Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on

your world goes to pot
and it makes you feel old
when your head's full of snot
and you're lost in a cold

Fast forward

Photo by cottonbro on
Fast forward

Pacemaker fitted,
poo tests for cancer,
whatever became
of that once great romancer.
Regular health checks,
heart rate is naughty
and as for my pulse,
it's two hundred and forty!

The sex life, once active
I thought was forever,
Is slowly declining
from rarely, to never.
Each new health crisis
brings on hypertension,
I should have skipped childhood,
moved straight to my pension!

A bit of a lump

Photo by Anna Shvets on
A bit of a lump

Little Hitler sat down at 'er desk,
Insisted I 'ad to explain,
So, red as the wrong coloured rose,
I did so in order to gain

Access to see me own doctor,
What took me best part of eight week,
So, by 'time it come round to a visit,
Well, stuff were beginning to leak!

I am finally inside of the surgery,
And 'missus is 'olding me 'and,
She 'ad to come with me for reasons,
You'll pretty much soon understand.

I've discovered a lump, I admitted
It's in an embarrassing place,
So, I thought it would need checking out,
As the magazines say, just in case.

My doctor's the female persuasion,
Protocol says, she needs chaperone,
I don't 'ave any objections,
So, she's straight away onto the phone.

A third woman knocks and then enters,
This started off bad, and gets worse,
Don't worry about me Sir, I'm trained,
And I am a registered nurse.

I jokingly say why not invite
All the receptionist staff.
None of them looked very busy,
Ask them all in, for a laugh!

My trousers reluctantly dropped,
And I'm asked, is that all you've got?
As I turn a deep shade of red,
She explains, she is meaning the spot.

She asks, looking up
From down on her knees,
How did you find this?
Oh, think doctor - please!

She proddles and pushes,
Turns it around,
It's hard looking cool
With your pants on the ground.

Finished, get dressed.
I'll just check me books.
Me and the missus
Exchange worried looks.

She shows me some photos,
Dicks by the dozen,
I swear on my life,
That's the spit of my cousin!

No need to worry,
It's not S.T.D,
Tha's a small fatty lump,
It's got no pedigree.

Wi' a ginormous smile
Spreading ovver me face,
Me and the missus
Dash back to our place.

A personal problem

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
A personal problem

The optician told me
That I have floaters!
Toilet problems are private
And no one likes gloaters!


Photo by Bruno Scramgnon on

Emma Royd's piles
Were driving her wild,
Grapes of Wrath would be perfectly true,
She inserted a plum
To bung up her bum,
And now she's in Catch 22!

It’s a sign

Photo by Gusztu00e1v Gallu00f3 on
It's a sign

Sunday, I wake up with the world's worst headache.
Monday, the headache is even worse. My doctor thinks I may have a tumour!
Tuesday, MRI scan and tests at the hospital.
Wednesday, test results are all negative. Doctors are convinced that stress is the cause.
Thursday, there is a horse running in the 2.30 tomorrow called Stress Headache. It's a sign! Stake a whole months pension on her finishing first.
Friday, Stress Headache finishes a close second to Gambling Fool. I lose the lot.
Saturday, Go out and drown my sorrows.
Sunday, I wake up with the world's worst headache...

The Rash

Photo by Thierry Fillieul on
The Rash

She developed an angry red rash
And was round at the doc's in a flash.
Not skirting the houses,
She was told, drop your trousers.
Examined then dressed,
The doc was impressed,
She'd contracted a virus,
Caught from papyrus.
Disapp it was called,
And the doctor recalled,
She could give her some cream
Which would sure make her scream,
Prescription was ointment,
She wrote, disapp ointment..

Dauphy: That's not a rash, it's a spotty frog!
Hobbo:  I know, but I couldn't find a picture of a rash on WordPress.
Dauphy: So, was it a frog who went to the doctor's?
Hobbo: No!
Dauphy: The doctor was a frog?
Hobbo: No Dauphy, the doctor was not a frog. The woman had spots.
Dauphy; Like the frog?
Hobbo: Yes Dauphy, like the frog.
Dauphy: If you'd said so in the first place!

What children need…

What children need...

Snuggles and cuddles
And jumping in puddles,
Chocolate and cheesecake
And noises that bees make,
Laughter and lollies
And jim-jams and jollies,
Christmas and Santa
And juvenile banter,
Loving and laughter
And dads acting dafter,
Old pals, and new friends
And mazes with dead ends,
Starlight and moonshine
And days in the sunshine,
Christmas and parties
And sweet apple tart is,
When push comes to shove,
Our children need love.

Time Management

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Time management

Stop rushing around!
You will end in the ground.
Simply accept you are late
And don't get in a state.


Photo by Kindel Media on

This is our thousandth post since me and Dauphy kicked this blog off last August. We wanted to mark the occasion with something a bit different from our usual tongue in cheek attempts to get you giggling. Here then, is a serious poem about an awful condition that is affecting more and more of us as we live longer. Thank you for reading, and don’t worry, the next post will be back to our usual nonsense!


My memories are jumbled,
a fluid kaleidoscope
of images
as tangled
as that spaghetti crap
they serve us in here.
Wherever here is!
I know it's not home.
Home is
where mum and dad live,
not here
where people wear pinnies
and masks
and ask silly questions.
'What have I had for breakfast?'
How the hell do I know!

it's me mum,
who the hell is Lucy,
and who is mum?
I want my mum,
and my dad.
Let what's-her=name
find her own parents.
Bloody cheek.
And photos!
If anyone else
shows me any more photographs
of strangers,
I swear
I will smash the place up,
Bloody morons!

Lucy darling?
Is that you?
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