Category Archives: Spoof

Charlotte Brontesaurus: 19th Century Romantic Agony Aunt

charlotte bronte

“Anyone got any ciggies? I’m dying for a burn!”

Here’s one I wrote a little earlier that will almost certainly bring the ubiquitous death threats from the fragrant, lady members of The Bronte’s Appreciation Society. Sorry girls but I’m afraid it had to be done 🙂

It’s not as dire as the singing buoy skit I foisted upon you the other day but it runs it pretty damn close I don’t mind telling you! 🙂

http://sozsatire.wix.com/soz-satire#!charlotte-brontesaurus/cj96

Warning: Contains heaving bosoms, men in tight riding breeches and the odd spelling mistake.

Clivey Dee, 19.

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The Dorking East All Creeds & Faiths Autumn Fair

Denominational Dialogue by Gary Hoadley
Ethnically Clean Editing by Clivey Dee
 
punch and judy
Last years secular, wife beating competition, pictured being won by a bloody foreigner.
Graphic by The Artful Dodger
*************************************************************************
Grand Opening by The Reverend Dicker on Sunday 1 October 2014
 

Diary of Events:

0900hrs: Arabic wife beating for the infidel.
0930hrs: Knock the pork scratching off the Rabbi. (No bricks)
10.00hrs: Dorking Tourettes Choir sing; “Come fly with me, you fuckers”
10.30hrs: Guess the shape of the piss stain on Mr Trimbole’s mattress.
11.00hrs: Avoid the raging bull. (Over 70s only)
11.30hrs: Catholic Priest Fiddler’s Choir sing “Only a Boy”.
12.00hrs: The Islamic State Dramatic Society presents;
“Carry On Don’t Lose Your Head”
1.00hrs: Lunch: (Food prepared by the Ebola Survivors Catering Corp)
2.00hrs: Pavement Spittle Washes Annual Gob Off Competition.
(The use of phlegm is not permitted in this event)
2.30:hrs: Chicken Licking For Beginner with Colonel Saunders.
3.00hrs: Dorking Dyslexic Club read; “The Maiming Of The Shoe” by Winifred Shakespeare.
3.30hrs: Over 80s snail chasing competition.
4.00hrs: Pin the burger on the vegan; (No Anorexics Please)
4.30hrs: Fireworks and bonfire by Dorking Pyromaniacs Society.
5.00hrs: Dorking Fire Brigade Nude Motorcycle Display Team. (Ladies will be searched for cameras and binoculars before this event)
6.00hrs Community Singing And Adulteress Stoning (Please ensure your adulteress is not wearing a crash helmet during this event)

7.00hrs Close

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Utter Codswallop!: An Everyday Story Of Fish-Wielding Folk

The Soz Satire Crime Files nervously presents:

The Strange Case Of The Cod Walloper Of Olde London Towne

Dastardly script by Gary Hoadley

Murderous editing by Clivey Dee

Merciless graphic by The Artful Dodger

codwalloper

A cold winter night. October 1888. London. Mr Fred Bunge is walking along the
Whitechapel road in Shadwell. East End. From nowhere, Fred is struck with a huge Cod across the back of the head. The blow sent him reeling. It also stung a bit.
Fred Bunge was the tenth victim of the Cod Walloper. Police questioned Fred.
They asked if the fish had been left at the crime scene. Fred said he had taken it
home and that his wife, Maud, “Did it wiv a bit of bread an butter an some left over liquour from the pie an mash shop”.

The police needed to act fast, victim’s of the Walloper were eating the evidence.

October 17th 1888

Inspector Ball and his deputy, DS Chalk, made their way to Smithfield Market.
They began to question members of staff. One of the porters immediately became a suspect, it was clear he had something to hide. Inspector Ball pressed him further.

“So, how much do you know about cod Mr Pickle?” Asked Inspector Ball.
“Nuffin at all mate” replied Pickles.
“I see, so you deny having any knowledge of things piscatorial” said Ball.
“Yers, me old china”. stated Pickles.
“And why would that be?” asked DS Chalk.
“Cos I works in a meat market”. replied Pickles.
“Ah ha! So, you work in a meat market eh? And where would that be” pressed Ball.
“The one you is standin in mate”. offered Pickles.
“Right, well, don’t do it again” warned DS Chalk.

