Sunday, 30 January 2011

laugh at life with gillie: How this blog came about

laugh at life with gillie: How this blog came about: " I started this blog because I love comedy. My life has been nothing but near escapes and adventures of the kind that ..."

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Kiddies corner:- Rhyming stories and nursery rhymes written by me; John Gill.

          Timothy Hedgehog Finds a Friend.

 One day when the sun was shining, all the animals were at play.
Timothy Hedgehog went to join them, but they nasty things shooed him away.

'Clear off!' They shouted rudely, 'your prickly and play too rough:
Why can't you be like the rest of us, all cuddly and covered in fluff?'

Poor Timothy went away tearfully, shuffling and snuffling along.
He sat on a stone and had a good cry, then from somewhere a voice said, 'What's wrong?'

'Who said that?' asked Timothy, as he could not see anyone around.
'Your sitting on my house.' said the voice, that seemed to come from the ground.

Timothy jumped up quickly, from what he thought was a stone,
thinking to himself, "well it looks more like a stone than a home."

Slowly out of each corner, appeared a very wrinkly leg,
then just at slowly at one end, there appeared a thumb shaped wrinkled head.

'Who are you?' asked Tymothy; wiping a tear from his eye.
'I'm Terry Tortoise,' came the answer, 'come now please don't cry.

Timothy could not help it; he began to cry again.
'Why on earth do you sob so, are you feeling pain?'
Asked Terry, who was getting worried, because Timothy seemed really upset.
'The animals will not play with me,' he told Terry, who said, 'Don't fret.'
They will not plat with me either, they say I'm too slow and I'm ugly;
They say that I should be like them, fast and fury and cuddly;

'So why don't we play together? That is if you don't run too fast.'
'Well I don't run very fast either, with my little legs I always come last.'
Said Timothy who felt more cheerful, having found himself a new friend.
His spines would not stick in Terry's shell; in fact they were more likely to bend.

Terry is so well mannered and really a very good sport.
Though he was not very good looking, Timothy never gave that a thought.

When the others saw Terry and Timothy playing and laughing in the sun,
they thought they were missing something and came to join in the fun.



                The Scarecrow at Dingle-Doo

In field that lies in a Dingle; near the Village of Dingle-Doo.
Stands a Scarecrow who scares the crows away with words like "Scram!" and "Boo!"

One day he had a problem, with a crow called Jack the Lad,
Who had flown down from the City, to drive poor Scarecrow mad.
At night when Jack was sleeping, he decided to seek advice,
He complained to Oscar; the wise old Owl,
 "That Jack pinched corn from my field; Twice!"

The wise old looked puzzled, and blinked, and sort of frowned,
"Who, Who," he asked the scarecrow, then turned his head right round,
To where Nutty the Squirrel was sitting, with a nut between his paws.
"Tut, tut," said Nutty, "He's back is he, Breaking all our laws."

Oscar blinked again. Then said, "Whoo, whoo!" in surprise and disbelief,
"I thought he was back in the City, Who, heck, he is a thief."

Scarecrow said, "I've booed him and I've shooed him; and I even told him to scram.
Still I cannot get rid of him, so I wondered if you have a plan,
because if he takes anymore corn our losses will be a lot higher,
the farmer will stick bangers in me and put me on the bonfire."

"Whoo, whoo, whooo, I know," said Oscar excitedly,
"We'll scare him from the field, just you wait and see."

It was very early the next morning, when Jack the Lad was out of his nest.
Scarecrow saw him coming, and said, "Here he is the pest."

Jack circled around the field, screeching at the top of his voice,
"I'm Jack the Lad and I'm coming in your field, and you ain't got no choice!"

Scarecrow waited in silence, without uttering one boo, or shoo.
Jack cheekily strutted towards him. But he only took a step or two,
when...BANG, BANG, BANG! went three bangers, really close to where Jack the Lad stood.
He dropped a piece of corn from his beak, and flew off to Ravens Wood,
All the Crows were panicking; some were hiding behind the trees.
Jack said, "Cur, cur, cripes!" and felt poorly and shook at the knees.

