Quizzes & Puzzles17 mins ago
Mad over Fifties Club
187 Answers
The Club is now Open.
Welcome once again. Gather close to the fire on this nippy night and enjoy good company ,delicious nibbles and no doubt a powerful tailcock or three.
Raffle prizes so far include:
A box of Zubes
A tin of vaseline
A yellow muffler.
Tonight's talk was to have been 'Knitting patterns of the 1950s' ...a rib-tickler if ever there was..but the speaker has just plain disappeared.
Welcome once again. Gather close to the fire on this nippy night and enjoy good company ,delicious nibbles and no doubt a powerful tailcock or three.
Raffle prizes so far include:
A box of Zubes
A tin of vaseline
A yellow muffler.
Tonight's talk was to have been 'Knitting patterns of the 1950s' ...a rib-tickler if ever there was..but the speaker has just plain disappeared.
Answers
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In France’s fair city
Where the filles are so pretty
I first set my eyes on the viel Parc des Princes
And the jeux were all played
In the wind and the rain
Cause they didn’t kick off at nine of the night
At nine of the night
At nine of the night
They didn’t kick off at nine of the night
One more large one, please, then I’ll get my coat
Where the filles are so pretty
I first set my eyes on the viel Parc des Princes
And the jeux were all played
In the wind and the rain
Cause they didn’t kick off at nine of the night
At nine of the night
At nine of the night
They didn’t kick off at nine of the night
One more large one, please, then I’ll get my coat
Grafters all, and what’s a treble
or a pdust between mates.
A bedraggled Castle temple,
or a destitute AB chapel – Mac the bookie.
Listen… Such concentrated silence,
maybe a seadogg cough gargled
up in-between snatches of LieInKing commentary
from Nungate on 415.
Or, the recasting of nibbling feet,
and the sucking of Mamya's teeth
as some disgruntled Zhukov punter
scrubs out selections. Wye Weed
and TTFN fag-end reeks are sponged
in DaisyNonna air. Rising damp
flakes off Jogger ribbons
of cairngorm ceiling. Mac the Rugbyman
sermons an Ireland win.
An uncanny AB congregation too,
the indigenous Venator-forms
replete with four inch pens (note - yes pens)
and cares to forget. AYG by the TV,
an AOG man in string-vest,
yellow, Ann, and ratter beanie,
dreads and crumpled slips,
eyes on the Alexander meeting,
expletive worship for Dram Odin –
a Moat Croc, prim green suit
and gnawing frame, Llama, elite,
decent Boxie trainer – fancied…
it loses, then there’s swearing.
Wilted on a desk in the moat
departure hall,
a Humbersloop versed in pools
ticks ones but no twos. He eases
his smothered mental pregnancy, lifts a greasy arm,
spiritedly panting at the Rowan’s
forecast screens. He claps
another bloke’s back, hails him jauntily,
returns to his fixtures –
he’ll put on a twenty.
A tidy offering of rizlas catches his eye,
he grabs at the packet
and then he proceeds.
Castle Traffic tides through the Tailcock door, then dumb ¾
in steps a sunnydave
with wild solar eyes.
He clamps to a table,
yanks out a slip – all he wants is a flutter.
Five times he leans toward the wall,
studying form guides
as though they were AB scriptures.
Trainers in Ireland, France, and the States,
with AB equines, like gods, that are avidly praised.
Epiphany. Conformist. The SunnyDave's Apotheosic baptised.
Twenty-six across the warm Castle Agora
he puts on his Super Dr B Yankee.
A new AB communion for improving fortune,
over LadyAlex's judgement supercedes.
And let us pray that later on today,
Ireland lose to odds-on France on speed.
or a pdust between mates.
A bedraggled Castle temple,
or a destitute AB chapel – Mac the bookie.
Listen… Such concentrated silence,
maybe a seadogg cough gargled
up in-between snatches of LieInKing commentary
from Nungate on 415.
Or, the recasting of nibbling feet,
and the sucking of Mamya's teeth
as some disgruntled Zhukov punter
scrubs out selections. Wye Weed
and TTFN fag-end reeks are sponged
in DaisyNonna air. Rising damp
flakes off Jogger ribbons
of cairngorm ceiling. Mac the Rugbyman
sermons an Ireland win.
An uncanny AB congregation too,
the indigenous Venator-forms
replete with four inch pens (note - yes pens)
and cares to forget. AYG by the TV,
an AOG man in string-vest,
yellow, Ann, and ratter beanie,
dreads and crumpled slips,
eyes on the Alexander meeting,
expletive worship for Dram Odin –
a Moat Croc, prim green suit
and gnawing frame, Llama, elite,
decent Boxie trainer – fancied…
it loses, then there’s swearing.
Wilted on a desk in the moat
departure hall,
a Humbersloop versed in pools
ticks ones but no twos. He eases
his smothered mental pregnancy, lifts a greasy arm,
spiritedly panting at the Rowan’s
forecast screens. He claps
another bloke’s back, hails him jauntily,
returns to his fixtures –
he’ll put on a twenty.
A tidy offering of rizlas catches his eye,
he grabs at the packet
and then he proceeds.
Castle Traffic tides through the Tailcock door, then dumb ¾
in steps a sunnydave
with wild solar eyes.
He clamps to a table,
yanks out a slip – all he wants is a flutter.
Five times he leans toward the wall,
studying form guides
as though they were AB scriptures.
Trainers in Ireland, France, and the States,
with AB equines, like gods, that are avidly praised.
Epiphany. Conformist. The SunnyDave's Apotheosic baptised.
Twenty-six across the warm Castle Agora
he puts on his Super Dr B Yankee.
A new AB communion for improving fortune,
over LadyAlex's judgement supercedes.
And let us pray that later on today,
Ireland lose to odds-on France on speed.
Good Evening Mi'Lady Alex,
s'cuse me, who sees no ships??
For the rofl I have
a cleat
a Turk's head - please, please, not to be confused with a Royal Albert under any circumstances
a small bottle of boiled linseed oil
Apologies again for what will be a brief flagon of Tailcock tonight (x2 for a swifty please), I have the brass monkey's balls to reorganisem-Our timbers are fair shivverin in minus 9 here.
At least the ice stops the oillies dripping in the crevices. On that note, LiK, while you are buttling the outergear, I noticed under the new AB advertising regime, Umbrella Arrangements seem to feature. What a sweet sideline. Or is this a franchise opportunity?
s'cuse me, who sees no ships??
For the rofl I have
a cleat
a Turk's head - please, please, not to be confused with a Royal Albert under any circumstances
a small bottle of boiled linseed oil
Apologies again for what will be a brief flagon of Tailcock tonight (x2 for a swifty please), I have the brass monkey's balls to reorganisem-Our timbers are fair shivverin in minus 9 here.
At least the ice stops the oillies dripping in the crevices. On that note, LiK, while you are buttling the outergear, I noticed under the new AB advertising regime, Umbrella Arrangements seem to feature. What a sweet sideline. Or is this a franchise opportunity?
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