The Star public house in Bethnal Green, has a good reputation for a knees up,
punch ups, and a Saturday night lock in. On 25th of October, 1888. Alf Mullet and his best friend, Ted Lemon, stood outside The Star. They rolled up their sleeves in anticipation of thudding each other up the throat. Suddenly, from nowhere, both men were felled by a huge cod. The two friends hit the ground.

“Earr, yu bugger, you gawn an done me wiv a fish yu cheating tyke!” shouted Alf.
“Wot!…Yu jus done me rand the canister wiv the very same!” Ted retorted.

The two men then realised, they had been attacked by the Cod Walloper, of Old London town.
.
Inspector Ball arrived at the scene. On the pavement lay two large cod.
Inside the mouth of one cod, a note protruded. DS Chalk removed the paper
and read aloud. “If you is not catching me soon, I is going to start using Mullet”.

“This is serious Chalk”, said Inspector Ball. “If this madman gets his hands on a
Mullet, the consequences will be dire, we have to catch him”.

Mrs Eider Down, landlady of the Sea View bed and breakfast hotel in Argyle Square, began to have some suspicions about one of her residents.
Mr John West, had arrived some months ago, he told Mrs Down that he was employed as a Clerk for a law firm in the Caledonian Road.
The problem was, he smelled of fish. His clothes, his hair, even his room. Why did a clerk at a law firm smell of fish? Mrs Down decided to contact the police.

2nd of November 1888. 2pm.

Inspector Ball and DS Chalk arrived at the Sea View hotel. They were shown into
the parlour where they met Mrs Eider Down, the proprietor.

“Hello Mrs Down, I’m Inspector Ball, and this is DS Chalk, we understand you have some worries about one of your residents”.

“Yers, he ain’t right, comes ome from work, smelling of fish, an he didn’t want
the cruet, I mean to say, how do yu eat mutton wivart salt an pepper?” Said Mrs Down.

“Quite. May we have a look in his room?” Enquired DS Chalk.

“Oooh, I don’t know, it’s the privy you see, he might not of emptied it”.

“The privy Mrs Down?” said Inspector Ball.

“She means the Edgar Allen guv”. offered DS Chalk.

“Oh, right, that’s not a problem for men like us Mrs Down” answered Inspector Ball.

“You aven’t seen his privy dear”. replied Mrs Down.

The detectives made their way up the stairs . With trepidation and
a growing sense of foreboding, they opened the door to room 101. At first all seemed normal.
The bed, the chair, the row of freshly gutted Cod…it looked like any run down
bed and breakfast hotel room. Inspector Ball was not fooled however.
“Lets have a good look round Chalk, there has got to be something here.
After several minutes of searching, Chalk found a clue.

“Guv, look at this”…

Inside a chest of draws, lay several unwashed handkerchiefs.

“The dirty bastard!” exclaimed Ball.

“What sort of depraved fiend leaves stuff like this in their dresser?” asked Chalk.

“Only a madman, and the sort of person that should be in an institution”. replied Ball.

“We need to set a trap for this person and have him off the streets within the day”.

“You’re right Guv, let’s inform Mrs Down” replied Chalk.

Downstairs in the parlour, the detectives informed Mrs Down of their find.
She was overcome with shame and fear. They gave her succour, and a few slaps around the head.
The plan now, was to catch the Cod Walloper, without raising suspicion.

3rd of November 1888 6pm. The Sea View Hotel. Argyle Square. Kings Cross.

Inspector Ball hid in the wardrobe of room 101 while DS Chalk concealed himslef under the bed.
After a while, the door opened and in walked Mr West. He did indeed smell of fish.
Both detectives leapt from their concealment.

“Mr John West, I arrest you in the name of the law!” shouted Ball.
Startled, Mr West fell back onto his bed. “What! What have I done?”
“You are the Cod Walloper of Olde London Towne!” shouted DS Chalk in Olde English

Without a struggle, West was led to Whitechapel police station.
In the interview room, Inspector Ball began his questioning.

“Now then West, what made you become such a beast?”
“It all started a few years ago”. replied West.
“What started?” enquired DS Chalk.
“My dad was a fisherman. He supplied all the shops in the east of London.
One day, he got into trouble and fell overboard from his boat. I can remember
his last words to this day”….
“What were the they West?” whispered Inspector Ball.
“Fuck me! It’s a Shark!”…shouted Mr West.
“So your dad was killed by a shark?” asked DS Chalk.
“Yes, unless it was an irate Dolphin”. replied West.
“Why did you start the attacks?” Asked Ball.
“The fish shops owed my dad money, when they found out he was brown
bread, they refused to pay, so I hatched a plan of revenge” explained West.