Scarecrow laughed his head off, then picked it up and put it back on.
Then he shouted excitedly, "It worked, It worked, he's gone!"

"What a hoot!" said Oscar, "Hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hooooooo!"
"Tut, tut." said Nutty unimpressed, "Course it worked, I knew it would do."

So nowadays, you never hear a scarecrow shout, 'Scram!' or 'Boo!' or 'Shoo!'
But you will hear them letting off bangers, like the Scarecrow at Dingle Doo.

.

                    Dicky Tapping
Dicky Tapping is a woodpecker, a very busy bird,
from dawn to dusk, his tap, tap, tap, tap, tapping can be heard,
Dicky will not settle for a wet and draughty nest.
He tap, tap, taps,from dawn to dusk to make his home the best.


  Timothy Hedgehog finds a Friend.
One day when the sun was shining, all the animals were at play. Timothy Hedgehog went to join  them,
but the nasty things shooed him away.
  "Clear Off!" they shouted rudely, "Your prickly and ply too rough. Why can't you be like the rest of us; all cuddly and covered in fluff?
 Poor Timothy walked away tearfully, shuffling and snuffling along, he sat on a stone and had a good cry. Then from somewhere a voice said,
   "Whats wrong?"
  "Who said that?" asked Timothy. He couldn't see anyone around.
  "Your sitting on my house," said the voice, which seemed to come from the ground.
  Timothy jumped up quickly, from what he thought was a stone.
  He looked at it, thinking to himself, 'Well it looks more like a stone than a home.'
  Slowly out of each corner, came a very wrinkly leg, then just as slowly at one end, there appeared,
a thumb shaped wrinkly head.
"Who are you?" asked Tymothy, wiping a tear from his eye.
"I'm Terry Tortoise!" came the answer,  "Come now, please don't cry."
But Timothy could not help it, and started crying again.
"Why on earth do you sob so, are you feeling pain?"
Asked Terry who was getting worried, because Timothy was really upset.
"The animals will not play with me."
Timothy told Terry, who said, "Don't fret.
They will not play with me either, they say I'm too slow and I'm ugly and that I should be like them, fast and fury and cuddly; so why don't we play together? Providing you don't run too fast."
"Well I can't run very fast either, with my little legs I always come fast."
said Timothy, who felt more cheerful, having found himself a good friend.
His spines would not stick in Terry's shell; in fact they were most likely to bend.
Terry was so well mannered and really a very good sport.
And although he was not very good looking, Timothy never gave it a thought.
   When the others saw Terry and Timothy playing together and laughing in the sun,
they thought they were missing something and came to join in the fun.



        Beaver Sam.
There once was a Beaver called Sam.
He was busy building a dam.
The damned dam burst.
 Poor Sam curst.
then sailed away in a pram


    Sally Black Mutt.

Sally, Sally Black Mutt went for a stroll,
she got a muddy nose sniffing down a hole.

Sally, Sally, Back Mutt, what you got there?
Let that Bunny Rabbit go, and stop chewing his ear.

Sally, Sally Black Mutt, we are fed up of you.
God didn't put things on this earth for you to chew.

Sally, Sally, Black Mutt has now learnt her lesson.
She stuck her nose down a big rats hole and the rat wasn't messing.


                          Jovial Joe and Laughing Lester

Jovial Joe the joyful Jester, told a joke to Laughing Lester.
Laughing Lester thought it funny and laughed until his eyes were runny.


         Wilf Wolf the Rotten Rotter

Wilf Wolf is a rotten rotter, he chased poor little Olga Otter.
Olga was in such a tizzy, she ran and swam and felt quite dizzy.
A good job Olga's a good swimmer, or Wilf would have her for his dinner.


               Cocker Doodle

 Cocker Doodle saw the Poodle chase the cat round the farm.
Cocker Doodle watched the Poodle from his perch; where he came to no harm.


