Two Different Styles!

Posted on December 22, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I’ve had a shock! I looked into the mirror this morning and an old man gawked back! But that is not all: This week I had a Victor Meldrew moment and found myself saying: “in my day it was totally different!” So I’ll soon be Zimmer-bound, completely toothless and able to block a Tesco aisle with my Geri-scooter! But again, that is not all: I was talking to someone much younger about a famous role model and discovered to my horror that we were talking about two different people from different eras who almost share a surname. Don’t worry about me, I’m off to spend my day in a wing-backed chair in front of television I no longer understand or hear…

I was looking through some very old files
When I came across a picture of Nobby Stiles,
Few front teeth and a terrible stare,
Went through footballers as if they weren’t there
Opposing players got their kicks
He played for England in ‘66
Then into management, medals were sold,
To keep his family when he grew old

Harry Styles has his life planned
As part of a successful young boy band
Sold out venues for their managed show
Screaming girls in every row!
With perfect teeth and floppy hair
Even mothers have an open-mouth stare!
No need to worry about pension projection,
He’ll only be travelling in one direction!

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I Win the Title ‘Pillock of the Year’ (an Aga-saga)!

Posted on December 21, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

The other day I was very presumptuous. I suggested to a friend that she’d wrested the title of ‘Pillock of the Year’ from me. Furthermore I went so far as to suggest that I would have to up my game in order to re-establish myself as a ‘Prize Pillock!”I didn’t have long to wait…

I only had one job to do,
And that was re-light the Aga,
The fact that it took all morning,
A drama became a saga!
I’ve done the job so many times,
Could do it in the dark,
I hadn’t done it for a while,
Was no walk in the park!
After two hours wasted,
Should have been just minutes,
The bloody switch was set to off!
I was a ‘Ninny-Ninnits!*”

*Which is apparently another name for a pillock in no less than thirteen different countries worldwide! It serves me right for not calling a real expert – Duncan from newtonagaservices@sky.com who is our Aga Guru.
Main picture from http://www.agaliving.com the place to go for all things Aga!

You don’t ever want to spend time on the floor looking into this abyss, step away and call for Duncan!

Seasonal Shopping on the Global Online High Street!

Posted on December 20, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

We are fast approaching the time when we’ll all play the ‘Blind-tasting Christmas shopping experience’. In other words, very soon the furthest we’ll venture out for gifts is to the fridge to fetch another beer! We’ll sit at home in front of the computer picking presents that are too expensive, sizes that don’t fit, and colours that are truly hideous if held up to the light. However it will save us from ‘those Christmas hits from the past’ that are driving us insane in shopping centres up and down the country! Welcome to the world of the Virtual Seasonal High Street…

Jingle tills! Jingle tills!
Jingle all the way,
Oh what fun it is to have
An Internet store today!

You don’t need the smart building,
There are no rates to pay,
There are no traffic wardens,
Jingle tills all the way!

Non delivery? Blame the driver,
You’ll believe anything I say,
You only have an E-mail address,
No phone complaints today!

When Christmas is over
No refund will we pay
Now we are in Hawaii!
Jingle tills all the way!

Turkey Tales 2: Alvin the Turkey!

Posted on December 19, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

When we used to rear turkeys for the Christmas market (see yesterday’s blog http://bit.ly/JzUDDr ). The close proximity of turkeys from August to December had a profound effect. By the time the last turkey had left the building on Christmas Eve, you were even dreaming about turkey, turkey turkey! Late one evening after many hours in the plucking shed, Mrs Bard collapsed exhausted in the chair, the cat jumped onto her lap and she attempted to pluck the moggie (which actually enjoyed the close attention). By Christmas Eve the rare hallucinogenic qualities associated with too much close contact with turkey was evident. The only cure being a session of cold turkey…

Alvin the Turkey wore glasses,
Without them he’d miss the path,
All the farm animals used to do pointing:
“There goes Alvin with Glasses,” they’d laugh!

Doreen his mother was a wise one,
Unfortunately she was also long dead,
She used to scold him at mealtimes,
Shouting “don’t gobble your food” and she said:

“If you take care of your figure,
You’ll be on the right side of thinner!
You’ll keep your voice and always rejoice,
And you’ll never become Christmas Dinner!”

Turkey Tales: Cyril the Turkey-Plucker’s Tale

Posted on December 18, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

One of my favourite pictures of my late mother is of her modelling ‘peasant-wear 1980’s style’ in the turkey-plucking shed. In those far-off days (pre-1990s) we’d prepare over 2,000 turkeys for London butchers. For many years we even supplied the butcher at Windsor that produced turkeys for the Queen to give to officers stationed at the castle over Christmas (the shop is now an ice-cream parlour I believe). Local hand-pluckers used to want the work and extra money for Christmas. How times change! The turkey-plucking shed is now devoid of feathers, radio and pre-Christmas chatter, these days Eastern Europeans pluck vast numbers by machine and nobody believes the old stories anymore…
Cyril (in the rear of the photo) was an engine driver on the railways who came to the farm in early December to pluck turkeys on his days off. He worked out of Kings Cross Station, London. His favourite journey was from the terminus, splitting from the main line at Hitchin and running up to Cambridge. Every year he’d ask if he could have a bag of wheat from the farm and we’d provide a sack-full thinking that maybe he had chickens in his back garden. One year he told us the purpose of the wheat: On his way through Ashwell towards Cambridge, Cyril would occasionally throw wheat from the cab of the train. On the way back he’d stop the train, climb down from the cab and pick up any dead pheasants from a local estate that subsequent trains had hit. Quite often angry commuters would wind down the window and in angry tones shout, “What’s the problem, Driver?” Cyril would shout back, “Sorry for the delay sir, something on the track!”
Cyril died suddenly, some years before retirement. He was a kind-hearted man with a cheeky grin and a wonderful way with a story. We still miss him and always remember him at this time of year.

