@don’t shout!

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It is reported that lawyers are advising managers not to use capital letters in emails as to do so may be considered equivalent to shouting and could lead to complaints and disciplinary action.

An email can be rather terse,
But less so if it is in verse,
As it conveys a message to,
Someone a bit like me or you.

Because they’re brief, it’s hard to show,
Emotion when you press the ‘Go’,
But if someone is in disgrace,
You might write it in upper case.

But lawyers say you should watch out,
It may be deemed to be a shout,
And if your voice this way you raise,
It could start an harassment case.

O2 OH DEAR

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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.

TO FLY OR NOT TO FLY?

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It is reported that a pilot with Flybe who was sacked after he developed a fear of flying has won his appeal against unfair dismissal.

A pilot should be quite alert,
Not saying that his brain does hurt,
While sitting in the briefing room,
Imagining impending doom.

For in a minute he will fly,
An aeroplane up in the sky,
And if he’s frightened of the flight,
He’ll struggle then to do things right.

This happened, though, at Flybe,
Where one pilot announced that he,
Could not now fly the aeroplane,
And likely would not do again.

They thought a bit then he was sacked,
For mentally he had now cracked,
And with this ailment it was plain,
This pilot wouldn’t fly again.

The pilot, though, appealed his case,
Said, “Though I’m not a flying ace,
I can still read and write, it’s true,
So there’s a desk job I can do.”

The judge said, “Yes, you are quite right,
That job is different from a flight,
And it will keep you right away,
From taking me on holiday!

MONEY MONEY MONEY …

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It is reported that restaurants that play ABBA music get bigger tips.

Now restaurant music, live or canned,
With singers, or perhaps a band,
Is often for the diners played,
While eating and before they’ve paid.

Some people like it, some do not,
While others might but not a lot,
But it is clear that it does set,
The ambience that they will get.

The ambience, if it’s not right,
Can make the diners rather tight,
Whereas some different music may,
Encourage them some more to pay.

I speak of tips, you may have guessed,
Along with nearly all the rest,
And recently it has been found,
Tips are more likely to abound,
When ABBA is the group of choice,
With instruments and also voice.

Their music while they eat their food,
Puts people in a happy mood,
And this, as many people say,
Means they will likely extra pay.

So ‘Dancing Queen’ and ‘Waterloo’,
To mention only one or two,
Should be the music best to play,
At night and also in the day,
So restaurants can get to grips,
And maximise their diners’ tips.

So if you’re eating out beware,
Don’t take with you much cash that’s spare,
For if they songs of ABBA play,
You might just give it all away.

Image – Bank of England

TROJAN HORSE (BIGGEST EVER)

Trojan Horse

It is reported that the Chinese have been putting ‘spy chips’ into electronic products made in China and there are concerns that this may put Western infrastructure and other systems at risk.

Remember at the gates of Troy,
The Greeks had come up with a ploy,
To trick the Trojans, like you do,
With something too good to be true.

They left outside a wooden horse,
The Trojan’s wanted it, of course,
And so they took the horse with glee,
Delighted it was also free.

They took it through their city walls,
Ignoring wiser people’s calls,
Who said that it must be a trick,
For anyone who wasn’t thick,
Would know that horses don’t come free,
And this was nice as nice could be.

The rest of this you ought to know:
The soldiers left the horse and so,
Attacked the Trojans in the night,
Which some might say just served them right,
For their greed and ignoring whence
The horse came – that’s not common sense.

Roll on now for a second take:
We all forgot this great mistake,
Back long ago when Troy did rue,
The day then too good to be true.

This time the ‘Greeks’ are farther east,
They make things and they charge the least,
With prices that are very low,
So that’s where we all want to go.

Our eyes light up, they are so cheap,
But what we sow we’ll later reap,
When we find out, or maybe not,
That there’s a Chinese Trojan plot.

For recently it’s come to light,
That Chinese chip assemblers might,
Have hidden spy chips in their goods,
Behaving, then, a bit like hoods.

This is quite frightening in a way,
For if there were a war today,
The Chinese might, with flick of mouse,
Control what goes on in your house.

And not just that but other things,
Like grids which phones and power bring;
These could be shut down in a flash,
And all our self-drive cars might crash.

So with this problem, what to do?
It’s over to GCHQ,
For they and their friends MI6,
Will also have their bags of tricks,
So there can be robust defence,
In present, past or future tense.

But if they can’t, how to react,
If hacking does become a fact?

Well, if we don’t all want to die,
We have no choice but to rely,
Though I don’t want to worry you,
On English, J and Doctor Who!

KNOCK KNOCK

Waitrose

It is reported that Waitrose is starting in-house deliveries where they let themselves in and put your groceries in the kitchen, fridge or freezer.

It seems that in this day and age,
Although it can be hard to gauge,
Folk like to buy their food and wine,
Not in the shop but now online.

So far, so good, but when the man,
Stops outside in his little van,
He’ll likely not see you about,
Because quite often you’ll be out.

So with your shopping, what to do?
The options can be rather few,
And all that he can do that day
Is take the blooming lot away.

So Waitrose has devised a plan,
Which will allow their little man,
To go inside your locked front door,
And walking gently on the floor,
He’ll find your fridge and cupboard too,
And put it all away for you.

“That’s pretty good,” I hear you say,
“But if the fridge is full, he may,
Find there is insufficient room,
Because we have failed to consume,
The last lot that he brought before,
From some or other Waitrose store.”

“I see your problem but I think,
If he leaves some things in the sink,
They’ll be all right for, as a rule,
Most sinks are really pretty cool.

It does mean, though, the sink must be,
As empty and clean as can be,
For if it’s not and in a mess,
It might cause much undue distress.”

I’m rambling on here, not sure how,
To finish off this poem now,
But it might help if you would stop,
And buy all your stuff in the shop!

BELGIAN FRIGHTS (FRITES)

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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.