“That’s all well and good Mr West, but what about the dirty handkerchiefs?”
“No comment guv”.

Mr John West was sentenced to five years hard labour. On his release he moved
to Burnham on Crouch and became a drag artist at the Nell Gwyn tea rooms.

Disclaimer: No Inchcocks or Mike Steedens were harmed during the constructing of the graphic that accompanies this skit…much.

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Shylock Humes In: The Case Of The Farringdon Funker

sherlock

A Victorian gentleman pictured diligently checking the saturated fat content in a murderous, Amazonian dwarf outside Fortnum & Mason’s

 

By Edgar Alan Pose aka Gary Hoadley

Part one.

Shylock stood in Baker Street. He hailed a cab. The driver waved back and drove on.
Presently, he was joined by his friend and trusted companion, Dr Whatson.

“Have you hailed a cab Shylock?” asked Whatson.
“No, I thought I would stand here in the rain waiting for you”. replied Humes.
“Oh, why would you wait in the rain? Are you collecting evidence?” said Whatson.

“He get’s worse” Shylock said to himself. “Can you hail a cab please, Whatson?”
“Right ho, Shylock…Caaabbb!”

A cab pulled over, the driver sat under his rain cape. The horse had a crap.

“Where to guvnor?” asked the driver.
“Limehouse” answered Shylock.
“That’s a fair old trot guvnor”. said the driver.
“Just get there as quickly as you can”. ordered Humes.
With that, the cab took off at great speed, leaving our heroes on the pavement.
“I think we should have gone with him Shylock”. said Whatson.
“Would have been a good idea” sighed Humes.
“Did you give him the address?”. asked Whatson.
“Not yet”…answered Humes.

Later that day, Shylock and Whatson arrived at Cooks Pie and Mash shop. Limehouse.

“What is that awful smell Whatson?” enquired Shylock Humes.
“It’s not me Humes, I had toast for breakfast” answered Whatson.
“Let’s go into the shop and speak to the proprietor” said Humes.

Inside the shop, the smell intensified, Humes held a handkerchief to his face.

“Mornin dear” said a small rotund woman. “Can I ‘elp you?”
“Good morning Mrs Meatflan, my name is Shylock Humes, the world’s
greatest detective, and this is my friend, Dr Whatson” .
“That’s nice love, ‘ave you come abart the smell?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“Yes, where is it” asked Whatson.
“In the corner of the yard aht back” replied Mrs Meatflan.
The two men made their way to the back of the shop, they opened a small
wooden door and stepped into the yard. The smell was overpowering.

“My god!” exclaimed Whatson.
“Yes” replied Humes. “What vile creature would leave a thing like that!?”
Mrs Meatflan came to the door. “Wot is it then?” she asked.
“That” said Shylock, pointing, “Is a malodorous, gaseous, escape from the lower bowel otherwise known as a funk, and it’s a very nasty one to boot”.
“Oooh err!…Why leave it in our yard?” said Mrs Meatflan.
“We shall find out Mrs Meatflan, and have the devil thrown in prison” said Humes.
“Can we go now Shylock, I’m feeling a bit Tom an Dick”. asked Whatson.
“Immediately Watson, the funk is effecting your speech!” cried Humes.

The two men exited the pie and mash shop.

“That was close Whatson, you nearly became an Aaw Gawd Blimey” said Humes.
“You mean…” answered Whatson.
“Yes…An East End Cockney!”.
“My god! What would Mrs Whatson have become?” asked Whatson.
“A washer woman in the Old Kent Road I fancy” . replied Homes.

Humes and Whatson made their way back to 221A Baker street. Once inside
they drew a large fire and then drew the curtains, Humes drew a self portrait.
With the art work put away, the men began to discuss their new case.

“Do you think the Funker is a local man Humes?” asked Whatson.
“No, this evil criminal lives near the City of London” answered Humes.
“How so Humes?” said Whatson.
“He can disguise his funks by using the sewers to get to his victims”. said Humes.
“You mean, he lives in the sewers?” exclaimed Whatson.
“Are you deaf?” asked Humes. “I said, he uses the sewers to get around”
“Pardon?” replied Whatson.

