When I get old

When I get old I will have whiskers and smell of cheap scent.
I will invites relatives to tea in a gloomy sitting room and drink cheap, sweet sherry from a china cup.
I will take it surreptitiously from a bottle kept in a large knitting bag by my chair.
No one attending the Tea will know if I am eccentric or drunk.

Little child relatives will be brought to Tea all scrubbed and the boys will have their hair slicked down with water.
I will insist on it.
They will have to sit quietly on the sofa and I will address them in a high pitched querulous voice as: “That boy” or “that girl”.
They’ll swing their legs and make their parents nervous because the room will be full of knick knacks that look valuable.
I will insist on telling long stories about where they all came from and will frown at crumbs dropped on the carpet.

I will have a sporty little red car and will drive down the centre lane of the M8 at 30 miles an hour playing the Pogues and Home Service 70s folk rock at full blast.
Especially the track that goes: “I Know I’m Never Gonna’ Be a Cowboy Now.”
When policemen who are too young to have left school pull me over and offer to drive the car home, I will say “What!” very loudly and often because I will be very deaf.

When I am 99 and ½  I’ll die and people will gather round my relatives and say things like:

“Eeee! She were a rum ‘un, your Auntie.”

Then, when they go to pack up my life, they will find that all the knick knacks have ‘A present from Blackpool’ on them and the insurance was spent years ago.
They will find empty bottles of eccentricity in little nests all over the house, and will have to ferry them to the tip in ones and twos so the neighbours don’t find out that I was a bad old bat and a lush to boot.


(Source unknown but I like it!)

Inner Peace

I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me today, and we all could probably use more calm in our lives.

Some doctor on television this morning said that the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started.

So I looked around my house to see things I’d started and hadn’t finished and, before leaving the house this morning I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of shhhardonay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of vocka, a pockage of Prunglies, tha marinder of botl of Prozic and Valum pscriptins, the res of the Chesescke and a box a chocolets.

Yu haf no idr who fkin gud I fel. Preas sen dis orn to dem yu fee ar in ned ov inr pece.

Headstone inspiration

Found on actual headstones!!!

Harry Edsel Smith of Albany, New York:
Born 1903 – Died 1942
Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down.
It was.

In a Thurmont, Maryland, cemetery:
Here lies an Atheist
All dressed up
And no place to go.

In a Ruidoso, New Mexico, cemetery:
Here lies Johnny Yeast.
Pardon me for not rising.

In a Uniontown, Pennsylvania, cemetery:
Here lies the body of Jonathan Blake.
Stepped on the gas instead of the brake.

In a Silver City, Nevada, cemetery:
Here lays The Kid.
We planted him raw.
He was quick on the trigger
But slow on the draw.

A lawyer’s epitaph in England:
Sir John Strange.
Here lies an honest lawyer,
And that is Strange.

John Penny’s epitaph in the Wimborne, England, cemetery:
Reader, if cash thou art in want of any, Dig 6 feet deep; and thou wilt find a Penny.

In a cemetery in Hartscombe, England:
On the 22nd of June,
Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.

Anna Hopewell’s grave in Enosburg Falls, Vermont Here lies the body of our Anna – Done to death by a banana.
It wasn’t the fruit that laid her low,
But the skin of the thing that made her go.

On a grave from the 1880’s in Nantucket, Massachusetts:
Under the sod and under the trees,
Lies the body of Jonathan Pease.
He is not here, there’s only the pod.
Pease shelled out and went to God

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