Grandfather Bard and the Goats!

Posted on February 23, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I was granddaughter-sitting the other day when she became restless and started to cry. I knew her nappy (diaper for my American readers!) was dry/clean and she had recently been fed. So I put on a silly hat hoping it would help calm the situation. When that made no difference I resorted to marching up and down singing a made-up song. This went well until I ran out of intelligent lyrics and had to improvise as I sang. Needless to say, even though she’s just 5 months-old, my granddaughter is wondering if I am possibly not the best role model she could have…

Did you know that mountain goats,
Keep their cheese in the pockets of their coats?
Just in case one should fall,
They distribute the rounds amongst them all.
In case they find that they are hungry,
They carry biscuits and ironmongery.

Lowland goats are a different breed,
Go to the beach to collect seaweed!
They paddle in the rising tide,
Build sandcastles with stones inside!
Then with ice-cream (rhubarb and pomme!)
They go racing down the prom!

If you meet a goat on the London train,
Be polite and please refrain,
from asking “Could I have some cheese?”
Because a refusal may not please!
Just raise your hat and always respect her,
She’s probably hiding from the ticket inspector!
Mountain goat picture found on QOOP.com

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Baldock’s Finest Butcher!

Posted on February 22, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

We’ve all heard the jokes, we’ve all seen the news reports. There is now nobody left on the planet that does not know that supermarkets have been caught with their trousers around their ankles. The supermarkets have been buying cheaper every year until the suppliers could no longer supply the required products at the price. Something had to give, so it is little surprise that horsemeat has appeared in processed food. There is only one way to guarantee quality and animal welfare standards: BUY LOCAL and BUY BRITISH…
Congratulations to the Chapman family on winning the East of England award and Good Luck in the National Finals.

Our local butcher has won an award,
They’re an East Anglian Champion winner!
They know just where their beef comes from,
So you’ll know what you’ve got for your dinner!
They source their supplies with great care,
Finding such meat is an art,
It means that the shopper,
is fed good and proper,
And there is no sign of a cart!

However…
Go to the impersonal supermarket,
They buy the cheapest from abroad.
Your lasagne dinner,
A Romanian race-winner
Profit their only award!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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Gill’s Magic Cake!

Posted on February 21, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

As regular readers will appreciate, I have one very large weakness – food! I seem to be tempted by food everywhere: on the street, in the car, even at the bakery! The other day I went on a shopping session with Mrs Bard and Mrs Rhos-Bardd. I’d hoped we’d do more eating than shopping…

I recently chauffeured Mrs Bard and a friend,
to St Albans for shopping (there was no-end!).
I had no cap but had a hunch,
that I’d be joining them both for lunch!
We ate at a restaurant that was Italian;
it was prime beef, not a hint of a stallion!
Then we continued in the shops
the excitement of shopping never stops!
TK Max and baby clothes,
the pile of bags continually grows!
I portered them all to the car,
“Please can you stay just where you are?”
Misheard their reply that I mistook,
ended up browsing in New Look!
Didn’t know where to alight my eyes,
the assistants looked with great surprise!
Found my shoppers at last, they both said:
“Why are your cheeks glowing so red?”
In the car “I’m ready for tea!”
the answer came: “just wait and see!”
Went to the larder and despair,
cup of tea, no cake there!
Then a sight, my heart did quake,
Gill had sent a coffee cake!
“Oh what an Angel,” I had to shout!
She’d delivered while we’d been out.
Word traveled fast by phone and text,
“They’ve got a cake, we’ll go there next!”
I tried to say it wasn’t fair,
But was told “shut-up and learn to share!”
So the coffee cake (Don’t blame me!)
Is now safely under lock and key!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Frosty Sounds!

Posted on February 20, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Thankfully February is drawing to a close. The weather is becoming slightly warmer, the sun a little brighter, the evenings gradually lighter and we can start to think about coming out of our winter hibernation…

‘Clip, Clop, Clip, Clop!’
echoes around the farmyard.
Either a film sound-man
is knocking
two empty coconut shells together,
or Dolly and Charlotte
are returning from an early
pre-work ride on this frosty morning.

A conference invitation
drops onto the mat.
An exciting chance to hear
how a remarkable
new chemical
will obliterate weeds and
magically enhance the farm’s profits.
After the industrially-sponsored buffet
a bank manager will explain
how market trends can lead to
Future Profits
(One wonders for whom?).

Meanwhile snowdrops,
sheltering under a hedge,
quietly announce:
“Another Spring is around the corner!”

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Built Up Shoes!

Posted on February 19, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

I was walking past a shoe shop yesterday when I saw something that made me stop and stare. How in the name of Derek Doogan could anyone walk in those back-to-front shoes without having a Spice Girl moment and a visit to casualty? But then I remembered that when I was young I was forced to wear a built-up shoe…

Many years ago when Great Uncle Percy died,
Before the funeral, mother called me inside:
“Try on these shoes, never worn, almost new,
He was about your size they’re bound to fit you!
While you’re here you must try on his coat,
It’s old fashioned quality just you take note!”

