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 Prue Leith, one of the Channel 4 British Bake Off judges accidentally tweeted the name of the winner, a secret that had been successfully kept since filming ended several months ago.

Now Bake Off is on Channel 4,
It’s not much different from before,
And, as before, the filming’s done,
At time of year when there’s some sun.

In England, then, that’s May and June,
When contestants with wooden spoon,
Mix up their many buns and cakes,
Each hoping they’ve got what it takes.

This means the outcome, then, must be,
Kept secret, top, from you and me,
And this, you’ll see, makes perfect sense,
So we can all watch in suspense.

But this year, with twelve hours to go,
Prue Leith, a worker on the show,
Was so excited that she told,
The world who would the trophy hold.

Like Donald Trump, it seems that she,
Must constantly on Twitter be,
And when you’ve not got much to say,
You start to give the game away.

Now Channel 4 was quite aghast,
For also in that judges past,
She’d fallen foul of them before,
By seeming viewers to implore,
To take from her a handy tip –
Record it then the adverts skip.

So Mrs Leith must watch her step;
As well as judging cakes and crêpes,
She must show she’s got what it takes,
To secretise her bread and cakes!



It is reported that Thomas the Tank Engine is to be made more politically correct by replacing Henry and Edward with Rebecca (who is presumably female but only if she is happy with that) and Nia (African, orange and perhaps of indeterminate gender). The Liverpudlian narrator is also to disappear and Thomas will leave his home on the Isle of Man. Sodor that!

With all these changes, where to start,
And not upset the apple cart?
The Thomas, he whom we all love,
Is under pressure from above,
To reinvent some of his friends,
And in this way to make amends,
For all the sexist stories he,
Has told in the last century.

So out goes Henry, Ed as well,
To both of these we bid farewell,
And in their place comes Nia who,
Is African and orange hue.

To go with her is Becky who,
Is likely to get in a stew,
’Cos in the world of trains and steam,
Girls are not held in high esteem,
Because with Barbie, also Ken,
They just do different things than men.

But, nonetheless, we have to pay,
Lip service now from day to day,
To make sure everything you see,
It perfectly – you know – PC.

So, to this end, more changes are,
Required so Tom is not bourgeois;
And one more consequence of this,
Is everybody will now miss,
The dulcet tones of Ringo Starr,
Which I’d have thought were on a par,
With persons who’d not claim to be,
A member of the bourgeoisie.

And finally, Tom goes on tour,
To countries, some of which are poor,
To show some empathy with those,
Where a steam engine never goes.

But with all this it’s a surprise,
Especially with coal’s demise,
That Tom’s steam engine friends have not,
Been scrapped now and all left to rot.

But above all steam engines are,
Still very, very popular,
So changing things to be PC,
Is fine if not causing ennui,
But if it should sell fewer words,
Well, then, PC is for the birds!

Image – Duncan Harris / Wikimedia commons



Blog Picture 1

It is reported that Bean’s Blogs have been missing for a few days.

Apologies to those of you,
Who think I’ve nothing else to do,
But write stuff each and every day,
For mostly no or little pay.

But a calamity I’ve had,
Which, in the end, was not so bad,
And now it’s over I’ll resume,
My writing really very soon.

And I do hope at any rate,
That readers will appreciate,
I’ll always do my best to write,
Something to make their day more bright!



It is reported that Prue Leith, new judge of The Great British Bake Off on Channel 4, has been advising viewers to record the programme and watch it later, skipping the advertisements. Her employer, Channel 4, is not amused.

If you liked Bake Off just like me,
When it was on the BBC,
A problem might now be in store,
Since it has moved to Channel 4.

The problem is, I think, the ads,
Which might not matter to the lads,
When they are watching football and,
Are just intent on getting canned.

But if you’re watching baking cakes,
These can be irritating breaks,
Because they might make you lose track,
Unless, of course, you want a snack.

So Prue Leith – she’s the newest judge –
Has said with a wink and a nudge,
You should record it while on air,
And though it really isn’t fair,
You can fast-forward through each ad –
Use the remote, it isn’t hard.

But Channel 4 said, “Bad advice!
Some adverts can be rather nice.
But even if they’re not we must,
Show all of them or we’ll go bust.

They pay for programmes that we make,
Including this, the British Bake,
And she should know, this judge called Prue,
They have to pay her wages too.

Perhaps she has been on the wine,
But if she doesn’t toe the line,
And all our Bake Off ads extol,
She might soon find she’s on the dole.”

So, Mrs Leith, you have been warned,
The C4 ads must not be scorned,
And it seems likely if you do,
You’ll not make it to Series 2!



It is reported that Sir Bruce Forsyth has died at the age of eighty-nine after more than seventy years in show business.

It was announced just yesterday,
That Bruce Forsyth has passed away;
He was an entertainer fine,
And died at age of eighty-nine.

He made his name first and then some,
At the London Palladium,
And in the old days that was where,
He did the Sunday show compère.

And then the Generation Game,
Was where he really rose to fame,
And finally on Strictly Dance,
Where he would sometimes take his chance,
To tap his shoes there on the floor,
Hoping that judge might give him four.
But now he’s gone I don’t think we,
Will see another quite like he.

But now Brucie’s distinctive style,
That proved to be so versatile,
Will come in useful, I would say,
There at the Pearly Gates today,
For he knows how to break the ice:
“Nice to see you, to see you … nice!”

Image – Millfield Manager / Wikimedia commons



It is reported that the BBC has been forced to publish the salaries of its highest paid presenters which provides endless opportunities for troublemakers to make trouble.

The subject discussed yesterday,
Was all about the people’s pay,
At least those that we like to see,
Employed upon the BBC.

Some think the highest paid’s a twit,
He’s ginger hair and didn’t fit,
When he was charged Top Gear to run,
Where pretty soon his time was done.

Then some footballer, maybe Ex-,
Who sells crisps too, not fried in Trex,
He comes in second, that’s a shame,
I wish I could recall his name.

The rest get a few hundred thou,
And though that’s more than I get now,
In entertainment this is not,
In some respects an awful lot.

I think the Beeb has done quite well,
To get so cheap these personnel,
But those two on the highest pay,
Could be dispensed with any day.

As ever, though, a story must,
Be filled with intrigue or disgust,
And in this case the complaint is,
That her pay’s always less than his.

On this point I just do not care,
’Cos all these females on the air,
Are still well-paid, you will agree,
And consequently I don’t see,
Why anyone should shed a tear,
If they can’t keep themselves in beer.

But anyway please still take note,
These women should all get your vote,
Not only do they all excel,
But most are pretty cheap as well!