There came a knock at the door. Both men sat waiting. After a minute, Humes spoke.

“Go and answer it then Whatson” demanded Humes.
Whatson opened the study door, before him stood a tall elegant woman.
“Good evening Madam, how may I help you?” asked Whatson.
“Is this the home of Shylock Humes, the worlds greatest detective?”.
“Certainly is, what would you want with him?” enquired Whatson.
“I am Lady Pardon from Paddington, my husband, Lord Pardon is in
Poland pressing Polish Prime Minister Prozchev to pardon Parsons, the
Polish protagonist, prior to the punishment Polish parliament will pronounce”.
“Pardon?” answered Whatson.
“Let her in!” shouted Humes.

Once inside, Lady Pardon explained, that while her husband had been away,
a strange and pungent smell had permeated the Pardon’s residence in Paddington.
“My god!” exclaimed Whatson, “You don’t think!”
“Yes” interrupted Humes. “I feel it could be the work of the Funker”.
“And now he is targeting the rich and privileged”. said Whatson.
“We need to act fast” said Humes, nodding off to sleep.

Gaz.

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LOMM’s TV Choice #606,001

television

Animal Planet. 21.00:  Alaskan Bush People

Documentary following a team of American gynaecologists as they conduct a series of internal examinations in sub-zero temperatures.

Warning: May contain women complaining about “cold hands”

Clivey

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LOMM’s Heavily Edited Classics In Cockney: Great Expectations

dickens

“‘ere! Have a decko at this one people. You’ll absolutely lap it up, trust me”

 

Pip. Blimey wot a blindin’ day! I reckon I’ll go for a quick ball of chalk on the old marshes.

Magwitch. Go and half inch me a pork pie from your gaff or I’ll give you a slap and hoover up your heart and liver with onion gravy you little cow’s son!

Pip. Stroll on! That Estella’s a tidy looking sort and no error. I wouldn’t half like to give her the good news! Know what I’m saying?

Jaggers. You’ve ‘ad a nice little result Pip my son. Some geezer, who shall remain nameless, is going to give you a monkey every year for the foreseeable so you can dive up to the smoke and become a toff.

Pip. 500 notes a year! Gawd blimey sheriff! What a touch!

Mr Pocket. I’ll tell you what Pip me old china plate, this hedonistic lifestyle is as sweet as a nut my son. Fancy another pint and a slap up nosebag down the pie and mash?

Magwitch. It was me what gave you the Bugs Bunny Pip my son. I made a few quid Down Under and thought I’d use the bunce to get you all sorted and that. Mind you Old Bill’s after me so I’d better have it on me toes a bit lively or I’ll get me collar felt.

Miss Faversham. Has anyone seen my fucking lighter?

Pip. Estella! Blimey gel, I never thought I’d ever clap me minces on you again sweedart!

Estella. Alright geezer? Fancy taking me up west for a bit of a knees up and a few sharpeners in one of them fancy drinkers? I’ll let you cop a feel of me threepenny bits in the horse and carriage if you do.

Pip. Sweet as a nut Treacle! I’ll go and put some decent shmutter on, only I look a right Berkeley Hunt in this dopey cap and these diabolical baggy strides and no fucking error.

The End

Clivey.

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644 Squadron: An Everyday Story Of Carpet Bombing Folk

lancaster

“Now look here. I’m most dreadfully sorry sir but I seem to have run out of amusing banter”

RAF Benson. 1943

(Dedicated to Clive and Gill Danton)

Inside the command centre…

“Evening Tomkins”.

“Evening Sir”.

“I have called you here, to explain the next operation”.

“Sir”.

“It is top secret, Tomkins, so only your wife, your wife’s

friends and the butcher can be in on it”.

“What about our maid?”

“Don’t be stupid Tomkins! Are you mad?”

“Sorry sir”.

“Yes, well, we all make mistakes. Except me of course”.

“Goes without saying sir”.

“Right, look at this map, it shows the Rhine valley.”

“Sir”.

“The Bosh have built a hydro dam right here…”

“And you want to bomb the dam, causing the flooding

of the Rhine valley, putting the Germans out of action”.

“No, we want to bomb the distillery next to it”.

“Really sir?”

“Yes…Without a constant supply of Schnapps, the German

officers will be beside themselves and not have a drop in the mess”.

