Had a Good Day?

Whether you’ve had a good day or not, you could always be a lamb.  Now, where’s my mint sauce?


Have a saucy day, won’t you!


Pun, Pun, Pun!

I like listening to BBC Radio Tees’ breakfast show.  They run a headline competition every weekday.  I won once.  Now, in a similar vein, here’s an article I saw last week.

Girl pours grandfather’s ashes into cookies which she had baked.

Here are all the puns that the Brits wrote with true dark humour about this case.

  • Instead of biscuits, she could have got some potatoes and made ash browns.
  • Her classmates said the cookies were not soft enough: they were, in fact, bone-dry.
  • I’m not sure the cookies had a full-bodied flavour.
  • She said she only wanted to urn some money by selling these cookies.
  • She took full responsibility for her action. It was hearse, and hearse alone.
  • She’s been told not to do it again. But I suspect she cadaver ‘nother try.
  • Grandma had asked her, “What do you make of Grandad then?” She knew exactly what…
  • That just takes the biscuit.Seems these cookies are going to be marketed by Huntley Embalmer.
  • When the people eating these cookies found out, they were “coffin” all over the place.
  • I hear she made chocolate bour-bone biscuits.
  • She needs to have a wreath-think about her life choices.
  • She could also have made a pyre (pie) or two.
  • Her classmates should have washed the cookies down with a bier or two.
  • But really she should not have taken the cookies “inter” school.
  • She’s in trouble with the law. Someone has called the corpse.
  • Next time she can make chocolate crem cakes.
  • It’s lovely when children bake with their grandparents.
  • What happened next…. Remains to be seen

One lady commented:

I find nothing funny in it. In fact – disgusting.
Girl needs some psychiatric help – and of course some legal action too.

To which a wag replied:

Definitely not funny at all.  I mean, she didn’t even mix any ginger or nutmeg into the cookie mix.  Shameful!

Putting the “fun” into “funeral.”

Have a punny day, won’t you!



Wait a Minute, it’s the Telephone Man

Those of you who are over 45 may just about remember this cheery little number from Meri Wilson.

In the previous year, Sunray was nicknamed Telephone Man for his part in ensuring that the overall phone bill for the British Army in Northern Ireland was £1 million.  (Regimental legend has it that Sunray was responsible for £900 000 of it.)  Most of the calls were part of the Night Shift Numbers Game, a version of “pin the tail on the donkey”, when bored squaddies on night shift at HMP Maze would get out the phone book, look up random numbers abroad and phone them to ask such innocent questions as:

Is it snowing in Alabama?

It’s a nice clear line, isn’t it?

etc.  (Men are just boys in long trousers. )

Fast-forward to 2018.  It was my birthday three days ago.  That took me back to October 1976, when, as a wee schoolboy at Wolfenbüttel Primary School, I was told to go to the headmaster’s office.

“Oh dear, what have I done wrong?” I thought.  “Was it for shouting at my teacher last week?”

No.  It was Sunray phoning me up from HMP Maze, wishing my happy birthday.  He was obviously taking time out from:

  • Calling his mate, Bryan B, in Australia, to ask how hot it was in Cairns
  • Phoning his sister-in-law in Canada to talk to her about boxing bouts
  • Prank-calling several taxi firms in Birmingham to order two dozen taxis to one pub on the outskirts of the city
  • And much, much more…

Bless his cotton socks, bless his soul.  Quite poignant to think this was the first year when I did not receive a birthday card from him.  This weekend I did think of him as Schatz and I raised our glasses of Sekt to celebrate my birthday.

Have an a-Maze-ing day, won’t you!

Your Occasional Bad Joke

Two Yorkshiremen are chatting down the allotment. One says to t’other:

Seth, how’s thee rhubarb coming along this year?

The second Yorkshireman replies:

Aye, reet grand. I’ve been pourin’ hoss manure on to improve the flavour.

Oh aye?

replies the first Yorkshireman,

I find custard does the job for me.

Have a flavoursome day, won’t you!


“I just took it on impulse”

The Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, a Friday afternoon in the summer of 1978. 

Mr G is cycling home from work one fine summer’s evening.  Mr G is head chef at the Officers Mess.  Mr G is looking forward to enjoying some nice, tasty sirloin steak that he has just “acquired” at work, belonging, ultimately, I guess, to Her Majesty.

But it was not to be…


At the exit gate Mr G has spotted Sunray and a corporal (Cpl) carrying out bag checks on all personnel exiting the Academy.  Without exception. 

