Easter Sunday Service for Aunts & Uncles

Solemnly intones Vicar:
“We are gathered here on this Easter Sunday to celebrate our Lords Resurrection blah drone…blah…drone… blah…..

……Forty minutes interminably pass…..

Vicar further speakeths:
“And now lets us sing Hymn 666…. ‘Ascend to the Heights….O Risen One…’

Chorister Wattie steps forth to sing with his little sweetpea of a broken voice……..”I Rise….and I Rise….In Blessed Resur…er…Erection….”

The Vicar is Oblivious.

Aunties shift uneasy in thems pews.

Uncles meekishly sit wiv raindrips droppin on thems capless craniums.

Percival Parrot goes all ablush wiv bright crimson and squawks “Oh mi Gawd!…Oh mi Gawd!”

Aunt Rumprum stares crossly across and shushes Percival.

The Vicar is Oblivious.

The torrential rain outside continues its thunderous drip drip drips all over the chancellery.

Wattie continues…. ”I Upright Be…. In Mighty….. Res….ur….er… Erection…”

Aunt Boogers frowns and shakes her grim head accusingly in Watties dir …er..ection….

The Vicar is Oblivious.

The dog Dogger shakes his sodden hairs all over Aunt Friggit.

Aunt Friggit shrieks out in fright
On seeing Watties cassock slipping off in a downwards dir…er….ection….

The Vicar is Oblivious.

Wattie still splittin his sweetpea all wrong.

Aunt Rumprums and Boogers frowns climbs off thems faces an makes frightful advances on Watties spilt cassock…..

The Uncles capless craniums am hurtin frum all this drip drip drummin….

Percival Parrot goes ablush yet again wiv bright crimson and squawks “Oh mi Gawd!…Oh mi Gawd!”

…. Ad infinitum…..into purgatory….into eternity…..

This Easter Sunday Service got at least another 3 eternities to go.

Wiv the Vicar still Oblivious….

Putting the Pee in The Plonker

Mississ: Its about time I put you in your place Plonkerman!
Pete The Plonker: Dont do it Mississ!
Mississ: I should have done it sooner
Pete The Plonker: I promise I wont take the piss ever again!
Mississ: Thats right, you won’t – coz that’s where you’re going
Pete The Plonker: Where?!
Mississ: Down this filthy urinal
Pete The Plonker: No!….G..u..r…gl…l…e…No!
Mississ: You are now P for Pee, Plonk, and Pathetic
Pete The Plonker: P….pp….p….l…..e….a…s….e…!
Mississ: How dare you Shirk and Skive
Pete The Plonker: I…..gu…..wont….gle….do….pppp…. It….pppp…again!
Mississ: What a Boring Boggish Bore you are
Pete The Plonker: I….gu….pppl….rgle….pppp….aaagh!
Mississ: A Plonking Piddling Prevaricating Pest
Pete The Plonker: I….gu….ppp….rgle….ppp……onk…..onk!
Mississ: Making your Mindless Midlands Myopic Mess everywhere
Pete The Plonker: I….cant……plll…..brea….onk….the…onk….!!
Mississ: So down you go Little Man, Little Twerp, Little Squirt
Pete The Plonker: I…PpplOnk…..Slip….PlllOnK…ppin….PlllOnKK…away!
Mississ: Go and Plonketty Plonk yourself off
Pete The Plonker: I… Bleeugh!…..Pl …. OnKKK….. PpLLlooOOnnk…!!
Mississ: Plonk down there in the Poo Pit where you belong
Pete The Plonker: I ..GGG….ggg….uuu… rrrRR…. Gggggg…. llle ….Gorn…..!!!!
Mississ: Goodbye Plonker! And Good Riddance!

Afternoon Tea wiv thems Aunties

Aunties am settling down to proper afternoon tea wiv thems little Bobs.
By ‘proper’ them means:

Sat at table laid with cloth.
Cups and saucers.
Nice homemade cake.
Manners. Of the right kind:

A) No elbows on table
u) No reachin over
n) No dirty fingers or nails
t) No stickin fingers (dirty or otherwise) in jam
i) No lickin butter off knifes
e) No burpin
s) Sandwiches to be cut in triangles
m) No caps (although Aunties will keep hats on)
a) No speakin with mouth full
n) No speakin out of turn (uncles only allowed to speak when spoken to)
n) Only nice Norfuck things to be spoken about
e) No inane whistlin
r) No profanity (not even one ‘bleddy’)
s) Sit up straight (no fidgettin)

That funny chap or ‘thing’ Watson is to be used as waiter and washer upper.

