My Tits Looked At My Bottom.

My Tits live in a nest hidden in a tree,
I like to watch them daily
They also take a peep at me.

They caught sight of my bottom
when I stepped upon my skirt
I tripped and heard them chortle
my pride was really heart.




My Tits looked at my bottom
and I will never be the same
I know I heard the Raven
Calling out my name.

The Raven told the Robin
that he saw my bum
The Robin told the Lark
that all the birds should come.

They tapped beaks on the window,
One even shared his worm.
It was like being on the telly,
I felt my body squirm.

The Tits shall not get any supper
or a lardy meal-worm for desert
I believe it’s a fitting punishment
for my pride being sorely hurt.




I was the WINNER! 

Thank you Chelsea Owens for the challenge the weekly hilarity contest press the link to read more. PRESS HERE

Thanks to Pixaby.com for use of photos.

Chelsea said it must be clean and fun … “Did my Poem hit the spot?” answers in the comments I love when you twitter back too.


My Word Of The Year. #WOTY

#WOTY Laughter / laugh.

I didn’t help my funny bone, I neglected my happy,
By failing to remember, how to not be unhappy.
I forgot to tend to the need of mine to smile,
to exercise my face at least for a little while.

So in twenty twenty, the plan is to be,
The smiliest person, of any you see.
I want to laugh until eyes spring a leak.
To inject humour each time I speak.

I want back that cheeky I once had,
It got lost in the busy, replaced by sad.
People enjoyed my infectious grin,
The one that shone from deep within.

I can still recall the feel of a laugh,
The giggle made; as I trip up the path.
The burbling feeling of one almost there.
The ache in my belly, a huge gasp for air,

So join me as I inject this with a smile,
And share one of my favourite poems
By Spike, who made the world laugh
for the longest while.




If you smiled just,  while reading, leave a comment, share the fun.
Let me know if you have a poem or saying that always makes you grin.

Having A Chin wag.

Having a chin wag means to chat, talk or gossip. I try to paint a picture of an area of an industrial town in Northern England in the 1950s. I am using a smattering of dialect to paint a picture.

My question is was it enough? Would it be better without? Looking forward to your answers in the comments. “As I am known to enjoy a bit of a *chin-wag* with you.”

There they were the two of em, hanging over the garden fence; arms folded. Florrie’s were under her tiny breasts; maybe to push them up; pretend like, making out she had more. She was long, stringy almost, she wore a pinny and a cotton square covered her hair. Mum, though she was no better than she should be … flaunting her coral lip stain and seamed stockings. What I could see of it her hair was yellow, oh and them teeth … they jiggled about as she spoke; *me mam* said it made her retch. Then Mum would.

Mavis well she was different, Gramps would say “like chalk and cheese those two” I love Granddad, Me Pops as I call him, he had lots of funny sayings. If he liked something he would slap his knees double-handed and call out “That’s champion *lass*, rite *champion*.”

Down the Ginel.

‘Anyhow, back on track, where were I, Oh yes, Mavis. Short n’ stocky with fat knees. You’d see them knees, when she cleaned the windows, dimpled like dumplings. The lads down the Ginel said they looked through letterbox last Summer, seen her naked thighs as she washed by the kitchen sink. “Like *gert* big hands of ham they were” laughed Smithy. My Mum says it isn’t often you’d see them knees … because she’s not too particular about the housework. Then Mum would, she has a sharp tongue, my Mum. Mavis has pin curls peeking from under her scarf. Tinged, more of a dirty grey colour, from the coal fire I expect. That lass is as short as she is wide, wears a fancy wrap around pinny; not many had one of them. I can’t help me sen, so I snigger at her wrinkled stockings and get a clip round the *earlug*; a backhander for doing so. Her roundness comes from having ten kids. Six were lads, all gone and grown now. We live in back to back houses, terraces with Ginels behind. On Monday Morning if School was out, I’d sit astride the sill with a book; the sun warms my skin right through the glass. Mum told us when we were kids “It’s God kissing you.” I am not so sure about that.

They, Florrie and Mavis, think I’m reading. Really I am watching, and listening, you’d be surprised what I hear; looking down at the backs. Those two, over the fence putting the world to rites … having a good old chin-wag. Got to go now, Mam’s got my Pop’s snapping ready, I’ll take it up the allotment to him, he is busy after all; digging us tea. I better have my wits about me in the Ginnel, that Smithy boy, he’d likely have his hand in my liberty-bodice if I loitered. Catch you another time tatty bye.                 

No copyright infringement intended.

This post was very different first time around. Reworked, new dialogue and a new character in Old Jack. I hope you enjoy the changes as much as I. “comment please it is fun to talk.”

*earlug* = ear, *Gert* = big, *Champion* = magnificent, *Tatty bye* = farewell, for now, *Ginel* = secreted alley, *lass*= young girl, Having a *chin-wag* = a gossip or a chat.

Five Tasty Buttons.

Five chocolate buttons were the undoing of her.