“That’s very cruel sir, has Air Vice Marshal Cramp approved it?”

“Yes, and what is more, he has also asked us to bomb the Blue Nun

Vineyard in Spitlebanderhoff as a secondary mission”.

“Brilliant sir, just bludy brilliant”.

“Now, get the squadron together, and work out a plan of attack”.

“Sir!”

Meanwhile, over in the mess…

“Something’s afoot Buller”.

“Yes, I can smell it in the air”.

“Oh, sorry, its those damn powdered eggs”.

“Yes while I’d try to cut down a bit if I were you old boy”

A flunky enters the mess.

“Sirs, there is a meeting in the briefing room in ten minutes”.

“The games up! it’s a new mission”.

“Lets go cheps!”.

Ten minutes later in the briefing room.

“Quiet men, settle down, I am Flight Commander Tomkins,

We have been given a very difficult task, namely, to bomb

a major Schnapps distillery in the Rhine valley…”

#1 “Wait a damn minute Tomkins!”

#2 “That is despicable!”

#3 “Never in a million years!”

#4 “Ooh, what a beastly thing to do!”

#5 “Watashi!”

“Where did that Kamikaze pilot come from?”

“Ok men! Quieten down, and listen. I know it goes against

everything we hold dear to our hearts, but the fact is, Harry Hun

needs a good kick in the pants, and it is our job to do it”.

“But what do we tell our servants?”.

“Just have to grin and bear it Johnny”.

“My chess partner wont like it, Tomkins”.

“Sorry Bertie, nothing I can do”.

“Play havoc with the wife’s sowing circle”.

“Right, enough moaning, lets get down to business. If you

look at the map, you will see the hydro dam, it is heavily fortified

which is why we will be going around it, our main target is the building,

here, we must flatten the bugger, our second mission is to destroy the

vineyard, here…Any questions?”

“Will we back in time for tea?”

“Hope so Hoppy, its lamb stew, Right, get your crew together and

see you on the tarmac at 06:00 Hours”…

Control tower.

“Call sign Alpha, runway 6 please over”.

“Okay tower, runway 6 over”

“Clear for take off”.

“Take it off where? over”

“What? over”

“The cake, over”

“Clear for take off Alpha 6, over”

“Oh sorry, roger”.

“Are they sure he should be the squadron leader Bob?”

“He dropped a bomb on his own house John”.

“How?”

“They told him to bring it home”.

“What, a spare bomb?”.

“Yes”.

“And he thought they said…”

Out on the apron, the squadron makes ready for take off.

Flight lieutenant Biggs leads from the front.

“Right cheps, of we go, climb to two thousand feet”.

“Roger Biggs”.

“Wilko sir”.

“Affirmative”

“Roger sir”

“What?”.

The squadron take off and head out toward the French coast.

Inside the cockpit of the lead bomber…

“Bludy nice view number two, what!”

“Absolute corker sir”

“French coast sir”

“No thank you Navigator Dent”

“No what sir?”

“No French toast”.

“Eh?”

An hour later…

“Twenty minutes to target sir”.

“To Margate? Were going the wrong way!”.

“The target sir!”

“I say, what a navigator, number two”.

“Bludy nice chep, he was my toast rack at prep”.

20 minutes to target…

“Bandits at five o’clock sir!”

“I don’t think we will have time”.

“For what?”

“Bangers, at five o’clock, Dent”.

“No sir, enemy fighters!”

“Bosh bashers! How dare they, don’t they know we are English?”

“That is why they are attacking sir”

“Gunner Sams, are you available for action?”

“Not quite sir, haven’t finished my soup”.

“Sorry to disturb your lunch”.

“That’s okay sir, its mulligatawny”.

“SIR! The enemy are closing!”

“Why are you shouting number two?”

“Sorry Sir”.

“Ok men, its all hands to the guns!”.

The bomber comes under attack, the fighters are seen off…

“Dirty rotters!”

“Steady number two, they might hear you”.

“Sorry sir, its just…”

“I know, I know”.

“Permission to shout huzzah sir?”

“Just this once Dent”.

“Thank you sir!” HUZZAH!!!

“Gunner Sams, are you okay?”

“Coped a bully in the bag sir”.

“Dashed bad luck”.

“Yes sir, the tea has gone everywhere”.

“How bad is it Sams?”