           Robin Redbreast

Little Robin Redbreast, wearing his bright red vest'
has a song and a twinkle in his eye.
Little Robin Redbreast comes out of his warm nest
when the snow falls from the sky.

    Micky Mog and Big Pat.

A Mangy Moggie called Micky Mog
Would fight with anything; even a dog!

A great big dog they called big Pat,
never did like that mangy cat.

So she waited in ambush behind a log;
thinking to herself, I'm a clever dog.

But Micky did what most cats do,
he jumped on the log to get a good view.

He spotted Pat crouched there having a titter,
jumped on her back, stuck his claws in and bit her.

The pain and shock put Pat to flight,
she ran and ran until out of sight.

Micky hung on all the way,
shouting things like, yahoo, yee, hoolay.

I don't know what happened after that,
because there has been no sighting of dog nor cat.


              The Elves in the Hawthorn Hedge.

I don't know how true this story is, but I'll tell it to you anyway,
it was told to me by my Granddad when we were sitting on a stack of hay.

He said he was working in a field, trimming a hawthorn hedge,
when he came across a family of elves, tucking into hot meat and veg.

They were sitting on toadstools around a sawn off stump; that someone had sawn off long ago.
Granddad said he would not have seen them if he hadn't stooped down real low.

They wore leaf green pointed hats and grass green clothes.
and mud brown boots that turned up at the toes.

"Oh," said Granddad, "I'm sorry to disturb you, I didn't mean to be rude,
I hope I didn't startle you, or put you off your food."

The largest of them; who was six inches small, said,
"Jesus, ti's alright, well not at all. Would you like to join us in a bite to eat?
We have carrots and tatties and freshly cooked meet."

"Well thank you," said Granddad, "That's kind of you."
The Elf pointed to a log, and said, "Pull up a pew."

They gave him a bowl, that had been carved out of wood,
with fancy designs on, that Granddad thought were quite good.

Written in fancy writing were the words giant size.
Because Granddad was a giant when seen through their eyes.

They filled the bowl right up to the brim,
and gave him a fork, saying, "Here you are, get stuck in."

They told him they'd seen him working hard every day,
trimming hedges and digging ditches in wet sticky clay.

"Have You?" asked Granddad, "I didn't know,
I wouldn't have seen you if I had not stooped really low."

They told him that there weren't many giants' who knew they were around,
as we wear green clothes and brown boots we blend in with the ground.

I have searched and I have searched in that hedgerow myself,
but I've never spotted even one elf.

Yet, hundreds of people say they've seen them too;
plus there is an elf spotters club, so I suppose it is true.

                                                         CHEERFUL ENA.
                                               At the zoo, there is a laughing hyena
                                                I don’t know if you have ever seen her.

                                                She cheers every one up;
                                                She is such a cheerful pup.

                                                They shout,
                                                ‘Oh look, have you seen her?
Hi Ena!’

