Pig in bed

It is reported that Dr Brown Bear, who seems to be Peppa Pig’s dedicated physician, is setting a bad example by being constantly on call and making home visits for the most trivial of complaints. The NHS can’t keep up.

The NHS does pretty well,
You are alive – that’s how to tell,
But then for an appointment date,
You sometimes might just have to wait.

It could be one day, maybe two,
But seldom more than just a few,
And, in most cases, you must go,
To surgery as you well know.

For visits home are rather few,
(Those where the doctor comes to you),
And if your complaint’s rather small,
He probably won’t come at all.

But if you are a pig, it seems,
You get the doctor of your dreams,
For if he thinks you might be ill,
Although with no more than a chill,
He’ll pop round quickly – in a trice –
And offer you his sound advice.

“Just go to bed with some warm milk,
Which will treat complaints of this ilk,
But if it doesn’t seem to work,
It, probably, is just some quirk,
So call me back at any time –
We might, instead, try gin and lime.”

Now you’ll know as you read this rhyme,
This all just wastes the doctor’s time,
And people who aren’t pigs might say,
Doctors should not behave this way.

They should be fair but always firm,
And if the pig’s just caught a germ,
It really should fend for itself,
With tablets are that off the shelf.

But if the pig should go and die,
It could be that it left its sty,
And then slept in a place too warm,
Which, for a pig, is not the norm.

This would get one pig off the books,
To go and live with ghosts and spooks;
But relatives might complain if,
The doctor only saw a sniff,
And left the pig to overheat,
For half an hour per pound of meat.

So if you are a pig beware,
There are not many doctors spare,
And if you should complain too hard,
You, too, might get turned into lard!

Image –




It is reported that most of the UK’s plastic waste is sent to China where some is recycled but much is burned or buried but in 2008 the Chinese will refuse (!) to take any more.

When you fill your recycling bin,
You look for plastic to put in,
Expecting it will be re-used,
The planet’s warming thus defused.

But you would likely be quite wrong,
For most of it goes to Hong Kong,
Or China in the deep Far East,
Where some of it is burned at least.

And most of that which isn’t burned,
Is buried, we have now just learned;
But China now thinks this unwise,
Because holes of sufficient size,
Are getting few and far between,
And, also, it’s not all that green.

So practices from recent past,
Must be wound up and pretty fast,
And councils here in the UK,
Will have to find another way,
Of getting rid of all this waste,
And do it with unseemly haste.

Because it’s very likely true,
That as waste volumes grew and grew,
The policy for any kind,
Was ‘out of sight and out of mind’.

So putting it all on a ship,
Was paying service of the lip,
By sending it off without trace,
To whence it came in the first place.

So with this problem, what to do,
For shiploads of this stuff aren’t few?

If the Chinese won’t take it back,
Then maybe they could, when they pack,
Their goods in cardboard, plastic too,
Excessive packaging eschew,
And minimise that which is used,
To stop the goods from getting bruised.

This ought to work, I would have thought,
As long as items don’t get caught,
And bashed too much or you might see,
A bend in your flat screen TV!

It’s likely, then, to be u/s,
And might cause you undue distress,
’Cos it’s no good for anything,
Except, perhaps, recycling!



It is reported that the US Food and Drugs Administration (FDA) is warning that cooks should not lick the bowl when baking cakes owing to the possibility of the uncooked flour being contaminated with E.coli or salmonella.

When you were small one thing you did,
Was lick the mixing bowl and lid,
Because it was so very nice,
And sometimes you would lick them twice.

It was quite harmless, had to be,
Because the rest was for the tea,
And no-one gave a second thought,
To the risk that the flour you bought,
Might have bad microbes there within,
And more, perhaps, than a chicken.

But now, it seems, you were quite wrong,
And might have been so all along;
For over in the USA,
The millers had to throw away,
Five thousand tons of faulty flour,
So people could not it devour.

And so the warning call was made,
In case more didn’t make the grade,
And caused more people to fall ill,
Needing, perhaps some sort of pill.

Now even if the flour is bad,
Because your cake some cooking had,
The germs in any flour that’s milled,
Would likely by the heat be killed.

It’s only, therefore, the raw mix,
That does now need this sort of fix,
So heeding this advice is key,
Then you will very happy be.



It is reported that it has been snowing and the usual travel chaos has ensued.

It snowed a bit, I think, last night,
I wondered if it would, or might,
Cause problems in the morning rush,
With drivers getting out to push.

The gritters had been out all night,
The train tracks checked with IR light,
But, in the end, road, rail and plane,
Were bound to see delays again.

