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It is reported that a tourist has been fined £1000 for taking a bottleful of sand from a beach in Sardinia.

You might think sand is not worth much,
If so you would be out of touch,
At least where the sardines come from,
For there it could cost you a bomb.

It seems their sand is rather nice,
And people take it, sometimes twice,
But this affects the beach – it goes –
But where that’s to? Nobody knows.

Perhaps it goes as souvenirs,
To show to neighbours drinking beers,
But every bit that’s taken – each –
Is playing havoc with the beach.

So taking it is not allowed,
By any of the tourist crowd,
And if they do they’ll get a fine,
Discouraging them all next time.

They search you at the airport when,
Waiting to board your plane and then,
Should they discover any sand,
You can expect a reprimand.

Not only that, maybe a fine,
Which can be big to send a sign,
To others who might do the same,
And show them sand is not fair game.

So if you want some sand take care,
It doesn’t come from just round there;
You really must be on your guard,
So buy it down the builders’ yard!


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It is reported that the Belgians are running out of potatoes to make the national dish ‘frites’ owing to poor yields in the hot, dry weather. They should go on holiday to Glasgow! And Ryanair pilots have gone on strike. And, of course, Brexit rumbles on.

The Belgians say they like their frites,
Among their favourite things to eat,
And pretty cheap because they’re made,
With spuds though they must make the grade.

And that’s a problem, which is bad,
Because the weather that we’ve had,
With little rain and days so hot,
Means that of spuds there’s not a lot.

And what there are are very small,
With some that can’t be peeled at all,
So frites are now in short supply,
Because the weather’s been so dry.

But, nonetheless, help is at hand,
’Cos way up north – that’s in Scotland,
Glaswegian people are alreet,
With far more chips than they should eat.

(If right now you don’t get the gist,
It could be that you’re simply p*issed;
Or maybe you do not recall,
My last blog which will explain all.)

So charter flights are what we need,
Then Glasgow folk can take the lead,
In cutting down on what they eat,
Which will, for them, be quite a feat.

But all of this might have to wait,
Because on round about this date,
The pilots’ strike at Ryanair,
Means there are few planes in the air.

But that’s all right, or it could be,
Provided that we soon can see,
A proper Brexit which is fair,
Then we will send potatoes there.

But I’m afraid if Brexit’s bad,
And we are all still pretty mad,
Potatoes then we will not ship,
And Brussels will have had its chips.



It is reported that Obesity Action inspectors have found that the portions of chips sold in Glasgow are almost twice the recommended size … Jimmy.

Glaswegians like to eat junk food,
And sometimes can be really rude,
Especially if one should ask,
Or p’rhaps take one of them to task.

And taken to task they have been,
Because inspectors have just seen,
That when it comes to chips and grease,
Glaswegians ought to be obese.

The portion size of chips they sell,
Has been weighed and assessed as – well –
Almost two times what it should be,
And in some cases nearly three.

As you might guess this is quite bad,
And seems to be more than a fad,
Because, as you now learn in rhyme,
It’s been like this for quite some time.

So with this intel what to do?
Someone should tell these folk, but who?
For one who dares to so intrude,
Might get a treatment rather rude.

By ‘rude’ I do not mean the words,
(In Glasgow that’s just for the birds)
But rather, with Glaswegian grace,
The chips might end up in one’s face.

That likely will make one retreat,
No longer worry what they eat,
And if they still eat too much fried,
At least one can say that one tried.



It is reported that residents near a new crazy golf course in Dawlish, Devon have complained that a seven foot fibreglass gorilla on the course is looking into their homes. When the gorilla was then turned round to face towards the sea, other residents complained that they were left looking at the gorilla’s bottom. You just can’t please some people.

Gorillas in Dawlish are rare,
So you might expect folk to care,
Where one is sited in the town,
Which otherwise has great renown.

So when a fibreglass one was,
Erected in the town because,
Of crazy golf it was a part,
It did a great big squabble start.

The problem was its piercing eye,
Which people thought designed to pry,
On them by staring at them when,
They ventured out now and again.

The owner of said chimp concurred,
And said he would, if they preferred,
Turn it around to face the sea,
And he would make this change for free.

So this was done, but then, Oh dear!
More residents not far from here,
Complained and did seem very glum,
’Cos they could all now see its bum.

Gorillas’ bums are not too nice,
You wouldn’t want to see one twice,
And in the wild, make no mistake,
They often do rude gestures make.

So maybe one can sympathise,
For it is now the people’s eyes,
That have to suffer and then some,
Staring at the gorilla’s bum.

So if you want a plastic zoo,
Make sure you don’t get caught out too;
There is a lesson here, I think –
Gorillas’ bums create a stink.

Image – Devon Live



It is reported that a spokesman for the British Sandwich Association has warned that sandwiches may be in short supply after a no-deal Brexit.

If you like sandwiches you may,
Be really dreading Brexit day,
And wondering if they’ll still be,
Available to have for tea.

Well, now the answer’s come today,
The Sandwich ’Ssociation say,
“Brexit might mean there is no veg,
To go with cheese – a slice, not wedge.”

But others say, “That is just tosh,
For sandwiches, though plain or posh,
Can be made with all sorts of stuff,
Some quite refined and others rough.

So after Brexit don’t despair,
The sandwich will be everywhere,
With fillings savoury or sweet,
And all still just as good to eat.”



It is reported that a gold nugget has been found in a Scottish river and that it may be worth £50,000 which would be more than ten times its normal value as a 2.75 Troy ounce piece of gold.

When we were young we were all told,
If you wanted a croc of gold,
The best place by a league or mile,
Was somewhere in the Emerald Isle.

There was a clue of where to try:
You simply looked up in the sky,
And where the rainbow met the ground,
Was where the gold was to be found.

Imagine, then, the great surprise,
When focussed by a pair of eyes,
A lump of gold, a real treat,
Which these criteria don’t meet.

So, first of all, the place don’t match,
We are in Scotland, there’s the catch,
And rainbows neither can be seen,
Plus grass all the wrong shade of green.

But, nonetheless, the gold was found,
Not, as expected, underground,
But in a shallow river where,
It just looked like a pebble there.

It was kept secret for a while,
For fear the river – not the Nile –
Be attacked by – and there are lots –
Some kilted, money-grabbing Scots.

I should, perhaps, apologise,
For my words here were not so wise,
And Scots like that, I’m pretty sure,
Are not a lot but rather fewer.

So there, I’ve tried to make amends,
So Scots can still with me be friends;
They are the greatest race all right,
But, by God, they can be so tight!


Phrase books

It is reported that fewer people are taking phrase books on holiday, opting instead for mobile phone translation. Or speaking loudly.

When you are in a foreign land,
Soaking the sunshine, sea and sand,
It is quite good, where’er you are,
To speak in the vernacular.

And if you’ve no linguistic bent,
To help this most noble intent,
A phrase book is just what you need,
To verbalise your thoughts and deeds.

They don’t cost much, they are quite small,
They work for people, short or tall;
And phrases there that they translate,
Help you, with local folk, debate.

But now, it seems, the mobile phone,
With a translator of its own,
Is elbowing the book aside,
As first and foremost language guide.

So how do these two now compare,
In a comparison that’s fair?

Well, Google can make big mistakes,
And sometimes one is all it takes,
To start an argument or fight,
If you don’t get the wording right.

I don’t examples want to give,
For I am rather keen to live,
And this by foreigners is read,
So one mistake might see me dead.

So when you try to speak, take care,
’Cos you are foreign while you’re there;
Alive is preferable to dead,
So watch your back and use your head.