Thursday, 13 January 2011

Another Close Encounter With The Grim Reaper. A TRUE STORY>

 I worked in the fishing industry until the Government of the day sold us out to the Icelandic Government, so that the Americans could keep a listening post on Icelandic land. The cold war was on at the time and they were more concerned about what the Russians were up to, than the survival of a thriving industry that employed thousands of people. You miners think that you have been badly done to, our men are still fighting for compensation. that is another story; too depressing and serious for this blog. This story is one of those that you laugh at afterwards.
 It was my second trip on Sir Thomas Robinsons trawler the 'Samarian' and my first trip as a Deckie Learner rather than a Galley Boy, The skipper called down from the bridge for us to go below as a gale was blowing up. I was busy clearing fish from the wash chute -a structure that looks like a slide in a children's playground-  I was at the top of this chute clearing it so that the fish could slip down into the hold as the deckhands gutted them and threw them up into the washer part at the top.
 If you have ever been to sea you will know how quickly a gale blows up out there, compared to ashore. I was not aware of this at the time but I was soon to find out the hard way.  Everyone else knew about it but me and they made their way aft to the door -or hatch- that led to the living quarters and the galley.
 I was too busy trying to impress the Skipper by making sure that the wash was clear before I made my own way below. I wasn't impressing him at all, "Get down from there and get below you C**nt!" He yelled. "We are battening the doors and hatches down!" They were! they were turning the large handles on the metal doors and there was no way anyone could open them from the outside. I made my way down from the wash having done my duty by clearing all the jumbo cod from it. I managed to get to the bottom and was making my way across the duck pond -more of a gully that runs from port to starboard just forward of the large winch and aft of the pounds where the deckhands gut the fish- a wave dropped on my head from a great height, knocked my sou'wester down over my eyes, knocked me off my feet and filled my oil frock with water (I must have looked like the jolly fisherman from Skegness; wide of girth with seaboots, oil frock and sou'wester; only not so jolly looking for obvious reasons) I was heading towards the port side of the ship and on my way over the wall when I grabbed a part of the winch, the wave was so strong that it would have torn me away from the winch if the ship hadn't rolled back over to the starboard side and the wave abated for a moment. I clung on and managed to get onto my feet again; when you buy a pair of seaboots you have to make sure that they are two sizes too large in case you do go over the side, then you can kick them off to give you some small chance to swim, I didn't have a chance to kick mine off as one of them had been pulled off by the devil wave that had tried to take me over the side and to my maker. I managed to hobble squelchingly around the winch; holding on as I went with waves crashing against my body and over my head. When I reached the safety rail that ran to the after end of the ship I grabbed it and clung on with my legs being whipped from under me every so often, I struggled along hand over hand until I managed to get to the hatch. The Skipper, Mate and Third hand had been watching my progress from their high point in the bridge and were reporting my whereabouts to the deckhands waitng below. As I reached the hatch it opened just enough for me to be dragged in by the strong arm of a giant deckhand and clanged shut behind me. After suffering the brickbats of the crew who made it more than clear that I was...well an idiot of the highest order, in the way that it can  only be put in a man only enviroment. It was a misserable day for me they sent me up to the bridge with cup of tea for the Skipper and mate. I had to go through the engine room, the ship was tossing around in the storm and as I passed by the electrical board with all the mains fuses and switches on, I was thrown against the board just enough to give me a sizzling shock in my arm, I dropped the cups on the metal grating of the engine room and had to do the journey again. I managed to reach the bridge with three quarter full mugs where I was given a dressing down by the Skipper who set about dismantling my self esteem.  
 

Wednesday, 12 January 2011

Gorgeous Georges Nightmare.

 
     I have jumped a few years now; just to prove that those rumours about my having short term memory loss are a complete fabrication; as spread by myself when I forget someone’s birthday.
  A year after I lost my pretty wife to cancer I started going out and mixing with other people.

 I had not frequented the Bag 'o' Rats public house since my bachelor days.
 My old school mates were still using it because most of them were either lifelong bachelors or divorcees.
   Gorgeous George (so called because he thought he was!) was in there; his wife divorced him because of his roaming eyes.  I had my own squint operated on when I was 15 years old and it is now straight, but Georges are uncontrollable; unless the surgeons took them out all together.  However, he would still have his roving hands and a good excuse to touch every woman who spoke to him - accidentally on purpose of course-.  Anyway, we got talking about his favourite subject - women -.