The Seasonal Old Man!

Posted on December 17, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

There seems to be a plethora of old men dressed in red around local towns this year. Some have gone to great lengths to be as realistic as possible and some have made hardly any effort at all. One I came across reminded me of passing an open pub door just before closing time. The genuine have been let down by the disingenuous…

I met an old man on the street of a town,
Was dressed in a smart red dressing gown!
He had a large sack slung over his shoulder,
Looked like my granddad, could have been older!
He asked me if I’d been a good boy,
Dependent on my answer he’d give me a toy!
When I told him quite how naughty I’d been,
He got quite abusive, quite obscene!
I told him not to bother, I needed no favours,
And while in town, he should visit Specsavers!

Christmas Tree Lights (a lesson in entanglement)

Posted on December 16, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

The next time there is a dramatic rescue on our screens, look for Christmas tree lights playing a vital role. I have never known anything be as excellent at attaching itself to what is not required and then be incapable of getting any sort of purchase on what it’s supposed to! Hang a set on the bottom of a helicopter and it’ll be able to pick up anything, apart from a Christmas tree! The late Bruce McIntee from our village had the right idea when it came to these festive tangles…

I put the tree lights away carefully,
Untangled, all working well,
But when I came to decorate,
My lights became decorate hell.

They attached themselves to the sofa,
I pleaded and was forced to beg,
They then grabbed my mug by the handle,
And coffee spilt all down my leg!

In a final show of defiance,
They wrapped themselves like a snake,
As I danced and shook them quite badly,
Under foot I heard some of them break!

So now I have come to a conclusion,
I know it may end up quite dear,
I shall send these lights for recycling,
And buy new lights, year after year!

Dedicated to the late Bruce McIntee who not only replaced his Christmas lights frequently but also enjoyed a good joke and is probably doing some secret tangling of his own on your lights right now!

Superstore Nativity Scene (seasonal figures for sale!)

Posted on December 14, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I was in a wholesale store the other day and noticed an almost full-scale set of characters depicting the Nativity Scene. Whilst very impressive, I felt they had a certain air of sadness about them. I am old enough to remember as a child, the joy and reasurance that came from such a simple and well-known story. I began to wonder whether it would still have the power to thrill in years to come. Will the school that still has a nativity play or celebrates ‘Christmas’ (rather than the bland ‘Winter Festival’), please take a bow…

While shepherds watched their flock by night
On a shelf above aisle nine,
A security guard came wandering past,
To check that all was fine!

Off he went to patrol the store,
As was his job that night,
Three kings came a-wandering in,
And gave him such a fright!

“Please tell us where we can find a child?
It would seem the store is closed?”

“You can wait ‘till opening time,
No security threat supposed!”

The Three Wise Men passed him by,
Walked around the empty store,
They found the baby in aisle nine,
And fell upon the floor.

“Come up here,” the shepherd said,
There’s no need to fear,
Nativity is mostly ignored in schools,
It’s Peppa Pig this year!

There they stand, eyes on the crib,
In which the baby lays,
They have a price, five hundred pounds,
That would seem cheap these days!

Christmas Card Cramp! (due to unaccustomed analogue writing)

Posted on December 13, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

How many Christmas cards have you sent this year? Has this annual address-fest, where you struggle to remember what Bob and Penelope’s children are called, been successful or another late-post disaster? Have you culled any friends seamlessly from the list? Perhaps you’ve decided to play a festive game of wait and see (if they sent you one!), before you send a return and blame it’s post-Christmas arrival on the privatization of the postal service! All this pondering made me wonder…

I’ve written over thirty Christmas cards
And now I’ve reached a stage
Where the pile doesn’t seem to diminish
It has taken quite an age!
I started at the head of the alphabet
And so far I’m just half way,
I wish it were automated,
Auto-arrive on Christmas day!
I suppose in the future,
They’ll wonder what cards were,
They’ll never suffer stamp-dry-tongue,
Or know the phrase ‘Dear Sir!’
So let’s keep sending Christmas cards,
It’s a festive thing you know,
‘Cos it’ll soon be electronic,
An expensive ‘Face-Twit’ without snow!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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Un-necessary Death (on the side of the road)

Posted on December 13, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

WARNING: You may find today’s posting upsetting.
Yesterday lunchtime a lady motorist stood at the door saying that a deer had been hit and was lying seriously injured in a field. In such cases it falls upon us to put the animal out of pain as soon as possible.
It is the worst job on the farm…

In their haste to arrive,
They hit a young deer.
“Oh dear,” they said.
In their haste to drive,
Their car was damaged,
“Oh dear,” they said.
“Oh look, it’s alive,” they said,
As they drove off,
“Oh dear,” they said.

“A deer has been hit,” she said,
“The car drove off,” she said,
“It’s sitting injured in a field,” she said.
“We’ll deal with it,” we said.

We arrived by the side of the road,
there was the deer,
sitting calmly.
Temptation says:
“It’s ok, we can look the other way,
and drive on, as well.”
Reality says:
“Unsleeve the gun.”

The injured deer
attempts escape
on two legs,
its rear legs dragging
uselessly on the ground.
An awful sound
issues from its very soul:
“Meeuurr,”
“Meeuurr, Meeuurr,” it pleads.

The sound dissects me in two,
it looks with big brown eyes,
and with tears running down my cheeks,
I carefully raise the gun,
pull the trigger.
Pain over,
Job done.

With anger I return to the farm,
If I could find the person responsible,
I’d give them,
what they deserved,
and the deer did not.
THOUGHTLESS BASTARDS.

Please drive carefully on country roads.
If you see the above sign – THINK WHY IT’S BEEN PUT THERE