It is reported that a study by Which? has found that the numbers of the different kinds of sweets in a tin of Quality Street does not match their relative popularity.

We have our favourite favourite sweets,
The ones we most prefer to eat,
So when we open up a tin,
Of those we hope there’ll be lots in.

It would seem logical in prose,
For Nestlé to put more of those,
That in a taste contest would win,
Inside the famous QS tin.

But if, instead, we talk in rhyme,
It seems they don’t do this each time,
For Which? Has counted and they find,
By checking each and every kind,
They might be thinking of your purse,
And making the selection worse.

Less chocolate but more fruity creams,
Might keep the cost down, so it seems,
And if nobody keeps a check,
On further changes to the spec,
Our favourite ones, one has to fear,
At some stage might well disappear.

So buy a tin and do a count,
To check for each one the amount,
And if you think they are not right,
Do pick up then a pen and write,
To Nestlé where they do decide,
How many of each go inside.

I’m sure you’ll get a quick reply,
Complete with explanation why,
But it’s unlikely they will change,
The make-up of the QS range.

So after writing what to do?
Your options might be rather few;
You could decide to buy less and,
Switch over to another brand.

The problem is, though, it may be,
That when the other tins you see,
Their favourites might also be few,
’Cos they might all be at it too!

Image – Bruno Girin / Wikimedia commons



It is reported that O2’s phone and data network was out of action for a day leaving millions of people apparently unable to function.

So let’s about it make no bones,
We all rely on mobile phones,
To speak to people when they ring,
And, too, it seems all sorts of things.

They tell us when the bus is due,
The fastest way from me to you,
And if we press the buttons right,
They’ll tell us where to go tonight,
To see a film or have a meal,
And check out any special deal.

So when the network does go down,
It causes more than just a frown,
As people struggle to adjust,
To life without the phones they trust.

They’re helpless, that much is quite plain,
And it seems they can’t use their brain,
To carry on without their phone,
But many still know how to moan.

So what’s the answer? I don’t know.
Apart from playing tick-tack-toe,
But one should not think it is rude,
If ones ear at last comes unglued.


Theresa May Juncker 38875903892_9eac92f7a9_b

It is reported that Jean Claude Juncker called Mrs May ‘nebulous’ and she took exception to it, perhaps the first time she has disagreed with him in the past two years?

The panto season’s in full swing,
With all the laughter it will bring,
And people flock from everywhere,
So of the jokes they’ll get their share.

The actors on the stage can be,
Celebrities we often see,
And others who are hard to tell,
Because they are not known so well.

But it’s unusual, I’d say,
That people like Theresa May,
And Jean Claude Juncker (who is he?),
Are there in pantomimes to see.

So now these two, not so well-known,
Decided to put on their own,
And as reported here in rhymes,
They knew the famous panto lines.

“You called me nebulous,” said she,
“A poor description, that, of me,
For you should listen with your ear,
That I have been so very clear!”

“Oh no I didn’t,” he replied,
Putting his glass of wine aside,
“The words I used were rather few,
And they were not describing you.”

“Oh yes you did,” she answered back,
“So do not try now to change tack;
Your words were broadcast on TV,
And certainly were aimed at me.”

They argued, was it ‘no’ or ‘yes’,
Then later Juncker told the Press,
That they had since kissed and made up,
But now he had his wine to sup.

And that was it till Mrs May,
When speaking later in the day,
Said that she wasn’t all that fussed,
For their discussion was robust,
And it would not be her death knell,
Because they work together well.

On this last point who would have guessed,
That these were good friends, even best,
But Mrs May would say, I fear,
That she has made it very clear!


Ten pound note

It is reported that a Scotsman travelling in Kent called in police complaining of a hate crime when his Scottish ten pound note was not accepted at the post office.

You’d think a Scotsman wouldn’t mind,
If in a shop of any kind,
His offer to pay was refused,
So his cash would remain unused.

And so it was in County Kent,
The place our Scottish hero went,
He asked for stamps, you ought to note,
And offered them a ten pound note.

The clerk examined what it was,
And then rejected it because,
In England notes like this are not,
Accepted since they are all Scot.