Auntie Rumprum says: ‘This ‘Jam’ has a most funny taste!’
Auntie Boogers says: ‘It tastes like curdled potage!’
Auntie Frigitt says: ‘I quite like it!’

Little do they know wat that Jam really is.

One Bob has a little chuckle.
Two Bob has a little chortle.
Mr Watson has a sly snigger.

Well, yoo got to hav a laff sumhow.
Coz one thing faw sure.
This Aunties tea party ain’t no laffin matter.
Ain’t no fun at all.

Pete The Plonker

Plonk. Plonk. Plonk.
That me. Hammerin nail in.

Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk.
That me. Screwin driver in this fittin that missin.

Nice little earner this. £150 squid a day.
Dont do day of course. Dont be daft.
Here for 7 hours. Try and not work for about 3.
The Old Biddy dont know. Ain’t got a clue.

Trick is to make meself seem busy.
Bring load of boxes, bags, and bits in. Spread everyfin all over.
Create chaos see. More mess there is the more it look like busy goin on.

Then bang about a bit like this.

Plonk. Bang. Plonk. Boof. Plonk. Bodge. Bodge. Wallop. Plonk.

That sound like summat beein dun see.

And now I turn this radio up high onto Five Live.
That blots me backside out wiv blare. So I can have meself a nice sit down on loo an play wiv fone. Got to get todays bets on see. Me daily flutter on the gee gees.

The Old Biddy cant hear nuffin. The nuffin not goin on that is. An she wont cum down here wen radio on loud. Makes her deaf in boff ears.
Anyrode, wen she up there, I can do or not do wotevva I likes in here.

I do do a bit. Twenty minutes max. Then 10 minutes break for sit on loo again an check me gee gees.

Fursty work this skivin. So lets get kettle on an ave tea. Fill it up full the kettle to wind her up. She told me don’t. But I dont bother. It go in one ear an out the other. Got betta fings to fink about than boilin up sum old biddies kettle.

Plonk Plonk. Tap Tap. Plonk. Tap.
Alright. Thats enuff of that.

I says to her, I shouts, “Hey! OAP!” (Or wot evva her name is) “Got to nip down timber merchants an buy more wood, claddin, nails, blah di blah blah’”
And off I pops. Via Ladbrookes. Via Greasy Grahams cafe. Via my mate Dave’s.

Get back an hour later an gives Old Biddy sum cock an bull about how I has to go all over to get this plank of wood. Which I never got. Well, didn’t need it did I. That was just me pullin a fast one. So as to get out for a bit from this stuffy soddin bathroom. God I hates it. I only bin cummin here 2 month now. It getting rite on my tits.

Time to put that kettle on. Fill up full to wind her up again. He He He. Just my little joke. No harm in it.

Ok. Lets do a bit.
Plonk. Hammer. Bang. Scrape. Plonk. Rip. Plonk. Plonk. Hammer.

Bugger! Just droppt plank on me foot. That non existinct plank.
“Hey OAP! I just hurt me foot! Have to nip off to get plasters. Wont be long luv”

An off I pops. Drives round corner and gets on moby to check me bets. Shit! The 2.30 at Catterick cum in second. Lost by a nose. Thats 50 ponies down the drain. Never mind. I’ll charge Old Biddy 50 quid for this plank I never bought this mornin.

She wont know. She wont question. Trusts me see the old deer.

It cushty little earner this. At least 4 Grand an countin. Milkin it fore all its worf. The slower I goes the more lovely lolly I gets see. If I spin it out another month that’s another couple of Grand to spend on me horses.
Money for old rope it is. Cash in hand. Taxman dont know. An more important, The Missus dont know. Lethal to let on how much cash is cummin in – no way!. The Missus only goes and blows the friggin lot on more of her soddin knick knacks. I dont know, wimmin eh? If them not moanin them bleedin spendin all your hard earned lolly.

Back again. Better get spurt on. Make it look like I done sumthin.

Bang. Bang. Plonk. Hammer Hammer. Stamp. Boof. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk.

Wot time is it? 4 already. Thats it. Down tools. Got to make a fuss of clearin up for half hour. Make it look like I care see.

