It is reported that new research has found that eating chocolate regularly reduces heart fluttering.

If you like chocolate like most do,
Then I have some good news for you,
For recent research has now found,
If you should eat just half a pound,
Of chocolate each and every week,
Then you’ll be on a winning streak.

It stops the flutter of he heart,
Achieving which is rather smart,
For even if you’ve got a wife,
It’s likely to prolong your life.

It works for women just as well,
But one thing that I ought to tell,
Is they don’t need to eat so much,
Which you would think is good as such.

But women now all shout, “Unfair!
We can eat more with some to spare,
So alter your conclusions pray,
Then we can eat it every day!”


Care home

It is reported that the plan in the Conservative Party manifesto to deal with old-age care has gone down very badly and is being portrayed as the ‘dementia tax’.

You will have seen that Mrs May’s,
Been criticised for several days,
For saying wealthy people should,
Pay for old-age care if they could.

The plan is they will have to pay,
The full cost of their care ’til they,
Find hundred k is all they’ve got,
And after that they keep the lot.

Opponents say this is unfair,
Both rich and poor have need of care,
And with this plan we have now got,
It might mean rich folk pay a lot.

It seems a little odd to me,
That Labour quite remarkably,
Are standing up for rich folk who,
Are really fairly well-to-do.

For poorer people who don’t own,
The property they call their home,
And who just rent their roof and wall,
Will likely not pay owt at all.

And richer folk who’ll have this debt,
Won’t need to sell their house just yet,
And quite a while their time may bide,
Then settle up when they have died.

But I don’t know why people moan,
About the proceeds of their home,
The best time to be taxed, it’s said,
Is when your well and truly dead!

Image – CQC press Office / Flickr


Balloon water

It is reported that a slimming pill has been invented which when swallowed turns into a balloon in the stomach which is then filled with water and depresses the appetite.

“You are too fat so what we’ll do,
Is take this pill – just one, not two,
It’s guaranteed to make things right,
By cutting down your appetite.

It works because it’s a balloon –
There’s colour choice, this one’s maroon –
And when it’s blown up in your tum,
Your brain thinks that you’ve eaten some,
And though that’s not exactly right,
It will depress your appetite.

So take the pill, it goes inside,
And if next day you haven’t died,
We’ll fill it through this tube you see,
So it will then inflated be.

But there are choices to be made:
Just plain water or lemonade,
These are the cheapest, that’s not strange,
And we call them our Value Range.

Or then again you could have milk,
Or other liquids of that ilk,
And there are others not too dear,
Including lager, stout and beer.

But if you want to go for gold,
We’ve wine and Cognac that’s so old,
That no-one knew when it was made,
It would become a slimming aid.

So speak up now and make your choice,
From Value Range to full Rolls-Royce,
And if we get it at the bar,
Today you get a free cigar!”


Drunk sign

It is reported that a study has found that drinking does not change one’s personality, it just makes us talk louder.

Some people do sometimes get drunk,
And while they’re like a smelly skunk,
They claim that what they’ve drunk that day,
Does more than just change what they say,
And drinking more than two or three,
Can change their personality.

This has been studied at some length,
With drinks consumed of different strength,
And the conclusion they have found,
Is drinking much more than one round,
Does not have this effect at all,
But could contribute to a brawl.

It doesn’t change, researchers say,
The drinkers personalité,
But lager, beer and even stout,
Can make a normal person shout.

The drinker really stays unchanged,
So even if he seems deranged,
He shouts out what he wants to say,
Including whether he will pay.

So let your watchword be ‘Take care’,
When you are standing drinking there,
And if you’ve had a lot that day,
Do please try not to shout, just say.



It is reported that Jeremy Corbyn told an audience of nurses in Liverpool that sixty-eight is too late for a retirement age.

Now Corbyn’s in the news once more,
And could have a surprise in store,
For though his words are rather clipt,
He deviates from Labour’s script.

Perhaps most times this matters not,
For their script is not all that hot,
But just occasionally it might,
Seem he’s not got his views quite right.

The problem that this time arose,
Was Corbyn was addressing those,
Who work in nursing – NHS –
And had some gripe as you might guess.

One man stood up, addressed him thus:
“I work here so to earn a crust,
But for my pension I must wait,
Until the age of sixty-eight.”

The Leader stood, he looked around,
For Labour this was solid ground;
He coughed a bit, looked quite benign,
Then answered him though not in rhyme.

“The Government,” he said quite bold,
“About this scandal should be told,
For everyone should now retire,
Before they’re sixty-eight, no higher.

So if I am PM quite soon,
By which I mean the ninth of June,
This policy I will enact,
For every kind of job in fact.”

But Mr C, it seems, forgot,
Exactly when he’d been begot,
Because before the end of May,
He’ll have his sixty-eighth birthday.

So if he wins then this could be,
The shortest premiership that we,
Have seen – it could be just one day –
Before he goes on pension pay!

With apologies to The Beatles (for the title)

Image – Gary Knight London


South Western Ambulance VX09FYP

It is reported that the NHS has been reinforcing its ambulances to be able to accommodate overweight patients of up to seventy stone.

The NHS is under strain,
As it spends time in curing pain,
And something that has come to light,
Is one problem that’s not so slight,
And likely could now cause a spat –
Its patients are all getting fat.

So first, it’s difficult to talk,
About those who can barely walk,
For zealots all for sure will be,
Insisting everything’s PC.

But paramedics say that they,
Have difficulties every day,
Lifting these patients who are fat,
And also then their tyres go flat.

Now one solution’s been devised,
To cope with all these oversized,
Which is, pragmatically of course,
To ambulances reinforce.

They’re getting girders, bolts and beams,
Plus extra welding at the seams,
Some heavier and thicker wires,
And higher pressure in the tyres.

All this is working out just fine,
For overweights now quite benign,
And so these people all should know,
To hospital they can now go,
But even if they get the chance,
Please don’t take the air ambulance!

Image – Graham Richardson



It is reported that an Italian neuroscientist claims that he will soon be able to carry out head transplants.

There is a man, I dare to say,
Of whom I read just yesterday,
And he says research that he’s led,
Allows him to transplant your head.

It seems preposterous to me,
That someone who has ceased to be,
And should now be encased in lead,
Should qualify for a new head.

He would get a new lease of life,
I hope somebody asked the wife,
For she might other pleasures crave,
When husband’s buried in the grave.

The operation’s in two bits:
The first the donor body splits,
And then the newly severed head,
Is stitched in place with linen thread.

Like most things, though, this is not new,
And maybe credit should be due,
To Henry, King, and his two wives,
But his technique shortened their lives,
For though the first step was a hit,
He couldn’t do the second bit!

Image – anr