Tense days ahead as Boris Johnson waits to find out if inquiry ordered by Boris Johnson finds that Boris Johnson attended a party at Boris Johnson’s house. A suitcase full of wine will be awarded to the winner!
I was just informed that 1970 and 2021 are just as far apart as 1970 and 1919. I had to sit down and digest this information for a few minutes. It’s a bit like that U-Bend at the back of the toilet. I just can’t get me head round it!
Non-Stick Nora went to a job interview up Scropton Street abattoir: The manager asked her: “What are your strengths?” Nora replied: “I’m an optimist and a positive thinker.” The manager went on and sez: “Can you give me an example?” Nora told him: “Yes, when do I start?”
Fascinating Fact: Nelson was 5’4” tall. His statue in London is 16 feet tall. That’s Horatio of 3:1
The missus has left me because of my obsession with supermarkets. It didn’t help when I asked if she needed any help with her packing. The argument started when I informed her that sex is much better when on holiday. In retrospect, it wasn’t the best thing to write on a postcard.
My good deed is already done for the New Year! Yesterday, at the supermarket checkout, I was behind an older lady in the queue. Her total came to £45.62, but when she tried to pay, her card was out of date and therefore declined. I’ve had a decent 2021 financially and also thought about my mum and hoped that someone would have helped her out in a similar scenario. The lady didn’t want me to help her, but I insisted, and in no time at all, we had all her shopping back on the shelves. Let’s try and help each other out more in 2022.
99 year old Tommy Grabknuckle lay dying in his bed. While suffering the agonies of impending death, he suddenly smelled the aroma of his favourite scones wafting up the stairs. He gathered his remaining strength, and lifted himself from the bed. Leaning on the wall, he slowly made his way out of the bedroom, and with even greater effort, gripping the banister with both hands, he crawled downstairs. With laboured breath, he leaned against the door-frame, gazing into the kitchen. Were it not for death’s agony, he would have thought himself already in heaven, for there, spread out upon the kitchen table were literally hundreds of his favourite scones. Was it heaven? Or was it one final act of love from his devoted Yorkshire wife of sixty years, seeing to it that he left this world a happy man? Mustering one great final effort, he threw himself towards the table, landing on his knees in a rumpled posture.
His aged and withered hand trembled towards a scone at the edge of the table, when it was suddenly smacked by his wife with a wooden spoon. ”Sod off’” she sez, “They’re for the funeral!”