If bad luck comes in threes...

<looks up from behind the Cabin Boy>

 

That reminds me - it's yardarm!

 

Swab the Dec! (*and* Sand the Ant - see other thread somewhere up there -`)

 

<whoosshhh.

 

"I'm mad, me"

 

It's the sheddi, they can't help it, poor things.

 

twas a new shed spoonerism "Ant Sander" which refers to the freshly minted
set of high street ex-Building Societies now known as Santander.

also to the boy wonder TV duo of Anthony McPartlin and Declan Donnelly,
yer 'oner.

 

Oh, my sides.

 

'Bonk'

 

God hates superstitious people

Regards

Mike

 

Only just got round to some of this backlog.

Commis,

If I had one, I'd attach a Higgs' Boson to this message so you could Be
Famous[TM] for finding it.

The one I was after was too small for the mesh of my flutterby net.

 

I represent that.

Mind you, the first 'gril' was well into her fifties (I was twenty) and
I'm not sure whether I regret not recognising the 'come-on' sniggles.

By the time I met the second - 'nuff said.

 

Since no-one knows what one looks like there must be a finite (Ok,
small, but finite) chance that Higgs is a Higgs boson. Has anyone
tried colliding him with anything?

 

No great loss, there's not much to see here

Dunno about The Shed, but the Caff has gone to the dogs as well ..

Paul.

 

My gran hfrq to keep chooks - not just one or two, but probably about an
hundred or so. This was whoartime, and the eggses were hfrshy,
especially as her next door neighbour owned a grocer's siop.

Neighbours over quite a distance would save their potato peelings, table
scraps and stale bread, ect, with a iew to securing some of these
rationed commestibles.

Screwed to a heavy table beside the mangle there was a vast old iron
mincer (oo-er!). Sometime I (aged four or five) would turn the handle
while she fed the bread (pre-dried in the oven) into the hopper. It was
hard jbex, but I were helping innit.

She would boil up the peelings, old veg, ect, then mix in loads of the
bread powder, and some balancer meal and dried blood.

(I had flashbacks when grandmas and mangles were mentioned in the same
parachute innit)

Oh, and on the matter of what grandpa got caught in the mangle - in the
bonnie firm of Murex one hot day, an operative was wearing no more than
socks under his broiler suit. He picked up a heavy casting and carried
it over to the workbench, on which he plonked it.

Unfortunately...

His plonker was caught between saaid plonked casting and the bench
(beneath the broiler suit) and the offensive member was split into three
bleeding sossidge-like things.

It were all stitched together in the horse spittle, and it was rumoured
even that it still jbexed, though we (of course) could not vouch for it.

 

His name will be Higgs and he will be emitting a shrill whistle, varying
in pitch, but tunelessly.

HTH

 

You speak for yourself! Us gets out of all the nasty chores, do we poor
thingses.

We're just given sixpence and told to go and look for Higgs' Bosun, and
not to come back until we've found him innit.

 

Well, *HE'S* not the Bosun.

I goove you mean your beams.

 

Whatever happened to Prof. Pyke - the human windmill?

 

Whom are you calling a Burma?