I'll tell of the Battle of Hastings, As happened in days long gone by, When Duke William became King of England, And 'Arold got shot in the eye. It were this way - one day in October The Duke, who were always a toff Having no battles on at the moment, Had given his lads a day off. They'd all taken boats to go fishing, When some chap in t' Conqueror's ear Said 'Let's go and put breeze up the Saxons;' Said Bill - 'By gum, that's an idea.' Then turning around to his soldiers, He lifted his big Norman voice, Shouting - 'Hands up who's coming to England.' That was swank 'cos they hadn't no choice. They started away about tea-time - The sea was so calm and so still, And at quarter to ten the next morning They arrived at a place called Bexhill. King 'Arold came up as they landed - His face full of venom and 'ate - He said 'lf you've come for Regatta You've got here just six weeks too late.' At this William rose, cool but 'aughty, And said 'Give us none of your cheek; You'd best have your throne re-upholstered, I'll be wanting to use it next week.' When 'Arold heard this 'ere defiance, With rage he turned purple and blue, And shouted some rude words in Saxon, To which William answered - 'And you.' 'Twere a beautiful day for a battle; The Normans set off with a will, And when both sides was duly assembled, They tossed for the top of the hill. King 'Arold he won the advantage, On the hill-top he took up his stand, With his knaves and his cads all around him, On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and. The Normans had nowt in their favour, Their chance of a victory seemed small, For the slope of the field were against them, And the wind in their faces an' all. The kick-off were sharp at two-thirty, And soon as the whistle had went Both sides started banging each other 'Til the swineherds could hear them in Kent. The Saxons had best line of forwards, Well armed both with buckler and sword - But the Normans had best combination, And when half-time came neither had scored. So the Duke called his cohorts together And said - 'Let's pretend that we're beat, Once we get Saxons down on the level We'll cut off their means of retreat.' So they ran - and the Saxons ran after, Just exactly as William had planned, Leaving 'Arold alone on the hill-top On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and. When the Conqueror saw what had happened, A bow and an arrow he drew; He went right up to 'Arold and shot him. He were off-side, but what could they do? The Normans turned round in a fury, And gave back both parry and thrust, Till the fight were all over bar shouting, And you couldn't see Saxons for dust. And after the battle were over They found 'Arold so stately and grand, Sitting there with an eye-full of arrow On his 'orse with his 'awk in his 'and.
No. am in one of them nice mellow, just been listening to Alberto Y Lost Trios Paranoias with a nice Burgandy type of moods. Y'know. Half pissed. Gotta be up at 4 though. Number 1 son has a school trip to Calais.
RE: ha ha ha Looks as if you have a Stanley Holloway Book of Monologues. Hows about "Albert & the Lion"
How's about Albert and the Vindaloo There's a famous curry centre in Blackpool, That's noted for hot vindaloos, Where they've buckets of water on t' tables, And steel straining bars in the loos. Now young Albert had been constipated, For three weeks his tum had been funny, 'Till someone told him a curry, Would give him a good run for his money. So Albert determined to try one, And not knowing which one to choose, Shut his eyes, stabbed his fork in the menu, It came down in the hot vindaloos. It was number eight Albert had chosen, To relieve him of all constipation, With extra hot sauce to disguise the fact, It was off the bone Alsatian. They had a good laugh in the kitchen, When somebody picked number eight, And they brought it in quick 'cos it soon dissolves, The enamel from off of t' plate. Albert said a prayer and picked up his fork, Then thought he had better make certain, He'd have the time to cross the floor, To the gents past the plastic curtain. From table to toilet took twelve seconds flat, Provided he didn't slip, And the coin operated lock on the door, Said tuppence per person per trip. So Albert went back and ate his vindaloo, 'Till his eyes filled up with tears, And the hairs on his legs turned round and round, And steam came out of his ears. But that infamous number eight curry, Had no more effect on his guts, Than a pint of Watneys red barrel, And a packet of planter's nuts. He waited for twenty minutes, With no results, and then, The customers gave a round of applause, As he asked for the same again. He re-timed his run to the toilet, Ten seconds a nip, To the door marked gents and the sign that said, Tuppence per person per trip. But after another plateful, He didn't feel too grand, As he clenched his teeth and sat there, On his arse with his fork in his hand. The waiters waited and waited, For the curry to do its worst, But that second Alsation vindaloo, Had no more effect than the first. Another twenty minutes passed, He couldn't speak a word, He just had to point to the menu, In order to order his third. A hush fell over the restaurant, They were all too impressed to laugh, And one of the waiters, two sikhs and the chef, Asked him for his autograph. The manager tried to dissuade him, But Albert just shook his head, As he re-timed his run to the toilet, And make it in eight seconds dead. And as he began the third one, His stomach felt just like Stonehenge, And he'd only forced down four forkfuls, When the curry began its revenge. The customers cleared a gangway, As, feeling the end was certain, Albert leapt to his feet and in three seconds flat, Had vanished through the plastic curtain. As the customers waited and wondered, About the fate of the boy, They heard a muffled explosion, And a cry, half anguish, half joy. The minutes passed, then Albert emerged, His face full of venom and hate, They could tell by the way he walked all bow legged, That he'd got to the toilet too late. He looked round the crowded restaurant, And a moan passed through his lips, It was lucky for the carpet, He was wearing his bicycle clips. At last he spoke to the waiting crowd, In a voice so plaintive and strange, With a five pound note in his hand, he gasped, " Has anyone got any change?"