“I’m afraid, we will be out of tea in an hour sir”.

“That bad eh, well, we could go on, but, it’s going to be tough”.

“I’m scared sir, no tea for a whole hour, maybe more”.

“You are not the only one, number two, Sams is quivering”.

“And me sir”.

“You as well Dent, nothing for it, cut the load and head home”.

“What about the other bombers sir?”

“Send signal, out of tea, good luck, and god speed”.

“Wilko sir”.

“Number two, drop load”.

“Sir”

“Dent, plot our course for blighty”.

“Sams”

“Sir”

“You’re a complete arse”.

“Thank you sir”.

30 minutes later, the bomber is nearing Dover…

“White Cliffs of Dover sir”.

“Why?”

“Why what sir?”

“Why would you want to be a rover?”

“Dover sir!”

“Oh, yes, thank you Navigator Dent.”

After landing at Benson, the men are taken to the de-briefing room.

“Bad luck Tomkins, losing the tea flask like that”.

“Yes, it was touch and go”.

“I understand you left the payload with Gerry”

“Absolutely, nothing else to do”.

“We’ve had a complaint”.

“From some Hun cowardly custard no doubt”

“No, Mademoiselle Lamont from lasselle”.

“Oh, what’s the game?”

“Killed her geese old chep”.

“Covered her in grease?”

“Yes sir. I think it’s what she would have wanted sir”

“Sams”.

“Sir?”

“You are a complete arse!”.

“Yes sir”.

Wingco Gary Hoadley DFC and barmaid

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LOMM’s Heavily Edited Classics In Dialect #213: Oliver Twist In Yorkshire

fagin

“Eeeee it’s grim oop north ah don’t mind tellin’ thee”

 

Scene one:  A workhouse in Cleethorpes in the county of Yorkshire in the north of England. Mr Bumble The Beadle stands at the bedside of a deceased young woman and regards the bawling infant lying beside her with a baleful eye.

BUMBLE – Bah eck as like! I’ve not ‘eard sooch a bloody racket in all me born days! Send t’ little booger t’ work ‘ouse misses.

Scene 2:  t’  work ‘ouse

OLIVER – Now then cook! Can tha give me soom more of t’ gruel by chance? Me stoomach thinks me chuffin’ throats been cut ‘ere! Eeee bah eck it does!

Scene 3: Mr Sowerberry’s undertaker’s shop

OLIVER – Bah eck ah’ll tell thee soomething for nowt, ahm not sticking round ‘ere to get anoother reet good walloping from yon Noah Claypole and ‘is missus! Ahm’ off t’ Bradford to seek fortune and to better me sen! Aye that’ll be reet grand will that!

Scene 4: Bradford. A bustling northern city.

ARTFUL DODGER – Eh oop young un! Does tha fancy goin’ on t’rob wi me and mates? Ah’ll tell thee what it’s better than goin’ down pit lad!

FAGIN – Now then young un, tha’s got to pick a pocket or two tha knows lad. You stick wi me and everythin’ will be reet grand!

BILL SYKES – Eeeee don’t tek on so wi’ boy Fagin! Ah’ll tek ‘im wi’ me and shoove skinny little booger through folk’s winders. Aye that’s t’way forward, so ‘and ‘im over

Scene 5: Mr Brownlow’s comfortable home on the outskirts of Leeds

MR BROWNLOW – Well ah’ll go to foot o’ owr stairs young un! Ooo’d a thought you’d turn out to be t’grandson young Oliver! Ah’ve never known nowt like it in ah’ll me born days lad!  Now then, sit thee sen down and ah’ll get t’ ‘ousekeeper to bring thee some faggots wi mooshy peas! What does tha think to that then lad?

OLIVER – Eeeee that sounds reet champion Mr B. Can I ‘ave a few chips wi’ it does tha think?

THE END

Clivey Arkwright-Higginbottom

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Ray Winstone’s Cockney Crocheting Corner

ray winstone

I’m the daddy of this sewing circle you slag!”

 

In this section we ask our readers to submit questions of a crochet-connected variety, to our good friend and non-typecast, East London hardman actor and all round blindin’ geezer, Ray Winston.

Dear Ray

I’m thinking of making a keepsake box which I should like to decorate with some pretty crocheted flowers and would greatly appreciate any advice you could offer me on suitable designs, types of wool etc.