There, on the saucer adjacent to her empty mug sat the five caramel filled white chocolate covered buttons. The child watched the door for Mothers return. A hand slithered surreptitiously towards the willow patterned saucer and grabbed. The woman snatched and stuffed them into her dribbling maw. A cacophony followed, the child shrieked, her Mother pointed … police were called.

Because of those innocuous chocolate delicacies … she finds herself in the Church hall attending addicts anonymous.

Gingerly she stood screwing her finger round a tail of escaped hair, “My name is Josy” she lied; they all did, “I am addicted to … she mumbled … dregs.” Her cheeks took on a shade of beetroot. “I have to eat or drink what others leave.” You could hear a fly attempting to kill its self against the Gothic Window, bump, bump it went.

Her breathy speak and wet palms were proof of her struggle. Tom the resident peeper began the rousing clap, congratulating Josy for managing to admit the shameful addiction, the first step is always the most difficult.

At the end of the share session, they mingled over tea and chocolate covered hobnobs. She didn’t accept a cup or plate. Tom thought it was her resistance technique. So quietly he lay his palm on her shoulder and nodded. Josy, startled, shrugged him away and scowled. People eventually said their goodbyes and drifted off. Except for one … Josy, she hid behind a pillar until they had gone.

The weekly rag ran with the headlines … Local woman detained for psychiatric assessment, The lady who so far remains unnamed had to be forcibly restrained after being found under a table in the Church of Mary and Saint Ethlereds hall. Beside her, saliva smeared plates and cups scattered willy-nilly across the newly laid oak floor. The distraught rector had to be sedated at the scene. Through his sobs, he told of being unceremoniously grabbed by the leg; pulled beneath trestles and forced to endure such an abomination. “She was sucking on my fingers licking my palms for the longest time; it was awful.” He cried.

The Jane Doe was held under section 136 of the mental health act for 72 hours to be assessed as to her competency to stand trial, this being her second arrest in as many weeks.

I love to hear your thoughts, it helps me hone my craft. Play along, tell me in the comments what other fabricated addictions could the people have … in this church hall.

A Snapshot Of Valentines Best Style

I recall the Valentines when I purchased a spud gun, to remind him of his youth! Having heard stories of the fun he and his twin brother had as boys in the sixties. It took time and research on my part to find one.

Beautifully wrapped in brown paper and string in keeping with the times past. Given with a giggle and a kiss that sealed the start of this gloriously decadent day.

For a Valentine should be a measure of your lives a bit of a tickle not too serious, just … fickle. A show of happiness that he already knows and trusts. The receipt of such a gift is unlikely to have ever been given before, like me then, original and unique.

Then came my gift from the husband, not wanting to advertise I will not photograph the wrapping.

image

A chocolate honeycomb filled Bunny was prestnted to me, in a pre opened package … minus a leg! He remembered us laughing at an advert on television which in it’s self is lovely, as me and he and television don’t often, or should I say, don’t regularly meet. Television seems to act as a sleeping draft on me. Give me a comfy seat and the husband to cuddle; throw in the screen and sure enough I am gone. Anyway, my present … an edible bunny with an already missing leg. The husband grinned and said. “A bunny only needs one leg … to hop.”

We laugh a lot him and me, and banter constantly. I ate my gift … not enough to spoil the Valentines banquet that I knew he would cook; but enough to make me smile.

Unfortunately certain body parts if mine, became targets for testing the power of the innocuous looking spud gun. I can tell you it stings! I really should have thought this through.

I know, I am a bit of a loon but I have it on good authority that all the best people are.

Thank you Esme for sharing our stories on the salon this Valentine week.

Have you had an unusual Valentines gift? Let me know in the comments and click to read more @esmesalon Now!

The storm.

Thank you Wallace Peach for this amazing prompt.

February prompt

Any one who was … anyone knew about the storm and Dorothy. Time magazine, Mental health periodicals and well, they wrote a book and a film. But, in the Circus community, and burrowed beneath the grass lands. The story of Monica and her six Mousletts. Abandoned by a wayward Father; as they were. Then rescued by Humphrey the Hefferlump from the most atrocious storm; was mentioned, far and wide.

How although he was fierce and feared by all who encountered him; he gently shaded Monica and her Mouseletts until the storm past, and the snow settled. Then he sucked them all up his trunk, collected the wibberly wobberly house from the bough of the Acacia tree. Took them all to his watering hole. Where to his surprise … but no-one else’s, they all came to a watery end.

Humphrey, never was to be kind again. A rogue with the courage of a Lion and the heart of a Tin Man, who unfortunately was too stupid to know he was missing the intellect of even a scruffy scarecrow.

Sometimes the moral of the story is clear … once an old rogue Hefferlump always an old rogue Hefferlump.

The prompt picture is on loan with thanks from Pixaby and the Oz gif from giffy. Thank you also Esme Slabs for the sharing space Here!

“Was I too cruel … or not cruel enough?” Answers in the comments please I can’t wait to respond.🤣😂