When this occurs folk bitch and moan,
Can’t get to work or later home;
And any transport they might use,
Is bound to be mobbed out with queues.

The schools are closed, the kids can’t go,
So they all play out in the snow,
And if they should fall down or trip,
They’re advised not to break a hip,
Because to get to A and E,
Might not so very easy be.

But to these folk I should explain,
That transport systems in the main,
Are always running at full tilt,
Because some more needs to be built.

And so when things like snow occur,
It’s pretty easy to infer,
That disruption there’s bound to be,
Upsetting then both he and she.

So when it snows, then what to do?
There’s not one answer, it is true,
So better just warm clothes to don,


Lego bricks building-blocks-615239_960_720

It is reported that a new study has concluded that children who have fewer toys to play with are more resourceful and creative than those who have lots.

Most children like a lot of toys,
That’s true for girls as well as boys,
And other genders I suppose,
But let’s not worry about those.

But lots of toys are not so good,
Kids don’t play with them as they should,
And a report says that, in fact,
Such kids are easy to distract.

With fewer toys kids must work hard,
Less things to use in that regard,
And their imagination is,
Improved and that’s both hers and his.

For parents this is all good news;
There’s fewer things that one can lose,
And less to stand on, less to break,
So, in the end, less earache.

But you should choose the toys with care,
Your child might say it isn’t fair,
If one’s a Hoover, though renowned,
Which she’s supposed to push around.

But please don’t go to the extreme,
Or you might hear your infant scream;
For though some toys can be a hit,
There surely must be a limit,
To what your Harry, Tom or Dick,
Can make with just one Lego brick!


Leo Varadkar

It is reported that Leo Varadkar, the Irish Taoiseach, has described the first main stage of the Brexit process as ‘the end of the beginning’, a phrase coined in what some observers may now think were perhaps more friendly times!

So Brexit moves on four more days,
Rewritten in all sorts of ways,
To try to satisfy those who,
Wanted a change in version two.

They say that compromise is there,
Page after page with some to spare,
But there are fudges all throughout –
It wouldn’t be agreed without.

And now the Taoiseach dares to say,
The version that was signed today,
Does not mean we are all winning –
Just the end of the beginning.

Now that phrase is so very old,
Coined years ago when we were told,
That in the event of the age,
We had, perhaps, then turned the page.

He said it was neither the end,
Nor the beginning of the end,
But it was, if we could forfend,
Of the beginning p’rhaps the end.

It was true then, but is it now?
That probably depends just how,
Things work out in the days and weeks,
Including with the Irish Tao’each.

And he’ll find out if it was wise,
These famous words to plagiarise,
Or should he have left them unsaid,
And just made up his own instead.

Image – William Murphy / Flickr



It is reported that a recent book, written by former aides, claims that Donald Trump has a (female) aide steam-press his suit when travelling on Air Force One while he is wearing it, and he is also said to eat a lot of junk food.

You’ve heard of Donald Trump before,
With articles writ by the score,
Describing what he does and says,
At home and when out on forays.

There is some quite important stuff,
Mixed up with lots and lots of guff,
And if I wrote of it again,
You’d say I was a complete pain.

But now, today, new things emerge,
Which I would definitely urge,
You to read and to take it in,
Though it could be fake news or spin.

The first is: there’s a choice of food,
To suit the palate of this dude;
It isn’t wide, might be inane,
Includes stuff from a pizza chain,
And burgers – that’s Big Macs, you know –
Plus KFC – we’re good to go.

He likes his biscuits, also chips,
But then he says, “No buts, no ifs,
I don’t want any opened pack,
For I’m a hypochondriac.

With opened packs you never know,
Who’s poked in dirty fingers so,
They may be full of germs and will,
As like as not just make me ill,”

But p’rhaps the oddest tale to tell,
Is, since he must look smart and swell,
He has an aide steam-press his suit,
While, in his plane, he is en route.

“So what?” I think I hear you say,
“It should be pressed most every day.
’Cos he’s a most important dude,
No matter that he can be rude.”

I quite agree but in the main,
Most people take it off again,
So that it can be pressed while flat,
And not while in it one is sat.

Let’s not dwell on the reasons why,
He does this flying through the sky,
But could it explain why he’s rude?
I don’t mean ’cos of the junk food,
But while his suit is being pressed,
It might just be, you may have guessed,
That the steam-press was set too high,
And burnt a red patch on his thigh.

We all know that he is thin-skinned,
His name suggests he might have wind,
But surely, if his leg’s in pain,
He’ll come down like a hurricane!