The Old Biddy toddles down an hands over the One Hundred an Fifty into me greedy little mitts.

“Er, lissen Mrs Wotsit” I says all sorry soundin, “Cant cum in tomorra. Got urgent job on. Be back Fursday. Tati bye”

But I ain’t. Got job on. Thats me tellin porkies again. Havin day off tomorra for race meet at Newton Abbot. Takin this big bundle of notes she give me to blow in wotevva way I wants. Might even be enuff over to tank a few bevvies.

Am I sorry to pull the furry wool over Old Biddies blind eyes?. Well, spose I have messed her bout a bit. But cant be helped. You have to see. It the only way in this game. We all do it. All at it.

Wot a racket eh?!

Pete The Plonker by name. Pete The Plonker by Profession.
Yep, that me. A Professional Plonker.
The best there is. In messing about.

Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk. Plonk.

……An heres another….. For a tenner……. Plonk.

Uncles Aunties am here

Look woo turnin up to visit Bobs this week

It thems Aunties
Aunt Rita Rumprum at frunt
Aunt Hetty Boogers in middle
Aunt Fanny Friggit at back (pullin cart wiv luggage on) (and parrot*)

Aunties am of course, frum Norfuck.
Thats where them just cum frum.
A long journey via canalboat, steam train, hansom cab, wagon, combine harvester, articulated lorry, and jalopy, frum sum obscure place deep within The Norfuck Broads.

Aunties am most shuck up by this ardous trip.
So Bobs better make it worth all thems time and truble to get here.
Them expectin 5 star treetment fit for queens aunties. Or else.

Of course Bobs never knew thems infamuss Aunties waz cummin till yesterday.
Thats why them got so angry wiv Wats mucky extenshun.

Truff is, Uncles am rather afeared of thems Aunties.
‘It best nod to ged wrung side of an Auntie’ says One Bob
‘Them sticklers for every little fing being spick an span’ says Two Bob.
‘Every nook an cranny got be spotless’ says One Bob.

‘Cleanliness am next to Godliness’ says Bobs in unison, ‘Thad was always the old family way, always the whole family motto’ (rememberin, Bobs start quakin in thems muddy boots)

Oh dear. This dunt bode well.

The shed, Bobs cumfy ramshackle home, about to be taken over by this terrible trio of er, Domestic Dragons Goddesses.

And wat about Wattie? Where the poor lad gunna go?

* Parrot in cage be called ‘Percival the 2nd’) (‘Percival The 1st‘ died of unnatural causes) (Fell off his perch an got suckt up hoova)

Wat is Wat Nos 19 & 20

It’s quite amusing to think up all the strange and peculiar things Wat could possibly be (well, strange things amuse peculiar minds I suppose)

No 19: Wat is “A Silly Slippery Sausage”

No 20: Wat is “A Spookle Spunkler”

Bobs am angry!

Bob One: If wee teld yoo bleedy once!
Bob Two: Wee telled yoo twice!
Bob One: This room be tip!
Bob Two: Why yoo such Mucky Pup?!
Wattie: Well, it in my nature to be messy
Bob One: In yower nature?!
Wattie: Yes, I make messes, bin doin it all me life like
Bob Two: But this ain’t jus mess – it muck!
Wattie: I Wattie The Mucky Puppy (sniggers)
Bob One: This no laffin matta yung man!
Bob Two: No, nuffin to be proud of at all!
Wattie: Yoo two proud of me usually, wen I spurts mi gun
Bob One: Well, thad be summat different
Bob Two: Thad be spesshal ocassion
Bob One: Thad be wat yoo – Wat – was ment to do
Bob Two: Thad be yore Cocky Callin so tu speak
Bob One: Wen yoo in vicinity of certin Gorguss Lady frum Tortellini
Bob Two: An all her lovely associates
Bob One: “Associates?!” – Oh, yoo meen Gorguss Lady’s Gorjuss Gels!
Bob Two: Thad rite – wot yoo see on wall there look
Bob One: Them norty pinups of “Hazey” an “Gels”?
Bob Two: Thad rite. I reckon thad wat got Watties wazz in such a tizz
Bob One: He lookin at pichores an? –
Bob Two: Makin big sticky messes on floor!
Bob One: Well, them gotta go sonny jim!
Bob Two: Yep, no more mucky pichores of norty ladies faw yoo mi lad!
Bob One: Down them cum (unpins pinups from wall)
Wattie: Nooo!! Don’t take them away Uncles!
Bob Two: Well, wat yoo want us to do wiv them Wat?
Wattie: Give em back an I promise to put them in drawer
Bob One: An doo wat Wat?
Wattie: Only look at them ocassionally
Bob Two: An I bleddy hope it is!
Bob One: Yoo not allowed to sneak look at them wen wee not lookin OK?!
Wattie: OK Uncles, Fank yoo!
Bob Two: But dunt fink thad be the end of it yung fella!
Bob One: Wee want this extenshun kept neet and tidy
Bob Two: Cleen an proper yoo cheeky whippersnapper
Wattie: Of course, anything yoo say Uncles!
Bob One: Otherwise I give yoo bleddy big bonk on hed wiv this ere cudgel!
Bob Two: An I giv yoo bleddy big boot up yore lazy backside!
Bobs One & Two: Now git on wee it – ged cleenin this pigsty up pronto!
AND NO MESSIN!!