The day of the funeral was bitter and cold,
Many mourners present and most were so old!
Some showed me sympathy my gait was all bent,
The old herringbone coat was as rigid as a tent!
I had difficulty walking, the coat all askew,
All because of pain from the one built up shoe!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Kentish Men!

Posted on February 18, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Mrs Bard and I went away for the weekend to stay with friends who’ve become ‘Kentish Men’. That is the name give to those who live London-side of the Medway River (the others being ‘Men of Kent’ those living to the East of the Medway). Having been brought up by a Man of Kent to believe that Kentish Men lived in suburbia, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised to see such beautiful countryside (unfortunately much of it through thick fog)…

We have some friends who’ve moved to Kent,
They live in an area that’s heaven sent!
We’ve never been to that area before,
But if we’re asked we’ll see them some more!
The food was better than a five star hotel,
The wine flowed briskly that night as well!
Then to sleep in a most comfy bed,
(although with slightly spinning head!).
So if you want as good a weekend as you can,
Go and stay with Kentish Man!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Trouble with Socks!

Posted on February 17, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

Mrs Bard is always complaining that I wear odd socks. I argue that since nobody can see them it doesn’t matter. In an attempt to reconcile this man-fault I purchased two packs of day-named socks. In a rush to get changed yesterday and with my mind firmly elsewhere I realised I had slipped back into old habits. I don’t seem to be the only sufferer of sock-induced-myopia…

Peter Cox,
Wore odd socks,
His wife was beyond despair!

His son Ben,
Wore them again,
When out with an au-pair!

His sister Boo,
Would steal them too,
And complain they wouldn’t share!

But their dog Spot,
Stopped the rot,
And hid them all sous-terre!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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The man who ate time!

Posted on February 16, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

How many of you have ever complained about the passing of time? I know that I’ve used the unseen passing of time as an excuse for being late on occasions. Of all the verse I’ve written over the years, the ones I like the most have a large percentage of stupidity in them. I wrote this while considering the passing of time. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it…

A man I knew,
Ate a clock,
His only comment:
“Tick tock tick tock!”
When he was cross,
An angry pup,
His mum would say:
“You’re so wound up!”

Played rugby,
In the snow,
His position?
Second row!
He was ill,
Went to the Doc,
His stomach full,
“Eight O’clock!”

He bought a car,
In the Strand,
Wasn’t new:
Was second-hand!
At a bedside,
Sobbed non-stop,
Elderly relative:
Grandfather crock!

He took a girl,
On a date,
Didn’t last,
Five minutes late!
At the altar,
With his bride,
Time was not,
On his side!
At the divorce,
Things not fine,
She complained he,
Never gave her time!

Every hour,
Every day,
He would strike,
For better pay!
In the mornings,
On the farm,
Used to wake,
With alarm!

At the airport,
Bomb-disposal boys,
Someone reported,
A ticking noise!
In the street,
Been drinking scotch,
Passers by,
Didn’t stop to watch!

Went to a party,
Drank too much wine,
Tombstone reads:
Ran Out of Time!

© Baldock Bard 2013
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Love Actually (Luton Style)!

Posted on February 15, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

If you want to see absolute joy, go to an airport arrivals gate. If you want to see double that joy, do as I did yesterday: Go to an airport arrivals gate on St Valentines Day. In the short time I was there I witnessed enough romantic reunions to be able to say in a Hugh Grant-esque voice: “Love Actually… is… all around!”…

She had been sitting in the coffee shop,
That overlooked arrivals,
Just waiting for his plane to stop,
So her heart could start revivals!

She scanned the arrivals list above,
To see if his flight had landed,
And suddenly there was her love,
Just as she had planned it.
She ran across into his arms,
Nothing was going to faze her!
No sense of panic or alarm,
An arrivals sight to savour!
© Baldock Bard 2013

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Locks of Love!

Posted on February 13, 2013 by The Baldock Bard.

There is a new love-craze in town. Take a padlock, write your name and the name of your loved-one on it (extra-convenient if your name is Chubb or your intended is a Squire), lock it to a bridge and throw the keys in the river. Your love is then sealed forever, or until the local authority invests in some bolt croppers or a magnet on a rope. Thought to be a determined effort by locksmiths to bolster trade, it actually has origins that some say (Wikipedia, my Aunty Janet and the man at the end of our street) goes back to Serbia prior to the Second World War (you may just have to read the following rhyme in a Peter Sellers, Pink Pantheresque French accent in order to get Banja to rhyme with Danger! – You have been warned!)…

A young schoolmistress who lived in Banja,
Loved a soldier with a liking for danger.
Off fighting in Greece,
Fell for a Corfurian piece,
And when he returned did estrange her.

The schoolmistress took to her bed,
Her engagement broken instead,
No wedding would be,
She cried “Oh why me!”
And within two weeks she was dead.

So today Banja’s young loves know they can,
Insure their love to their man.
Writing names on a padlock,
Will lead them to wedlock!
A happy-ever-after’s the plan!
Happy Valentines Day!
From the Baldock Bard

© Baldock Bard 2013
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