Yes, sir, I do know who you are.  You are Lieutenant-Colonel Blenkinsop-Smythe.  We are still going to search your car.

Mr G decides to turn tail.  Not a wise move.  Sunray allows the Lt-Col to drive off without a full search.

Sunray and the Cpl jump into the Landrover at the speed of a thousand leaping gazelles and soon catch up with Mr G.


Afternoon, Mr G.  How are you?

Mr G:

Fine, thank you. 


We’re doing a bag search of everyone leaving via Yorktown Road exit.

Mr G:

Oh right.  Well, I just need to head back to the Officers Mess.  I left my house keys there.


Ah, yes, it’s funny how these thing happen.  Well, while we’re here, we might as well do the bag search here and now, get it over and done with, so you can be on your way.

Sunray finds 3kg of top-quality sirloin steak in Mr G’s daysack.


What’s this, Mr G?

Mr G:

It’s sirloin steak.  From the, um, Officers Mess…  I, er, I just, er, took it on impulse.


Well, I’m arresting you on impulse.

Sunray cautions Mr G.  Mr G jumps unenthusiastically into the back of the Landrover.  The Cpl then places Mr G’s bike also into the back of the Landrover.


We can’t just leave your bike standing here, Mr G.  There are too many thieves about.  Especially in the Officers Mess, ha ha ha.

Mr G fails to respond at the rib-tickling military humour.  He’s not in the mood for laughing.  For some reason.

On arrival at the Guardroom, Sunray bags and tags the sirloin steak and places it carefully, perhaps even lovingly, in the Guardroom freezer as evidence.  In the meantime, Mr G is sitting in a cell, head in hands.  He isn’t thinking “TGIF.”


The following Thursday morning Mr G pleads guilty to theft of a quantity of steak from Her Majesty’s Secretary of State for Defence.

Later that day, Sunray is smiling, for he is cooking a very special treat for his wife and three kids, namely steak, mushroom and chips.  Many thanks, Her Majesty’s Secretary of State for Defence!

Have an impulsive day, won’t you!

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

The place: Bordar House Cafe, Masham, North Yorkshire.

The year: 2003.

The time: 11:00.

Sunray and I are both enjoying a 10 000 calories belly-buster.  If you want to eat well in England, eat cooked breakfast three times a day.


A random stranger walks in, decides he is God’s gift to comedy.

Looks like you two are enjoying that!  Is that your third one of today?

I look at Sunray.  Sunray looks back at me.  He nods and winks to me.  Mr Comedian wants to have some fun at us.  We’ll have some fun with him.

I am wearing my DDR (German Democratic Republic t-shirt).


I speak:

Wie bitte?  Ich hab’ überhaupt keine Ahnung was Sie sagen.  Tut mir leid.

Mr Comedian:

Oh, you don’t speak English.  Foreigner, yeah?

I point to my DDR logo:

Ja ja ja!  Bear-leen, Cher-mun-ee, ja.  Sorry, my English ist not gut.

Mr Comedian:

Oh right, bloody krauts, yeah?

G in G:

Ja, ja, crowd of chermans here, ja.  Big crowd at ze market place, ja!

Our man finally leaves us to our maple-cured bacon, baked beans and black pudding and sup our tea in peace.

Two minutes later…

Mornin’, Sunray!  Mornin’, Ginge in Germany!  How are you doin’, fellas?

Ron, one of the locals, had just walked in to order his Saturday bacon sandwich and had decided to greet us.

Sunray replies:

Morning, Ron!  Good to see you.  Come and sit down with us.

Mr Comedian hears Sunray, me and Ron chatting away (in English).  He realises the laugh is on him.  He scowls.  He purses his lips so tightly, that they look a cat’s anus.  He curses us as he leaves the cafe.

You two tw*ts think you’re so clever, don’t you!

Sunray and I laugh uncontrollably.  Ron asks:

Er, what’s the joke, fellas?

Have a Teutonic day, won’t you!



On the Pious and Glorious Twelfth

Today is the Pious and Glorious Twelfth of July, on which the Laurel and Hardy Fan Club Orange Loyalists parade in their bowler hats to celebrate Good King Billy’s victory many years ago.


To mark the occasion, I bought my mate from East Belfast a wee rubber ball. Every time it bounces on the ground, it goes, “Boyne! Boyne! Boyne!”

Have a bouncy day, won’t you!