Chicken Pie Thief

Two pies sitting in the sunset,

There’s one chicken and one beef.

They’re cooling on the window sill,

They’ll surely come to grief.

The smell intoxicates me,

It wafts across the yard.

Better shut the window, Betty,

Or you’ll have to stand on guard.

Betty moves to shut the window,

A mass scramble but too late!

She’s left with just one beef pie,

And an empty, spinning plate.

“That blummin’ cat!” Betty screams,

And rushes into the yard.

The cat is nowhere to be seen,

Though Betty looks both long and hard.

A noise behind a privet bush,

A giggle, sounds suspicious.

Tommy Hare loves chicken pies,

And Betty’s are delicious!

Oompah, Zumba, Stick It Up Your Jumper!

In the quiet village of Nether Podmore,

The new craze to arrive.

For old folks' never ceasing quest,

On new ways to survive.

They've discovered Zumba,

A form of fitness workout.

A chance for all the pensioners,

To shake their booty all about.

There's Arthur Pringle,

Dicing with his dodgy hip.

Puts both feet through the same hole,

As on his shorts, he tries to slip.

And eighty-odd-years, Edna Tail,

Not sure what costume will do.

Wears her leopard-print leotard,

Will frilly pink tutu.

'Cos Edna was once a dancer,

And she's seen that movie, Fame.

She still can do some tricky moves,

With the aid of a zimmer frame.

There's Harry Grout, belly sticking out,

Mavis laughs, that's most unkind.

But Harry's wise not to reply,

About Mavis and her large behind.

And Old Fred Tuckett (minus bucket),

Rev. Alf, Elsie, and many others.

Little Pocket Pete and Lanky Len,

(The opposite-height brothers).

They warm up slowly, to and fro,

Arms weaving like a snake.

But after just a couple of these,

Poor Edna asks, 'Can I have a break?'

With Edna out, the music starts,

Arthur's hip is feeling numb.

But bravely soldiers on behind,

Mavis and her wobbly bum.

Harry Grout and Reverend Alf,

Belly-boys, roly-polies.

Backward hips, Alf's backside rips,

Revealing his Holy of Holies.

Charlie Dongle's sweating hard,

His wrinkled muscles ripple.

In old string vest, clutches chest,

'Cos he's got 'jogger's nipple'.

They get the step-up boxes out,

But little Pocket Pete they fear.

Will have to nip home to fetch,

His mountaineering gear.

They all have fun and everyone,

Collapses in their chairs.

And come the days that follow on,

They'll all be forced to live downstairs.

Queen of the Mud

(Warning! It’s a bit saucy!)

Upper Podmore looks down upon,

Little Tossup, and if they had a bomb.

Would roll it down to Nether Podmore, and on,

Down into Trumpingwell, at the bottom.

Trumpingwell is a sizeable town,

Sat snuggly in its own little valley.

With one recognisable star of renown,

Women’s champion mud wrestler… ‘Tin-Pan’ Sally.

And so as it ought, to be put in a report,

That here, mud wrestling is much more than a passion.

For women contestants wear old welly boots,

And the men wear high heels of high fashion.

They laugh and cavort, at this ludicrous sport,

As Sally hauls ‘Big-Bucket’ Pam over her shoulder.

She spins her around, slam-dunks to the ground,

And sits on her as if she’s a boulder!

Pam’s quite ‘put-out’, and begins to shout,

For submission, “Oh please, show me pity!”

From the inelegant dump to that elephant lump,

Now squashing her bucket-sized left titty.

Sally jumps up and so claims the cup,

Once again, champion for the umpteenth year.

An amazon of great size with amazing tree-trunk thighs,

‘She’s the Queen of the Mud!’ they all cheer.

But the Queen of the Mud, isn’t feeling too good,

A sad tear trickles down into the mire.

‘Cos she’s hanging up her wellies, and leaving the ring,

For a pig farm where she can retire.

Well, she’s settling down with pig farmer, Stan Brown,

Whom she fondly adores, no doubt.

Wrestling piglets all day, then a roll in the hay,

Two submissions, three counts and a knockout!

I'm Blue Cat Blue

She’s As Hard As Nails

Betty’s in the Beauty Salon,

Shows the beautician her nails.

A mile away on the edge of town,

Are heard the screams and wails!

The beautician takes a long, deep breath,

“How would madam like them?” she asks, quite daunted.

“I want them black and blue,” says Betty,

“And I want them sharp and pointed!”

“Oh dear, I fear your nails will then,

Become like claws,” the beautician said.

“And black and blue are so not you,

Wouldn’t madam prefer radiant red?”

“Hmm, radiant red?” Betty pondered this new idea,

Then said with a hesitant stammer,

“B-but wouldn’t that mean painting them, instead,

Of hitting them with a hammer?”

Tuatappitongans

The South Sea Island, Tuatappitonga,

Financially is quite poor.

Olympics bound but London found,

Too dear, so based in Nether Podmore.

High jumper, Tuatappitingo,

They call the 'human flea'.

Not 'cos he can jump so high,

More that he's only four foot three.

He was a limbo champion,

But then he lost the knack.

Rumba'd slow and slumped too low,

Now he's got a jippy back.

Long jumper, Tuatappitugga,

She's looking rather fit.

She's training at the Primary school,

And using their sandpit.

She's concentrating really hard,

Although she doesn't look it.

Focused stare then through the air,

And miss that little plastic bucket.

Canoeist, Tuatappitikki,

Capsized and blushes red.

Sitting in the shallow duck pond,

A lily pad is on his head.

Archer, Tuatappibatti,

Her arrows by her side.

Now everyone is hiding,

'Cos she looked at them cross-eyed.

And diver, Tuatappitutti,

Wobbles his belly and hips.

In lycra tights and scared of heights,

Dives into a bag of chips.

The South Sea Island team,

At the Dog and Duck are staying.

They're having such a happy time,

At drinking beer and domino playing.

But time had come for London Games,

For athletes from the South Sea.

They stayed behind in the Dog and Duck,

And watched the whole thing on TV.

Winter Drawers Off!

Elsie Ding’s winter drawers,

Are hanging on her washing line.

Industrial-strength with ‘supa-elastic’, 

Though the stitching is quite fine.

But that’s not strange, why all the fuss?

I hear you casually say.

Well, it was Monday when her drawers went up,

And now it’s Saturday.

No, she’s not gone away on holiday,

To Scotland in her socks.

Without her drawers this time of year,

It’s far too cold around the Trossachs.

And when you mention her ailments,

She’ll say you’re overstating.

Yesterday, the wind got up,

It was quite invigorating.

Has Elsie Ding got no shame? You ask,

What has happened, do you know…

Why she has abandoned all reason,

And gone completely commando?

Well, she meant to bring her drawers,

Back into the house.

But a bulge in one leg revealed the nest,

Of a cute and sleepy dormouse.

So Elsie Ding tiptoed away,

And now she uses next door’s…

Washing line to dry her clothes,

Except for her winter drawers.

They’re still hanging there, industrial-strength,

Through winter rain and storm.

With a cute little dormouse nestled inside,

Curled up, all snuggly and warm.