 George has his own stalker...you may think he would like that, but if you saw Blodwin Sprig you would see why he wasn't happy about it.  Although there weren't any women in the bar, his eyes were roaming as he spoke to me; In between checking the bar mirror to see if his quiff was covering his bald spot, he was watching the car park through the window, in order to see if Blodwin’s red Mini arrived.  She wasn't too bad for her age but she smelt like a cheap scent factory, she plucked her eyebrows until they were nonexistent, and replaced them with pencilled ones that arched up into her forehead she had green eye shadow on her eyelids ruby red lipstick smeared on; to make her lips look thick; so that she could pout like Marylyn Monroe, false giraffe eyelashes with sparkly bits sprinkled on her rouged cheeks, all topped off with her thin hair died orange so as to look 'with it' like a young chick.  Instead she looked like she had been caught up in a paint factory explosion.
To George she resembled a clown and he had a phobia about clowns; they didn't make him laugh they gave him nightmares as a child.
 Blodwin once walked into a Bank to withdraw her pension and they brought the security shutters down on her arthritic hands because a young desk clerk thought that she was an armed robber wearing drag and a clown’s mask.
George told me and Phony Tony –the latter had just had an operation on his worn knee and told everyone that he was wounded in Northern Ireland although he didn't leave Aldershot in his two years national service - that he had a nightmare about Blodwin.  He dreamt that she was chasing him around an old folk’s home; Tony and I were in there too.  He couldn't move his legs as they felt like lead and she was gaining on him.  He turned to see where she was, Tony stuck his walking stick out as she passed by him and she tripped up.  She did a double somersault and landed in front of him legs akimbo and every thing on show because she had no knickers on.  "Well," he said,
 "I must admit that I woke up wet and I haven't done that since I was  a youngster."  Me and Tony said,
"What?" in unison.
"No, no!" he said in shock, at the thought of what we were thinking. "I didn't have a wet dream...No I pissed myself laughing!" 

Sneak Preview Of My Film Idea, 'THE TYPECASTS'.

This is written by a typical Englishman (Not got a Cockney accent. Not posh, unrecognisable as a Hollywood Englishman is, but a born Englishman; Me). I have noticed through the years that Hollywood often typecast us and other people around the world, for good or bad. I am not having a go at our American cousins, just Hollywood. 


