Monday 26 May 2014

Maggot racing

When my brother and I were little,
We used to go fishing with Dad,
Who didn't allow us to wander,
So there wasn't much fun to be had.

But we noted a boxful of squirming,
And the old tartan rug we had brought.
We decided to try racing maggots.
Thus developed our own unique sport.

The "track" was a red square of blanket.
A white line was where to begin.
A thicker green stripe was the finish,
And the first one to reach it would win.

We picked out our chosen contestants,
Then discovered our plan had a flaw:
We cheered and we shouted instructions,
Which the creatures would always ignore.

Though these larvae were not always helpful,
We persisted and collected some data,
The yellow ones seemed to be faster,
But the pink ones would wiggle much straighter.

Wednesday 14 May 2014

The Sport of Kings

King James brought one passion to England -
The organised racing of horses -
And near Newmarket set up a palace,
Plus the first of a number of courses.

Of the next Stuart monarchs who followed,
Charles the Second was perhaps the most keen.
This delight in competitive gallops,
Has been passed to our present-day queen.

"Sport of kings" is the name that's been given
To the running of gee gees round tracks,
And the presence of blue-blooded punters,
Is something no big meeting lacks.

For the Newbury races next weekend,
We bought tickets, and did this online.
The stuff to fill in was amazing -
To the posh kind of person a shrine.

The section "About You" as always,
Included some details deemed vital.
It started with name, as expected,
Then we got to the bit headed "title".

In the box that dropped down there were options:
"Lord", "lady", "viscount" and "sir"...
"Colonel", "professor" and "sergeant" -
On all these we had to demur.

We went for a simple plain "mister",
In our heads then placed some sort of wager.
Would we qualify, thus gaining entry?
Or should we have opted for "major"?

Thursday 8 May 2014


Welcome to our new viewers from Puerto Rico, Pakistan and Georgia. Your flags have been added to the Hello World blog from April 2013:

It was recently grandson Fred's birthday.
To a party his friends were invited.
This was held at a miniature railway,
With which Freddie was wholly delighted.

His Dad, for the small ones' amusement,
Was busy applying tattoos.
The motifs were all of small creatures:
The kids were invited to choose.

The method was some kind of transfer,
A wet sponge ensured they would stick.
I'm a grown-up, but wanted to try one,
And Richard said, "Please take your pick."

The smiley-faced snail was quite tempting,
And the butterfly, spider and worm.
But the ladybird seemed most appealing:
The "tattooist" made sure it was firm.

It was only at that point I queried,
How long this adornment would last.
"A day or two perhaps," was the answer.
But it seemed to be stuck pretty fast.

The bug that I wear isn't tiny:
It's not life-size and cutely to scale.
Its proportions are those of a fifty pence piece:
All attempts to remove it would fail.

I started with soap and a soaking,
With a pumice stone then did a tussle.
Next I went to the household stuff cupboard,
For the product they call "Mr Muscle",

Which didn't live up to its promise.
Cillit Bang couldn't deal with the "stain".
Am beginning to think that this critter and I
Forever, as one, will remain.

Several days on, am still searching,
For what might just possibly work.
Or acceptance that folk view it kindly,
As a senile old lady type quirk.

Sunday 4 May 2014

Hair dye

My hair's sort of brownish, but to my dismay,
There were more than a handful of strands that were grey.

My birthday arrived - I had turned sixty-three -
And was feeling in need of a more youthful me.

The "greys" really bugged me - they just didn't suit.
They were not only white, but were wiry to boot.

In the car's rear view mirror, whenever I glanced,
They seemed to be multiplied, strangely enhanced.

Some colour was called for, but which one to choose
From the massive selection, in various hues?

And what type of product? The permanent stuff?
Or the sort that would go, if you washed it enough?

I selected the latter, although it might fade,
And "medium brown" seemed a safe-sounding shade.

What to do wasn't tricky - quite simple in fact.
I complied with instructions, my timing exact.

I rinsed off the gunge, like it said in the pack,
Which was when I discovered my hair had turned black.

I should have expected to meet with some hitch.
My husband observed that I looked like a witch.

My daughter advised, when I asked what to do,
"Use washing-up liquid, instead of shampoo."

So that's what I tried, but my locks are still risible.
They are still very dark - and the grey's once more visible.