Far from the crazy pavements ...the taste of silver spoons A clinical arrangement ...on a dirty afternoon Where the fecal germs of Mr Freud ...are rendered obsolete The legal term is null and void in the case of ... Beasley street In the cheap seats where murder breeds somebody is out of breath Sleep is a luxury they don't need ... a sneak preview of death Belladonna is your flower Manslaughter is your meat Spend a year in a couple of hours on the edge of Beasley street Where the action isn't That's where it is State your position Vacancies exist In an X-certificate exercise Ex-servicemen excrete Keith Joseph smiles and a baby dies in a box on Beasley street From the boarding houses and bedsits full of ...accidents and fleas Somebody gets it Where the missing persons freeze wearing dead men's overcoats You can't see their feet A Riff joint shuts - opens up right down on Beasley street Cars collide, colours clash Disaster movie stuff For the man with the Fu Manchu moustache revenge is not enough There's a dead canery on a swivel seat there's a rainbow on the road Meanwhile on Beasley Street silence is the code Hot beneath the collar ...an inspector call Where the perishing stink of squalor ...impregnates the walls The rats have all got rickets They spit through broken teeth The name of the game is not cricket Caught out on ...Beasley Street The hipster and his hired hat drive a borrowed car yellow socks and a pink crevat nothing la-di-dah O-A-P Mother-to-be Watch the three-piece suite When shitstopper drains and crocodile skis are seen on ...Beasley Street The kingdom of the blind ...a one-eyed man is king Beauty problems are redefined ...The doorbells do not ring A light bulb bursts like a blister the only form of heat Where a fellow sells his sister ...down the river on Beasley Street The boys are on the wagon The girls are on the shelf Their commom problem is ...that they're not someone else The dirt blows out The dust blows in You can't keep it neat It's a fully furnished dustbin ...sixteen Beasley Street Vince the ageing savage Betrays no kind of life ...but the smell of yesterday's cabbage and the ghost of last year's wife Through a constant haze of deodorant sprays He says ...retreat Alsatians dog the dirty days Down the middle of Beasley street People turn to poison Quick as lager turns to piss Sweethearts are physically sick Every time they kiss It's a sociologist's paradise Each day repeats Uneasy, cheasy, greasy, queasy ...beastly, Beasley Street Eyes dead as vicious fish Look around for laughs If I could have just one wish I would be a photograph On a permanent monday morning Get lost or fall asleep When the yellow cats are yawning Around the back of Beasley Street
This is one of my favourites <h1>ALBERT AND THE 'EADSMAN</h1> Marriott Edgar On young Albert Ramsbottom's birthday His parents asked what he'd like most; He said to see t' Tower of London And gaze upon Anne Boleyn's ghost. They thowt this request were unusual And at first to refuse were inclined, 'Til Pa said a trip t' metrollopse Might broaden the little lad's mind. They took charrybank up to London And got there at quarter to fower, Then seeing as pubs wasn't open They went straight away to the tower. They didn't think much to the buildin' 'T weren't what they'd been led to suppose, And the 'Bad Word' Tower didn't impress them, They said Blackpool had got one of those. At last Albert found a Beefeater And filled the old chap with alarm. By asking for Ghost of Anne Boleyn As carried her 'ead 'neath her arm. Said Beefeater 'You ought to come Fridays If it's ghost of Anne Boleyn you seek, Her union now limits her output And she only gets one walk a week. 'But,' he said, 'if it's ghosts that you're after, There's Lady Jane Grey's to be seen, She runs around chased by the 'Eadsman At midnight on th' old Tower Green.' They waited on t' green till near midnight, Then thinking they'd time for a sup, They took out what food they'd brought with them And waited for t' ghost to turn up. On the first stroke of twelve, up jumped Albert, His mouth full of cold, dripping toast, With his stick with the 'orses 'ead 'andle He pointed, and said 'Here's the ghost!' They felt their skins going all goosey As Lady Jane's Spectre drew near And Albert fair swallered his tonsils When the 'Eadsman an' all did appear. The 'Eadsman chased Jane round the grass patch They saw his axe flash in the moon And seeing as poor lass were 'eadless They wondered what what next he would prune. He suddenly caught sight of Albert As midnight was on its last chime As he lifted his axe, father murmered 'We'll get the insurance this time.' At that, Mother rose, taking umbridge; She said, 'Put that cleaver away. You're not cutting our Albert's 'ead off, Yon collar were clean on today. The brave little lad stood undaunted 'Til the ghost were within half a pace. Then taking the toast he were eating, Slapped it, dripping side down, in his face. 'T were a proper set-back for the 'Eadsman He let out one 'owl of despair, Then taking his ladyfriend with him He disappeared - just like that, there. When Pa saw the way as they vanished He trembled with fear and looked blue, 'Til Ma went and patted his shoulder An' said, 'Sallright lad, we saw it too.' Some say 'twere the drippin' as done it, From a roast leg of mutton it came, And as th' 'Eadsman had been a Beefeater They reckon he vanished from shame. And around Tower Green, from that moment, They've ne're seen a sign of the ghost, But when t' Beefeaters go on night duty, They take slices of cold drippin' toast.