Thank you so much in anticipation for any advice you can give me on this one Ray.

Billy Beef

HM Prison Wansdworth

****************************

Dear Bill

Behave yourself you saucy mug! Don’t you come on my manor pulling strokes and taking liberties son! I’ve shit harder geezers than you Tinkerbell. How you’ve got the front to sit there in your cold and damp 6′ x 12′ peter and ask a geezer of my standing in the East End to help and advise a diabolical little toerag like you is beyond me you cheeky slag! I swear to God if I wasn’t speaking at a needlepoint and embroidering seminar tonight I’d come round there on a visit and serve you up squire! Now go on, piss of out of it before I change me mind you slippery, two bob arseole you!

PS.Firstly always ensure you buy a good quality yarn Billy. I can’t stress the importance of this enough. As for the pattern itself, try a granny style stitch stripe, perhaps with a nice picot edging.

All the very best for the future

Ray

Clivey.

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Henry VIII Loses His Head: An everyday story of monastery dissolving folk.

 henry VIII
“Oi! Are you trying to look up my dress?”
******************
The Court Of
King Henry VIII April 1535
 
Henry is in conversation with his closest confidante, Lord Qualcast Of Flymo, and is clearly not a happy camper
“Right, I want to know who has been at it with my bird”
“But Sire, we not dare interfere with the Queen”.

“Not the Queen you mug, my bit on the side, Jane Seymour”.
“But nought of no one Sire”
“Eh?”
“No one Sire”.
“If I find out, any of you mugs, has had a nibble, heads will roll!”.
“Yes Sire, is that all?”
“Yeah, send in my councillor”.
“Sire…”

Qualcast leaves, Lord Effingham enters.“Your grace, what bid you will?”

“Your Grace. What bid you will?”

Shut up you pillock, and speak properly”.
“Sire”.
“Now then, this bird I’ve been knocking off, is she of noble stock?”
“I’ve not seen under her dress Sire”
“What?”
“To see is she wears socks”.
“Stock! Is she of noble stock!”
“Oh yes Sire, She comes from the heritage of Edward III”.
“Good, now we need to make plans”.
“Shall I send for the cook?”
“What for?”
“To make the flans”.
“Plans Effingham! Plans”.
“Oh, yes Sire”.
“I’ve got to get rid of the Queen”.
“Is she going off?”
“What do you suggest Effingham?”
“Sire, I cannot harm my Queen”.
“Why?”
“She owes me a few quid”.
“Forget that, what about adultery?”
“He’s a good singer”
“Who?”
“Sir Roger of Daltrey”.
“For fucks sake! Are you mental?”
“No Sire!”
“Then why do you try my patience?”
“It’s tradition Sire”.
“Right, how are we going to get the Queen out the way?”
“Send her on holiday”.
“Nah, too expensive”.
“Have her assassinated Sire”.
“No, too messy”.
“Burn her”.
“Bad for my image”.
“What would your father have done Sire?”
“Given her the chop”.

Both men stand and stare at each other…

“What, poison the gravy?”
“Gravy?”
“With the chop Sire”.
“No, chop her head off with an axe”.
“Someone’s bound to notice”.
“Notice what?”
“The Queen walking about with no head”.
“She will be dead you twat”.
“So, you are going to kill her as well”.
“What do you think happens when a person loses their head?”
“They don’t need to wear a hat”.
“For fucks sake, who appointed you to my privy council?”
“You did Sire”.
“All we need now, is an excuse to lop her head off”.
“You caught her nicking your money”.
“She’s got more than me mate”.
“Called you a rude name?”.
“Everyone does that”.
“Eating garlic?”
“Treason”.
“Trees on what Sire”.
“No, I can have her for treason”.
“For putting trees on what Sire?”
“T.R.E.A.S.O.N, you numb skull”.
“Oh, treason!”
“Yes, I will say she made an attempt on my life”.
“She is your wife Sire”.
“What?”
“Anne Boleyn, she’s your wife”.
“I know, I’m going to say she made an attempt on my life”.
“Oh, right, will you need me to sign something?”
“Yes, a confession, stating you helped her”.
*Gulp*

The rest, as they say, is history. A bit like when West Ham won the FA Cup but not quite so long ago.

Gary Hoadley.

Editor’s note: I thought that crack about West Ham was a bit uncalled for to be honest didn’t you :(.

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