Mum’s Garden Full Of Birdsong – By Paul Holland (Again!)

Mum’s Garden Full Of Birdsong

There’s a tall tree in mum’s garden

That needs chopping

A Blackthorn

It and the Holly beside it

Spreading up up way beyond their bound

Blocking the light from the neighbours

Worrying my mum that someone may complain

Curly and I could not reach over far enough

That time we cut the hedge

But there’s a Blackbird that sings from that tree

He’s singing now

A Mistle Thrush, countless Tits

And the Blackbird and his mate

All in there

The Blackbird is singing

‘Yeooww woo

But isn’t it grand’

It is too

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Fences Of The Famous – An Occassional Series #2

Hello!

“All the world’s a fence.”

Like doubts, we all have them or know someone who has them. Fences that is.

What does your Fence say about you?  Phantom Decker? Patio Poseur ? Wind Damaged? In Need Of Creosote?

Who knows? Who cares! 

Here is the Fence of a famous person. Can you guess who it belongs to?

Colonial Decking

 

Whose Fence Is That Above?

The Pope!

Here is His Holy Fencityness enjoying his Fence and having a natter with his neighbour in the process. Do you think he is a fan of the Lattice Mass?

If you have any photos of fences of the famous please keep them to yourself!

Here is Prince Charles enjoying his fence

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Ginger Heartache With Aunty Bill – Where Are They Now?

Regular readers of Gfb may well recall this following heart rending story from Wilma to our transsexual agony aunt, Aunty Bill.

Aunty Bill

Several days ago I met a lovely man at the Bingo. He sat with me as I played and was thrilled when I shouted “House” in my first game!

I won two hundred pounds as well!

He told me he loved me and asked me if I could lend him the £200 so he could buy some sand. I loved him and did so. He promised me that he would pay me back the next day and also give me some sand as a keep sake.

I haven’t heard from him. Do you think I have lost him? Do you want some sand?

Wilma, Portland

Aunty replies;

Dear Wilma,

It looks like you’ve been a victim of  the notorious”Bingo Bob”. Bob preys on women like yourself who frequent Bingo Halls to fuel his lust for sand. Sharp, Coarse or Fine, it’s all the same to him. He has an insatiable lust for the stuff.

When he’s got enough sand together (a hippo sized bag should suffice for his twisted needs) he creeps, yes creeps, under the cover of darkness to the beach and spends the rest of the night building phallic symbols (rather poor efforts I must admit, he sent me some pictures).

Then he buries himself adjacent to his efforts to wait for sunrise and the looks of horror and disgust on the faces of those early morning beach goers as they feast their eyes on his depraved sculptures.

You’ve had a close call Wilma. Try to forget all about it and hand your evidence to the Police.

Regards

Aunty Bill

Aunty Bill UPDATE!

A few days ago we received this letter from Wilma,

Aunty Bill,

Many thanks for your advice about Bingo Bob and his sand fetish.

Phew, that was a lucky call! Our paths haven’t crossed since.  You will be pleased to know I met another lovely man at the Bingo who fell head over heels in love with me after I won the £2,500 grand draw.

He asked me to lend him the winnings so that he could buy a rake, shovel and hoe and plant some cauliflower and broccoli to become self sufficient in vegetables. As Tony quipped to me that night, “That way I won’t be brassic because of Brassicas!” – this is just one example of his great sense of humour.

Heeding your advice I lent him the money because he didn’t want to buy any sand. He said he would be back in the Autumn with an engagement ring and a bumper crop of caulis for us to start a new life together.

I am so lucky to have met him. And it is all because of your advice!

I still have the sand if you want it.

Thanks!

Wilma

Aunty Bill doesn’t have the strength to reply………….

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Mum’s Garden Full Of Birdsong – By Paul Holland

There’s a tall tree in mum’s garden

That needs chopping.

A Blackthorn

It and the Holly beside it

Spreading up up way beyond their bound

Blocking the light from the neighbours

Worrying my mum that someone may complain

Curly and I could not reach over far enough

That time we cut the hedge

But there’s a Blackbird that sings from that tree

He’s singing now

A Mistle Thrush, countless Tits

And the Blackbird and his mate

All in there

The Blackbird is singing

‘Yeooww woo

But isn’t it grand’

 

 

You can read more of Paul’s poems here and here – Well worth it!

It is too

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