The man said, although not in rhyme,
“This seems to me a bad hate crime ;
You are refusing this note and,
It’s ’cos it’s from another land.”

The clerk replied, “That isn’t true,
And I’ve no quarrel now with you;
I’ve seen these Scottish notes before –
Refusing’s not against the law.”

The Scotsman then called the police,
Who came around like lightning greased,
But once they’d been told what had passed,
They gave their verdict very fast,
Proclaiming that they could now state,
That this was not a crime of hate.

So that was it, no crime was done,
No criminals then on the run.
And our man with his ten pound note?
He’s spending it at John O’Groats!


Pooh Bear

It is reported that a street performer in Madrid who dresses up as Winnie the Pooh was asked to stay out of sight as Chinese President Xi Jinping’s motorcade passed so as not to offend the President who some claim bears a close resemblance to the storybook bear.

I’ve talked about this one before,
So some of you should know the score,
And that our old friend Mr Xi,
Thinks that the Pooh Bear looks like he.

In China, therefore, Pooh is banned,
Throughout that quite enormous land,
So Chinese who would read in bed,
Must try with Paddington instead.

But recently Xi went to Spain,
Where most people do not refrain,
From reading Pooh and playing sticks,
Which might well get on Chinese wicks.

One problem they discovered, though,
Was that Xi Jinping planned to go,
Across the square where he could be,
Upset by something he might see.

The sight in question was a man,
There making money if he can,
By dressing up just like Pooh Bear,
And being snapped with tourists there.

And though you might think it absurd,
The police just simply had a word,
And asked if he saw Mr Xi,
Perhaps he might then go for tea.

And so he did, no-one was sad,
For tourists it was not too bad,
And he avoided, absent thus,
A right old diplomatic fuss.



It is reported that the Broadcasting Committee of Advertising Practice is to ban words speeding across television screens faster than 300 words per minute so that they can be read, especially by more elderly people.

We’ve all seen adverts where they show,
Words on the screen that seem to go,
From right to left at breakneck speed,
And far too fast for us to read.

Well, soon such things will be no more,
For better practice is in store,
As regulators, with a frown,
Decree the words must now slow down.

And that is it, they must comply,
Or else the judge will ask them why,
And if there is no good excuse,
Then he quite likely will deduce,
Their action constitutes a crime,
And issue them a hefty fine.

This new approach will help us all,
But we’ll still need the wherewithal,
To buy whatever it might be,
That on the TV screen we see.

So wear your specs and read quite fast,
From the first word until the last,
And though such words can make you bored,
Don’t spend more than you can afford.



It is reported that a church in The Hague has been running a continuous service for thirty-eight days (so far) to prevent the arrest and deportation of an Armenian family; an old Dutch law forbids the police from entering a church while a religious service is in progress.

Religious people like to go,
To church on Sundays where they know,
There’ll be a service, they can pray,
And when it’s done they come away.

The service lasts an hour, not two,
And longer ones are rather few;
Not even when the King is crowned,
Do people longer stick around,
Though that day, even if you tried,
You likely wouldn’t get inside.

But back to Sundays, what if they,
Did hymns and prayers throughout the day,
And then to give you such a fright,
They carried on throughout the night?

And then the next days, three and four,
With cops now lined up by the door,
You’d wonder why these Dutch police,
Seemed to prevent people’s release.

More days pass by, it’s not a joke,
If you’d known you’d have brought a cloak;
And then somebody there explains
The non-stop preaching and refrains,
Will carry on and woe betide,
The police if they should come inside.

For there’s a law, made long ago,
Which says policemen cannot go,
Into a church while people pray,
No matter they might stay all day.

And that’s what’s happening right now,
Parishioners have made a vow,
To sing and pray for all they’re worth,
So five folk from elsewhere on earth,
Can’t be arrested then expelled,
From Holland where they long have dwelled.

So that’s their plan, we wish them luck,
Hope preachers don’t for words get stuck,
The police might have a while to wait –
It’s only now day thirty-eight.

How will it end? We can but guess.
I hope they’re not in much distress;
They might run out of prayers and song,
The Bible, though, is pretty long!