Pound coins 1

It is reported that many shops are intending to continue to accept the old round pound coin after the official cut-off date of 15 October 2017 since there are still half a billion in circulation.

If you go to the shops today,
And plan that with pound coins you’ll pay,
You might just find to your surprise,
The old coin, which is in demise,
Is still accepted – fancy that –
Because it should be turned down flat.

Shops say they want to helpful be,
And some lost down that old settee,
Have not been found and so a few,
Might still be brought to them by you.

The banks, though, are somewhat less chuffed,
“By now chairs should have been unstuffed.”
And they no longer want to sort,
These coins for longer than they ought.

For sorting is a messy job,
Can’t be entrusted to a yob,
Because he might take some away,
To supplement his meagre pay.

So if you’ve got pound coins, it’s brill,
You can still spend them at the till;
But while you queue to take your turn,
They might holes in your pockets burn.




Tesco van

It is reported that a lady dialled 999 to report a Tesco delivery van in her street which she considered to be suspicious because ‘people round here don’t shop at Tesco’.

If you are in a Neighbour Watch,
You must be careful not to botch
Things or to raise a false alarm,
Which sometimes might do people harm.

Now false alarms are hard to tell,
As many people know quite well,
So best to watch and bide your time,
Before reporting likely crime.

But one old girl, acting in haste,
And seeing things not to her taste,
Did not like one blue Tesco van,
And wasn’t that keen on the man.

She wasted not a moment’s time,
And quickly dialled 999,
Then waited for police to come,
So they’d arrest this Tesco bum.

The policeman came, he said, “What’s up?
I hope I’ve not been sold a pup.
I see no criminals right now,”
As he looked round with furrowed brow.

“Just use your eyes! – Across the road!
They must have got the wrong postcode.
That van’s suspicious, I am sure,
To let him off is premature.”

“It’s just a Tesco van I see,
Delivering food but not for free;
So what’s the problem then with that?
I’m sure that they’ll have paid the VAT.”

“It’s not the VAT, you silly fool,
The shops all charge it as a rule,
But that van there is very queer –
Tesco’s not used by folk round here!”

Image – Sebastian Ballard / Wikimedia commons



It is reported that a survey has shown that most women prefer a man of average attractiveness as their partner, while most men prefer a super-attractive wife.

If you are female and you can,
Choose any kind of partner man,
Then one would think, I would have thought,
That you would want to choose the sort,
Of man that’s rated pretty high,
By other females passing by.

So … maybe … out of ten, a nine?
Which means he would be in his prime?
But, in fact, I would not be right,
For your preferred man, day or night,
Is for some Mr Average who,
Is scoring only three times two.

The reason for this, I can see,
Is that you really fancy me!
But on a more pragmatic note,
It’s ’cos the other girls would gloat,
And they might try most every day,
To steal your lover right away.

But if you are a man, it’s said,
The woman that you’d like to wed,
Is one with a much higher score,
At whom most men would gaze in awe.

For what men like to have, it seems,
Is really the girl of their dreams,
And they’re prepared to take the risk,
That over lunch of lobster bisque,
Some other man might hove in view,
And steal the woman off them too.

So when you’re choosing, take your pick,
But don’t have any Tom or Dick,
’Cos for the one you want to marry,
You might be better off with Harry!



It is reported that a Royal Mail strike is threatened at Christmas.

Now Christmas comes but once a year,
And generally you would prefer,
To send your cards by Royal Mail,
But don’t send cakes – they might go stale.

Cards, formerly, were just a few:
Your best friends – maybe one or two –
And probably the mother-in-law,
Which brings the total up to four.

But over time the list has grown,
As your bank balance might have shown,
And dozens of the things get bought,
Which then the postmen have to sort.

Now if you’re stingy, that’s like me,
And buy cards for about three p,
You’re bound to be distressed to find,
That even this much cheaper kind
Of card will cost the same to post,
As pricey ones that cost the most.

It’s fifty-six pence – second class,
Or for those who’ve got too much brass,
The Royal Mail will them deprive,
For first class of pence sixty-five.

“That’s thirteen shillings!” you exclaim,
“It’s daylight theft in all but name!
Time was when an amount like that,
Would buy the wife a Sunday hat!”

But, anyway, I have digressed,
Because I do not know what’s best,
But if the strikers don’t relent,
Perhaps they have a lifeline sent.

For if there is no post at all,
Even my cheap cards, which are small,
Cannot be sent so won’t be bought,
Thus saving more cash than I thought.

So who says news is always bad?
A strike might be the best we’ve had;
And it might bring much Christmas cheer –
At least to stingy folk round here!


chicken drawing

It is reported that the National Union of Students at Goldsmiths, University of London has organised a tour of chicken shops in south London for new students but some people have accused it of racism and of mocking the working class culture.

The NUS thought that it would,
Be helpful and, in fact, quite good,
To take new students on a tour,
Of shops they hadn’t seen before.

The shops that they thought they would show,
We’re useful ones where they might go,
To buy their food – a takeaway –
And learn what’s there and how to pay.

But two students sought to object,
(Perhaps they had low intellect)
For they said that this was all wrong,
Would insult any Mr Wong,
Who runs a chicken shop at night,
And Mr Wong might get uptight.

At this point, if you are like me,
You might be struggling to see,
Why this assertion might be so,
And I can’t help ’cos I don’t know.

So let us ask our Mr Wong,
(If he can speak the English tongue),
And when we do he says it’s fine,
The students come in all the time.

He likes them coming in each day,
They cause no trouble, always pay,
And though his food is rather cheap,
The students do him solvent keep.

So it’s a mystery, I would say,
Why two folk should react that way,
Instead of just creating strife,
Perhaps they ought to get a life!



It is reported that young people consider getting drunk to be uncool and something that parents do.

Time was when down The Merry Monk,
Young people went to get blind drunk,
And this they would do every night,
Sometimes engaging in a fight.

It was what youth was wont to do,
For if they could hold down a few,
Their friends would think they were OK,
E’en if they were too drunk to say.

But this, it seems, no more applies.
So are young people getting wise?
Well, maybe not, I have to say,
Because, here in this age and day,
As far as anyone can tell,
The youngsters just want to rebel.

They’re doing what parents did not,
Will drink a bit but not a lot;
And if a parent still gets drunk,
They’ll say he is a smelly skunk;
It isn’t cool, this drinking thing,
And can be so embarrassing!

So let your watchword be, ‘Take care’,
If you are short on savoir faire;
It’s better to be cool than p*ssed,
So do The Merry Monk resist!



It is reported that the Archbishop of Canterbury dropped the bride’s ring during a marriage service.

“So with this ring, I thee now wed …
Oh damn it, what have I just said?
There was a ring here, I was sure,
And now, it seems, there’s one ring fewer.

Without the ring, we can’t go on,
There could be two, there must be one;
So if we can’t see where it’s gone,
Your wedding will not be much fun.

But lo! What is that there I see?
It’s golden, so it might just be …
And … yes it is! I think I’m right,
We’ll have you married by tonight!

So pass it here, no harm is done,
Or we can maybe ask someone,
To grovel underneath that seat,
Then we our service can complete.

Well, that was lucky, maybe I,
Should go off and re-qualify,
For though I’m an archbishop now,
It seems that I’ve forgotten how,
To conduct weddings with aplomb,
Instead of like an old sitcom!”