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 the US Food and Drugs Administration (FDA) is warning that cooks should not lick the bowl when baking cakes owing to the possibility of the uncooked flour being contaminated with E.coli or salmonella.

When you were small one thing you did,
Was lick the mixing bowl and lid,
Because it was so very nice,
And sometimes you would lick them twice.

It was quite harmless, had to be,
Because the rest was for the tea,
And no-one gave a second thought,
To the risk that the flour you bought,
Might have bad microbes there within,
And more, perhaps, than a chicken.

But now, it seems, you were quite wrong,
And might have been so all along;
For over in the USA,
The millers had to throw away,
Five thousand tons of faulty flour,
So people could not it devour.

And so the warning call was made,
In case more didn’t make the grade,
And caused more people to fall ill,
Needing, perhaps some sort of pill.

Now even if the flour is bad,
Because your cake some cooking had,
The germs in any flour that’s milled,
Would likely by the heat be killed.

It’s only, therefore, the raw mix,
That does now need this sort of fix,
So heeding this advice is key,
Then you will very happy be.


Psychiatrist Flickr anr

It is reported that a third more children are seeing psychiatrists as their stress levels increase with mounting levels of anxiety, bullying, depression and the effects of social media.

A kiddie’s life one time was fun,
They used to go outside and run,
And, if allowed, then they would play,
There pretty much the whole damn day.

Then bullying was not so rife,
But a backhander from the wife,
While aimed towards a child’s behind,
Would never then depress the mind.

But now, it seems, all this has changed,
Our little kids are all deranged;
It doesn’t matter what you think,
More children now go see a shrink.

One reason, you have likely guessed,
Is that the blighters are depressed,
And, more than that, it seems to me,
They’re consumed by anxiety.

The culprits are not hard to spot,
Because kids now spend such a lot,
Of time on Facebook, Twitter too,
And, probably, that Tube called You.

The stress of this distorts the mind,
More so than any other kind,
Of interaction with one’s peers,
Even if one or two are queers.

So time thus spent should be reduced,
For, if so, it can be deduced,
That kids will come back from the brink,
And then they might not need a shrink!



It is reported that a study by Southampton and Edinburgh universities has concluded that drinking three cups of coffee a day reduces the chance of dying by 17%.

So yet another study finds,
That he who his own coffee grinds,
Provided it’s three times each day,
Is less likely to pass away.

And not just him (or maybe her),
But other people who prefer,
Already ground or instant drink,
Get the same benefit, I think.

The chance of dying, it’s deduced,
By seventeen percent’s reduced;
But if you should drink cups galore,
The benefit is less, not more.

At seven cups, it’s ten percent –
At least that’s what I think they meant –
So down amongst the grounds must lurk,
Some other factor there at work.

But, anyway, it does seem good,
Your chance of dying really could,
Be, in percents, just eighty-three,
And, also, this applies to me!

This could my later years enhance,
Because I always thought the chance,
That I would suffer this event,
Was stuck at one hundred percent!

This is a magic drink indeed,
From certain death it has us freed,
And it is cheap, not much to pay,
To drink three cups on every day.



It is reported that an Italian surgeon has performed a head transplant on a (or two?) Chinese patient(s).

I’ve talked about all this before –
A while ago so not to bore –
But now things have moved on a bit,
As heads from bodies have been split.

The patient chosen was Chinese,
Where donors could be found with ease,
And in a rather lengthy op,
Without the need to Photoshop,
The head from this man was removed,
So that the technique could be proved,

The other head was then attached,
And, luckily, the bits all matched,
So that was it, end of the trial,
And he now has a new hairstyle.

The operation went to plan,
Good news, then, for the Chinese man,
But if you think he’s off his head –
Before they started he was dead!


Writing pen

It is reported that a family has complained about a letter received from the NHS which praised the father of their child for ‘manfully stepping in’ to take their child to hospital when the mother was indisposed. To make matters worse (to any normal, intelligent person) the NHS trust did not ignore the complaint but sent an official letter of apology to the family, and the Daily Telegraph took up seventeen column inches to write about it. Lord preserve us from these people!

The NHS is pretty good,
It makes us better when it should,
But maybe one should not expect,
In each and every dialect,
That it is expert with its words,
Including those described as surds.

And so you might expect someone,
Would focus on the treatments done,
And not on every little word,
Writ in a letter – that’s absurd.

Such expectations, though, are dashed,
Because some woman’s ear bashed,
The NHS ’cos they were sent,
A letter writ with good intent,
Which used a word – that’s ‘manfully’ –
Which she says is insulting she.

The letter said her husband had –
Perhaps because he was the dad –
Stepped in to ‘manfully’ convey,
Their girl to hospital that day.

But in this innocent remark,
The woman saw a meaning dark:
She didn’t want, reading this cant,
To put up with this sexist rant.

So she complained, just as you would,
Insisted the hospital should,
Apologise and write again,
And this time not to mention men.

The hospital (with nought to do?)
Thought this a good idea too,
And so they penned some words to say,
That they were very sorry they,
With grief were now themselves beside,
And, in fact, they were mortified.

So let your watchword be, ‘Take care’,
If you want to avoid despair,
Writing to Harry, Tom or Dick –
They might not like the words you pick!


Sticky toffee pudding

It is reported that a recent Japanese study has found that eating quickly makes you fat and increases the likelihood of a heart attack.

People can eat at different speeds,
According, maybe, to their needs,
Like if their appetite is big,
Or if they’re just a greedy pig.

But eating quickly is not good,
The brain does not work as it should,
Because, it’s thought, it hasn’t time,
To check in prose or even rhyme,
If your eating’s over the top,
And then to tell your mouth to stop.

So eating carries on apace,
As you still try to stuff your face,
And all that food you didn’t need,
Turns into fat, result of greed.

The answer’s not to eat so fast,
Next mouthful way behind the last,
And think about each thing you eat,
So savouring the meal complete.

This way your brain is in control,
Assesses your meal as a whole,
And it will guide you as it should,
Away from sticky toffee pud!

Image – Katherine / Wikimedia commons