinny brunette with hair in pigtails

A busty blonde with a ponytail

Overweight lasses showing their bellies

Some eccentric sorts wearing green wellies

 

Women in shorts too small for their arse

Some dressed up showing some class

Several who’ve just crawled out of bed

Mutton dressed as lamb – enough said

 

White skinned redheads wearing no bra

Leggy birds show all getting out the car

Baggy combat trousered youngsters

Extremely skimpily dressed funsters

 

Mothers clad in coloured print dresses

Vixens and vamps and painted temptresses

Elderly folk wearing sensible shoes

Lads on the pull hunt in threes or twos

 

Middle aged man-eaters dressed to kill

Bold young stunners dressed to thrill

Schoolgirls dressed up to look thirty

Thirty something’s dressed to look dirty

 

Tuppenny tarts and fifty-pound whores

Bored housewives fed up with the chores

Young professionals and people of note

People used to wearing ermine not stoat

 

Middle aged geezers who ate all the pies

Absent-minded, gaze wistfully at the skies

The hooray Henrys suited and booted

The Nuevo riche who’ve snorted and tooted

 

Spinster aunts with cheeks glowing

Half cut bimbos with tattoos showing

Hormones raging with alcohol and heat

Game young women viewed like meat

 

Girls of all ages wearing shorts and vests

Tops that barely cover their chests

Those who dress nicely for the party

Drink too much and still look tarty

 

Short, skirted fillies showing all

Phone to their ear making endless calls

Stumbling about sucking on fags

Half drunk and acting like slag’s

 

From dawn till dusk they drink all day

Losing money and dignity along the way

Dressed in suits, beachwear or like clowns

A day out at the races on the Epsom downs

A GOLF OF DIFFERENCE

 

I have been playing Golf for years

And sometimes it makes me curse

But it doesn’t matter how bad I play

I know next time it could be worse