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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 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 sales of sweet, fruit ‘ciders’ now represent over a quarter of the cider market to the detriment of traditional Herefordshire apple cider.

A cider is a lovely drink,
It’s golden, never brown or pink,
And it from apples should be made,
But only those that make the grade.

There used to be not many brands,
In England, and in other lands,
But now, it seems, big brewers make,
Most of that which one’s thirst does slake.

So there on supermarket shelves,
Most often boxed in packs of twelves,
Are endless names that claim that they,
Are making it the proper way.

But all’s not quite as it should be,
For on the label one can see,
That many of these are not true,
To how one ought to cider brew.

They seem to use all kinds of fruit,
Like pear, with which there’s no dispute,
But strawberry, raspberry or peach?
All of the cider code in breach.

They say that is what folk prefer,
And then to surveys they refer,
Which say that fruity cider is,
More popular with all its fizz.

But like keg beers in times gone past,
This recent fad may just not last,
Because, perhaps, the CAMRA folk,
Who on the keg beers used to choke,
With more support from me and you,
Might now campaign for cider too.



It is reported that Pret A Manger has introduced gingerbread ladies to go with their gingerbread gentlemen but they will both be called gingerbread biscuits. With two different items having the same name it is not clear how one will ask for the one one prefers.

It was just a matter of time,
As I’m informing now in rhyme,
That gingerbread men would get caught,
And hauled before some sort of court.

The problem is, if such it be,
That if you buy one for your tea,
Someone will just complain and gripe,
That it is a male stereotype.

They say there should be ladies too,
Which could be purchased now by you,
And that’s so that (are you now bored?)
The gender balance is restored.

So Pret A Manger’s introduced,
A female version, fat reduced;
But so that there will be no harm,
Which might just cause undue alarm,
Someone seems to have used his wits,
And called them gingerbread biscuits.

Pret thinks this should no problem be,
But if you want one for your tea,
You have to then devise a ploy,
To say if it is girl or boy,
That you prefer to buy today,
Without you getting locked away.

The ploy in question works like this,
(And I am taking not the p*ss):
It’s all down to the words you use,
Choice being either ‘skirt’ or ‘trews’.

Though simple, this can work quite well,
A help to those who have to sell,
These biscuits each and every day,
Who otherwise would get no pay.

But if in Scotland do take care,
’Cos things are not the same up there,
And you might have heard on the news,
Men are not always wearing trews!



It is reported that there has been a spate of thefts of strawberries and raspberries from allotments in Midsomer Norton and the villagers – and Inspector Barnaby – are wondering what to do about it.

No doubt you have heard of this place,
The crime rate there is a disgrace,
With murders happening every day,
And three or four at once some say.

And now the lawlessness is worse,
Though not requiring any hearse,
For rustling there behind the leaves,
There is a gang of soft fruit thieves.

They turn up in the dead of night,
Seems they know what to do all right,
The raps and strawbs are quickly picked,
And by the morning have been nicked.

So now the police come for a look,
Though they can’t see what these thieves took,
But they survey the scene of crime,
And then they start to speak in rhyme.

“It’s clear that there has been a theft,
For of your fruit you are bereft,
And we’d like to investigate,
Or possibly could lie in wait.

The problem is, though, we have few,
Detectives, now no more than two,
And with four murders without doubt,
The two have got their work cut out.

So pinching fruit is not the tops,
Of scheduled workload for our cops,
And so we recommend you go,
And buy some more down at Tesco.”

This was not what folk liked to hear,
The police, they thought, were not sincere,
But they remembered years ago,
An old Wallace and Gromit show.

In this film our two heroes grew,
A huge great marrow, one, not two,
And after several thefts elsewhere,
They knew they would have to beware.

So they locked up their garden shed
Put cameras there then went to bed,
So if the burglars should appear,
They’d catch them before they got near,
Their vegetable, fat, not thin,
And they would have a chance to win.

And so our friends thought, “Yes indeed,
We ought to follow Gromit’s lead.
We’ll put up cameras and a light,
Then we will know who comes at night.

And when we catch them stealing food,
We will, at least, be very rude,
But at the worst the police might find,
They have more of that other kind,
Of crime to solve so Barnaby,
Should increase numbers up the three!”


Blue wine glass-3071799_960_720

It is reported that a French winemaker is making a blue coloured wine but has to make it in Spain owing to objections from conservative French winemakers.

The French are very keen on wine,
They make and drink it all the time;
There’s several types, both reds and whites,
And also some light rose types.

But now Monsieur René Le Bail,
Has done what’s thought beyond the pale,
By making a blue wine instead,
And now his countrymen see red.

“Tradition says wine’s red or white,
So other colours don’t seem right;
We will not have it made round here,
’Cos blue wine does seem very queer.”

Le Bail replied, “ That is a pain,
But I’ll just have it made in Spain;
For there they don’t care what they make,
As long as they commission take.

But my blue wine is of the best,
It comes out well in every test,
And when you’ve tried it you’ll agree,
Wine colours are now four, not three.”