It is reported that young Irish people are not buying so many potatoes, perhaps preferring quinoa and other more exotic vegetables instead.

The Irish people, when they could,
All liked to eat the humble spud;
They sometimes chip and fry in oil,
While other times they peel and boil.

But now, it seems, they’re in decline,
And even with a glass of wine,
The younger people often tweet,
They’d rather now quinoa eat.

You must agree this is a shame,
For the potato gives its name,
To people from the Emerald Isle,
And many do adopt this style.

So, in the main, you need not guess,
What is the best form of address,
For I think that most times it would,
Be OK calling someone Spud!



It is reported that the EU has inserted an ‘Elgin Marbles’ clause into its draft post-Brexit trade negotiating demands to add to the Spanish land-grab on Gibraltar.

It’s pretty clear that the EU,
Sees trade agreements it will do,
With Britain should just be designed,
To make sure we are, well, maligned.

Some things aren’t relevant, of course,
But still it wants them all in force,
Because it thinks it might as well,
And in such things it does excel.

And so it says in guarded words,
That objects d’art – as it refers –
That people may – or not – dispute,
And so might be considered loot,
Should be returned from whence they came,
Or where made – which might be the same.

The Elgin Marbles spring to mind,
For those that were not left behind,
In London now have pride of place,
Which some Greeks think is a disgrace.

So the EU takes on their cause,
And cannot wait to get its paws,
On these and other things like that,
But only good stuff, not the tat.

So things like this might be imposed,
The Union being predisposed,
To include in its business plan,
Such dreadful features if it can.

In time, of course, we will all see,
If things like this will come to be,
Or if Boris (looks like a lout),
Will take his pen and strike them out.



It is reported that an Edward VIII gold sovereign has been sold for a million pounds.

I think that I can briefly tell,
That as the auction hammer fell,
Two people were delighted that,
They had between them now, in fact,
Broken the record for a coin,
By efforts which they did conjoin.

The coin in question was of gold,
And though not really all that old,
So very few were ever made,
And never, ever used for trade,

The story really is well-known,
With abdication of the throne,
And maybe in a different way,
It all repeats itself today.

How it will end we don’t yet know,
It could be good or bad and so,
If we all read these blogs of mine,
We should find out all in good time.



It is reported that The Luftwaffe has so many of its aircraft waiting for spare parts or repairs that German pilots cannot even get any flying practice.

The Germans ought to be ashamed,
That their Air Force has just been named,
As quite incompetent for it,
Is not exactly fighting fit.

It bought some planes but they can’t fly,
And if you ask the reason why,
They’ll say they can’t go on a fahrt,
Because they’re lacking some spare part.

If they can’t fly they cannot fight,
Which some might think is quite all right,
Considering what people know,
Of things now eighty years ago.

But now in this new day and age,
When history has turned the page,
The Krauts are supposed to pull their weight,
So enemies they can berate.

But this they are not keen to do,
They do spend euros – just a few –
But when it come to their defence,
They don’t go in for much expense.

‘Vorsprung durch technik’ as they say,
But even if they think that way,
And though it’s still one of their aims,
It seems it doesn’t work for planes!



It is reported that collections in York Minster are now being made with its electronic bronze collection plates and your contactless credit card.

If you’re in church I have to say,
You might expect some cash to pay,
And probably five pounds at least,
To pay for candles and the priest.

But often people don’t have cash,
(Perhaps small change went in the trash)
Then comes the moment that they hate,
As they see the advancing plate.

It’s getting closer, what to do?
With notes the pounds are not so few,
So some pay five and others nowt,
As brave ones try to tough it out.

Now with this new plate it’s just fine,
To pay towards the altar wine;
But anyone who thinks that they,
With just some pence can get away,
Although they’re now part of the flock,
Might be in for a nasty shock.

’Cos they’ll see as they wave their card,
The next decision is quite hard,
Because the buttons there to press,
Are likely to cause more distress:
In pounds they’re only five or ten,
So that’s back to the start again!



It is reported that a baby has been born in Bethlehem and attended by three kings.

I’m writing all these words by hand,
While sitting in the Holy Land,
About two thousand years ago,
But no-one knows exactly so,
Although the date is pretty rough,
I think it’s likely close enough.

I’m glad the date is out the way,
For back then on that Christmas Day,
A man and woman, so it’s said,
Were seeking, for the night, a bed.

They told the landlord they’d come far,
But when they asked him at the bar,
He said his rooms were rather full,
But round the back he had a bull,
That might perhaps his stable share,
If they would like to check round there.

The woman now looked none too sure,
About this offer from the brewer,
But if the beast were just a cow,
Well, maybe that would do for now.

The landlord said he’d go and check,
When he came back he said, “Oh heck!”
The bull, he said, had disappeared,
But as he had the stable neared,
He saw that there was not much space,
For others had now filled the place.

There was a cow, a donkey too,
Some flocks of sheep – just one or two,
And though the night was pretty dark,
Is seemed as full as Noah’s ark.

“We’ll take it,” said her husband Joe.
“The forecast is for sleet and snow.
The sheep seem quiet, do not bleat,
But have you anything to eat?”

The landlord said, “I’m not too sure,
But I’ve some bottles from the brewer;
The beer inside is dark not pale,
For it’s our special Christmas ale.”

The woman said, “That will do well,
My baby’s coming I can tell,
And after I have given birth,
Expect some changes on this earth.

But as for now the ale is fine,
Because you will find out with wine,
That although it’s as yet unknown,
From water he can make his own.”

So there they stayed that Christmas night,
They found the stable quite all right,
But next day the innkeeper said,
“I’m almost going off my head.

I didn’t sleep a wink all night,
That star up there was far too bright,
But what was right beyond the pale,
Was that some bloke the worse for ale,
At three o’clock gets up and sings,
A song that starts, ‘We are three kings’.

I really don’t know what to do,
They’re much more trouble, them, than you;
I’ve put them in my three best rooms,
But misery for me now looms,
With prospects that are pretty bleak,
’Cos they’ve booked in to stay next week.

They’ve all brought gifts, they say they are,
For me to keep behind the bar,
Until a fourth king should appear,
In Bethlehem or somewhere near,
And then the gifts they will bestow,
On this king that they barely know.

But I think we might play a trick,
Because these kings are pretty thick.
So I’ve a Christmas cracker here,
Just very slightly stained with beer,
It’s painted blue and red and brown,
And inside is a paper crown.

If your child will just put it on,
The kings will think he is the one,
To have the gifts as was foretold,
And one of them is solid gold.

So after that just pay your bill,
I’ll put it over by the till;
It might be big but do not bitch,
Because by then we’ll all be rich!

And as for my three guests from hell? –
We’ll all be shot of them as well!”



It is reported that animal rights group PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) has declared that the Dorset village of Wool is an affront to sheep and have asked that the village be renamed Vegan Wool.

It sounds ridiculous, I know,
That somebody should have a go,
Complaining that a village name,
Should be changed so it’s not the same.

The name in question? It is Wool,
And though it’s all a load of bull,
They say the name is rather cheap,
Insulting, then, to Shaun the Sheep.

But villagers who this have heard,
Say that these folk have badly erred,
Because their facts have not been checked,
Perhaps through lack of intellect.

Despite appearances, the name,
Though as sheep’s fluffy coats the same,
Has no connection with, in fact,
A fleece which may be white or black.

In fact this short word means a well,
Back in the days when few could spel,
And since this fact has now been proved,
The Wool sign need not be removed.

But there’s a lesson in this rhyme,
For those who complain all the time:
If you want to a nuisance be,
Then first please check your history,
And if you find you are not right,
Try not to history re-write!