 It is about 3 asshole villains and one asshole Ass who decide to steal children's presents' and booby trap them with high explosives. The 3 villains are led by a posh surly Englishman who says "Old boy" a lot, so that the ALL AMERICAN HERO can take the piss. The surly posh Englishman's right- hand man is an Arrogant Blond Haired German - with dueling scar -, who says, "Rouse" and "Nine a lot. They are followed by a scruffy little Mexican with a manic laugh and a twitchy eye who rides everywhere on a stubborn Ass that bites children.
 They are hunted by an L.A.P.D. Officer with the morally high standards of an ALL AMERICAN HERO (Nam Vet; No not a vet who cures Nam's; whatever they are, that is American speak for a veteran of that war what they lost although John Wain won all the battles). He also has a Purple Heart that he bought at a military medal auction, just to bring out to get the audiences admiration. He is out to kick Ass; so that nasty Mexican Hybrid Mule had better watch out. His right-hand man is a hard as rock Jock who played in Brave Heart and fought the Surly Posh and London accented Englishmen until the other clans (the Brave Highlanders) ran off and left him on his own. You may not recognise his accent as he is played by an Australian who only talks pigeon Scottish sort of crossed with Irish with a little Aus / America idea of Scots speak.  - that comes out when he gets excited. They are followed by an Affable Luvly, Luvly, Big Irishman who I cannot fault for his nature; he is so amusing with his witty quips that equal those of the ALL AMERICAN HERO'S, Nam vet etc. Although the Luvly, Luvly Irishman's quips are delivered in an irritating accent that no genuine Irishman will recognise, because his part is also taken by an American actor. The Surly Posh Englishman and his motherfucker pals ambush Jock whilst he is busy tossing his caber...er... at the American Scottish games where the Scottish, cross Red Indian, cross Mongolian, cross Eskimo and just that little bit of English that they don't mention Americans walk proudly in their kilts-sublimely unaware that some of their tartans belong to those clans that left Jock Wallis on his own-. The surly posh Englishman and his asshole motherfucking mates get the wrath of any audience watching because Jock was tossing his caber for an orphan children's charity. When his bullet riddled body was delivered to L.A.P.D Precinct the ALL AMERICAN WITTY ONE MAN ARMY (NAM VET etc etc) swears vengeance in a cool sort of super American hero way. and takes his best friend the Luvly, Luvly, Cuddly Irish married father of fifteen and owner of a Luvly Cuddly Fun Loving Irish Wolfhound with him.
  In the resultant battle, the nasty Mexican Ass savages the luvly Irish Wolfhound before the American Super Duper Hero, etc, etc can get their to kick ass. And the Luvly Irishman who isn't as clever as the American Super Duper Nam Vet with too many accolades to keep mentioning gets sneaked up on by the Manic Mexican  with the twitchy eye. He is delivered to the Surly Posh Englishman and the Arrogant Blond German with the duelling scar. They take turns to torture him and all they can get out of him is "Begoragh" which is a word that isn't in the English or Irish dictionary so they don't know what he is talking about. When the Luvly, Luvly Irishman dies under interrogation the asshole motherfucking trio strap him onto the back of the smart ass Ass who he-haws at the Super Duper too good for words American hero when he drops him off at the L.A.P.D Precinct. Now the Super Duper ALL American, NAM Vet, Purple Heart, Not so witty now American Hero swears vengeance again and go's it alone. The Asshole trio (minus the laughing Jack Ass as he is not around because the dastardly donkey is back at the precinct having an assignation with a police horse; without the horse;'s consent.) Of course the Asshole trio are not a match for an enraged Big headed wisecracking super - duper All American Hero with a purple heart, a rocket launcher hand grenades, two revolvers, a big automatic weapon and a bad temper. They die a terrible death, that, the audience must agree was well deserved having made them cry when they tortured such a Luvly Adorable Gentle Giant of an Irishman to death.  The All American Super Duper Hero who has collected many more accolades through the course of the film (Too many to mention here)    strikes up a platonic friendship with the Luvly cuddly, take it on the chin, strong willed Irish widow and organises an Irish orphans charity dance at an American Irish rebel singing jig dancing shindig where they all practice their Irish accents so that the songs sound better.


www.theoldie.co.uk

Uncle Cyril's War A fictional story with fictional people.

  Uncle Cyril was accidentally mentioned in dispatches. He wasn't a very good soldier, as he couldn't even grasp how to use a compass.
 Nevertheless, he was mentioned for a heroic act.
 He was always in trouble during training and tried to hide his fear by joking and laughing about everything. The drill sergeant hated him, 'That mans a crackpot!' he yelled to the commanding officer in his drill sergeants voice   The C.O's ears were ringing; but he thought he had heard him correctly and wrote down on Uncle Cyril's record "This man  is a Crack Shot". so with those words on his record he was presented with a cross rifles insignia to wear on his battledress sleeve and they made him company sniper.  He was given a choice of weapon and went for a Bren gun just so that he never missed. Although his superiors wondered why he wanted to run around with a bloody great Bren gun they let him have his own way.  The fateful day came when 'A' company The Royal Pioneer Corps Were dug in on a mist shrouded hillside somewhere in a foreign country in the year 1944. They were under heavy bombardment; It was surreal, when a red hot bullet pierced the front of Uncle Cyril's helmet skidded along his centre parting and out through the back, there was a distinct odour of burnt skin and boiling brylcream...Uncle Cyril panicked and tried to run off...However, he got the compass reading wrong and ran towards -rather than away from- the enemy, screaming like a banshee with the devil on his heels. He tripped on a tree root and banged his Bren gun on the ground; the safety catch was not engaged so it went off and he killed 13 enemy soldiers, one monkey and three parrots. The company made use of the latter four, because they were bored with plain army rations...Well that is it really the last family hero... Private Cyril Pratt.
  My cousin Cedric -his son- was in a specialist army unit... but he didn't have such a distinguished career as his father, as they only specialised in making fancy cakes for the Officers Mess.

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