TIGER, TIGER - TIPS AND POINTERS

 

Elin’s phone hasn’t stopped

Since the tale hit the papers

Every golfer in the world

Wants to speak to her

To get some pointers

On how to beat Tiger

STRIKER

 

A new striker was signed for United

And to make his debut he was invited

The manager spoke to the debutante

Uttering words of encouragement

“If your performance is not sublime

I'll have to pull you off at half time”

The striker attempting to be witty

Said “we only got a cup of tea at City”

 

WHEN I LAND A REAL PRIZE WINNING FISH

 When I land a real prize-winning fish

It’s like meeting a bird that’s really fit

I am filled with the same indecision 

I don’t know whether to eat it or mount it

IN THE PROGRAM THEY SAY

 

In the program they say

He’s a real seasoned player

But what they really mean

Is he’s past it the poor geezer

TIGER, TIGER - STROKE PLAY

 

Elin Woods admitted

Assaulting Tiger

“How many times”?

The police asked her

She thought for a moment

“I’m not sure exactly”

Then with a nod she said

“Mark me down for a three”

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