Wat is Wat Nos 17 & 18

When you got a spare 5 minutes, consider this: ‘Wat is Wat?’

The mere act of considerin will make you feel instantly happier!

No 17: Is Wat “Spunkles The Clown?”

No 18: Is Wat “A Pussy cat Burglar?”

Bobs Bitts

Now that Spring is, hopefully, likely to be soon upon us
Bobs am getting busy busy busy!

Last week them startid takeaway cafe – open every Fursday – “Bobs Bites”.
(an very successful it be too)
And this week them startin takeaway stall – open every Toosday – “Bobs Bitts”.

Them be sellin homemade (in shed) bits of bumpf worked and whittled away wiv thems very own crafty handy pandys.

Here be wat them got For Sale:
Spunkle Creem Candles (wiv espesshal waxed wicks)
BobsBaskits (for storin fings in the old fashioned way)
BobsBillHooks (good on even the thorniest bit of bush or scrub)
BobsWalkinSticks (will wivstand any hike or trundle up hill to the shops)
BobsCrooks (like walkin sticks but wiv bigger handles for grabbin hold of necks)
BobsUtensils (PineKnives & HawthornForks & SycamoreSpoons for wen yoo want a REAL feel of wood in yaw mouf)
BobsBowls * (to keep knickknacks in)
* Can also be used for spunge an creemy custard puds
BobsBrooms (wen hoover packt in)
BobsBesums (like brooms but wiv spell of witch cast in to magic, or curse, all dust away)
BobsBespokeButtons (how to pimp up shabby dull cardies an crumply old jackits)
BobsClothesPegs* (for the consciencious lady who likes keepin fings fresh)
*An hangin up all yore wet underpance an watnots in the usual way of course
BobsChoppers (guaranteed to chop any wood, even thro yew)

If yoo is concerned, like we all am, about how the world is bein ruined by too much frowaway plastic stuff, “Bobs Bitts” is the natural and much nicer alternativ.

Everyfing made cums wiv a lifetime warranty * to last for yonks
* Well, at least as as long as yore oldest uncle.

And if, in unlikely event, any Bobs Bitts do break, Bobs will repair free of charge, or if too broke, replace for nuffin.

Them also be offerin to show folks how to:
Whittle, Wickle, Wattle*, an Weave
*”Wattle is the right way to frottle your Wat (if yoo got a Wat to frottle that is)

Also BobsBestBitterBrew * be on tap frum Barrel to be imbibed singly, or severally. Can be bottled** on request to be supped in homecumfort.
*Brew made frum traditional Norfuck family recipe handid down – in sworn-secrit – frum one uncle Bob to anovva uncle Bob since the year diddly dot.
** Bottle be Bobs indestructible REAL ownmade jars, not them phoney rubbish plastics.

So cum to Bobs Bitts an get yourselves a REAL Bargin!

See yoo all down there peeple!
(No phoney plastic cards pleese)
(Bring hard cash)

Wat is Wat Nos 15 & 16

Ideally, you should ask yourself this question ‘Wat is Wat?’ when sat in lotus position.

And even when sat on the toilet (to be less ideally)

No 15: Is Wat “A Blinking Lighthouse?”

No 16: Is Wat “A 12 Inch Ruler?”

(Struff! is the end of this post all the way down here?!)