Spotted Dick

It is reported that waiters in the Palace of Westminster have been spotted calling a traditional English pudding Spotted Richard in place of the more usual abbreviated name.

Some people think it only right.
That we all strive to be polite,
In everything we say and do,
And that includes our word choice too.

We should be specially alert,
When we are thinking of dessert,
And we must really take great care,
When ordering this type of fare.

We all know it’s called Spotted Dick,
But best to say it rather quick,
And in a breath as low as poss,
As long as there’s no hearing loss.

The waiter, then, won’t be perturbed,
On hearing this tiny word,
Although to call it Richard might,
Just help him further in his plight.

And I’ve just one thing more to say,
As you read all this guff today;
Please do not be a lunatic,
And please still call it ‘Spotted Dick’.

Image – Chuck Coker / Flickr



It is reported that a new itinerant ice cream seller in Lyme Regis is getting the backs up of the six existing frozen dessert sellers.

Lyme Regis can be rather posh,
And those who have a lot of dosh,
Might like to take a little stroll,
And buy ice cream in cone or bowl.

Along the front six people sell,
Ice cream as far as I can tell;
These traders have a licence bought,
And getting one can be quite fraught,
With charges each one has to pay,
So they can trade from day to day.

This recent upstart, when she tried,
To get a licence was denied,
So it now seems that her intent,
Is trading sans council consent.

The other six say, “It’s unfair.
We’re getting quite close to despair,
For, since she doesn’t have to pay,
She’s taking all our trade away.

She ought, therefore, to be removed,
Because her case was not approved,
And if the council is astute,
They really ought to prosecute.”

The woman says, though, “They cannot.
I sell my ice cream when it’s hot,
But from a tricycle that moves,
And in so doing surely proves,
My stall is not a fixed abode –
It’s always moving down the road.

So the certificate I need,
According to the rules agreed,
Is one for pedlars who can sell
Provided they move on as well.

I’ve one of these from the police,
Twelve twenty-five they did me fleece,
But I had no choice but to pay,
So I can sell the pedlars’ way.

And there’s an extra because I,
As well as selling on the fly,
(Which is the peddling bit in law)
When I move as I must therefore,
To find more folk who want to eat,
I have to peddle down the street!”



It is reported that religious people live almost four years longer than others; owing to cost saving in Heaven perhaps.

You turn up at the Pearly Gates,
Expecting there won’t be long waits,
Before St Peter lets you in –
That’s after he has checked for sin.

But he explains as best he can,
That every woman, every man,
Who’s not already met their fate,
Will have about four years to wait.

The reason, he explains, is cost,
And everyone who is not lost
To Lucifer will be a drain,
And his accounts will feel the strain.

To solve the problem there’s a plan,
That every woman, trans or man,
Will have to live four years or more,
Before admission through death’s door,
And then for residence apply,
In Heaven which is in the sky.

And that’s the best that God can do,
It isn’t perfect, that is true;
The situation’s pretty stark,
With earth used as a buffer park.

And Peter then explains again,
That people wanting to complain,
And keen to leave the human race,
Can sod off to the other place.

There is no waiting list down there,
They always have some places spare,
But mostly folk prefer to wait,
For their slot to incinerate.


Postman Pat

It is reported that Royal Mail has banned the flying of England flags on their vans during the World Cup.

The World Cup is now under way,
So there might be a lot to say,
About the games, who scores the most,
And also ’bout the Russian host.

For politics comes on the scene,
And though I don’t like to be mean,
One must refer to just a few
Things that the Russians like to do.

You will know of all these, of course:
Invading countries, small, by force,
Nerve agent to infect a man,
And hacking everything they can.

But what of dear old Postman Pat,
I haven’t said too much of that,
But as he drives along the street,
With all his addressees to meet,
He’s wondering now if he can,
Fly England’s flag upon his van.

He puts one up, it flies so high,
That Mrs Potts says, “My oh my!”
But Pat’s boss at the GPO,
Says, “Oh my gosh, it’s no, no, no!

We can’t fly flags from our red vans,
It’s one of our long-standing bans;
The reason is, you have to see,
A problem with H S and E.

The safety problem’s always there,
Just like your wheels which have a spare,
And so your big red and white flag,
Will have to stay packed in its bag.”

Pat said, “Well, now, that is a shame,
I’d hoped we’d do well in the game,
And that the flag I’m flying high,
Might Mr Putin terrify.”


World cup flags

It is reported that England won its first World Cup match by two goals to one against Tunisia, both scored by Harry Kane, the second goal right at the end of the match. Hooray!

It’s commonplace in the World Cup,
When England plays there’s something up,
That always stops them winning games,
Despite a raft of famous names.

The players’ faces may turn puce,
Depending what is the excuse,
Or maybe what spectators shout,
Before the team then gets kicked out.

And then it’s back home in disgrace,
No open bus, just crowds to face,
And someone, somewhere bound to whine,
“Maybe they’ll better do next time.”

But this year, goodness, a surprise!
Their first match looked it would be tied,
And then the forward, Harry Kane,
Already one goal to his name,
Headed the ball into the net –
A goal he’ll likely not forget.

He did it all in stoppage time,
Which is so difficult to rhyme,
And therefore my achievement is,
Without a doubt no less than his.

So watch the next games hoping that,
Kane can do a trick of the hat,
Or something like it but not worse,
Then come and read it here in verse.



It is reported that Russia may be able to hack Britain’s traffic lights and cause chaos on the roads. Have they no ambition? They could try something a bit more challenging!

Remember traffic lights on red,
Mean do not go or you’ll be dead,
Whereas if they have turned to green,
Proceed with caution’s what they mean,

That’s just the basic kind of light,
Which isn’t really all that bright,
But some exponents of the art,
Are frequently described as smart.

These smart lights are quite good, all told,
And by some centre are controlled,
So that they change throughout the day,
In order then to speed your way.

A problem, though, has come to light,
For when he’s spoiling for a fight,
The Russian leader might decide,
To try to make our cars collide.

It’s pretty simple, it would seem:
The lights would all be turned to green,
And then a lot would likely crash,
And be turned into so much trash.

It’s like a version of fake news,
Designed to normal folk confuse,
With red and green, I think you’ll find,
A sort of extreme colourblind.

Then on TV in Russian bars,
They could all watch these dodgem cars,
Because to keep his fans on track,
He also might the cameras hack.



It is reported that Sainsbury’s is introducing slow checkout lanes to help people with dementia part with their money in a more leisurely way.

If you are getting on a bit,
It’s possible you’ll have a fit,
When you are checking out your goods,
From Brussels sprouts to cotton buds.

The scanner works at breakneck speed,
So you can from your cash be freed,
And then you have to pack your bags,
With all this stuff with barcode tags.

But now don’t fret, help is at hand,
For Sainsbury’s stores throughout the land,
Are putting in tills that are slow,
Through which we older folk can go.

It simply takes a bit more time,
But still it speaks in prose, not rhyme,
And when it’s charged you for your stuff,
It lets you stay there long enough,
To check for things that you forgot,
As long as there are not a lot.

So do remember when you shop,
That Sainsbury’s really is the top,
For people who are rather slow,
If they remember where to go!