ChatterBank0 min ago
DTCrosswordfan's Story
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When Miss Crossword and Mr Fan married, they decided their offspring would have a double barrelled name. They were both construction workers and Miss Crossword had won "Bricklayer of the Year" for ten consecutive years as well as being "Miss Pipe Smoker 1953." They had seven daughters who followed them into the building trade, then an unexpected eighth baby - a boy. They named him Dryden Tennyson which was quickly shortened to DT.
DT was a mystery to his family. As a child he refused to play with his sisters hand me down meccano and Tonka trucks and demanded dolls and soft toys in the form of sheep. He also refused to wear his sisters hand me down dungarees and hobnail boots, favouring soft fabrics in pastel shades.
After leaving school with O levels in Needlework, English Literature, Advanced Needlework, Domestic Science and Sheep Husbandry, he left home to starve in a garrett. This puzzled his by now wealthy parents who had offered to buy him a house and provide him with a trust fund, which he declined. He lived and breathed poetry, with the occasional daydream about sheep. His garrett was filled with exercise books, each one bearing the title "Poems What I Have Wrote." At the last count there were 305 volumes. Whilst eating chips one night he was idly reading the newspaper they were wrapped in when he spotted an advert for "The Answerbank Under the Wold Annual Poetry Competition." He entered, with a plagarised poem which began "I wandered lonely as a cumulus." Despite being the only entrant, he was awarded third prize, and convinced he was on the road to glory, he moved to the village.
He was in his element. Wandering the country lanes, he garnered inspiration for new poems and could admire sheep all day long. Dressed as an 18th century fop, he held poetry evenings in the village hall which were well attended by deaf pensioners wanting a quiet snooze. Some of his more forgettable poems included "The Lady of Shallots" (about an onion seller), "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Wee" (about an incontinent mourner) and "Ode to Joy" (Joy being the name of a favourite ewe). To supplement his non existent income as a poet, he moonlighted as a bouncer at several less than salubrious establishments. He attracted ridicule as a doorman wearing a cravat, spats and a smoking jacket but having seven, elder brawny sisters he had in his repertoire a wide variety of underhand fighting skills, despite his effete appearance.
His first income as a poet came when an illiterate villager asked him to write a birthday poem. Despite the fact he was paid with a turnip and a length of baler twine, he knew he was at last on his way to greatness.
DT was a mystery to his family. As a child he refused to play with his sisters hand me down meccano and Tonka trucks and demanded dolls and soft toys in the form of sheep. He also refused to wear his sisters hand me down dungarees and hobnail boots, favouring soft fabrics in pastel shades.
After leaving school with O levels in Needlework, English Literature, Advanced Needlework, Domestic Science and Sheep Husbandry, he left home to starve in a garrett. This puzzled his by now wealthy parents who had offered to buy him a house and provide him with a trust fund, which he declined. He lived and breathed poetry, with the occasional daydream about sheep. His garrett was filled with exercise books, each one bearing the title "Poems What I Have Wrote." At the last count there were 305 volumes. Whilst eating chips one night he was idly reading the newspaper they were wrapped in when he spotted an advert for "The Answerbank Under the Wold Annual Poetry Competition." He entered, with a plagarised poem which began "I wandered lonely as a cumulus." Despite being the only entrant, he was awarded third prize, and convinced he was on the road to glory, he moved to the village.
He was in his element. Wandering the country lanes, he garnered inspiration for new poems and could admire sheep all day long. Dressed as an 18th century fop, he held poetry evenings in the village hall which were well attended by deaf pensioners wanting a quiet snooze. Some of his more forgettable poems included "The Lady of Shallots" (about an onion seller), "Do Not Stand at My Grave and Wee" (about an incontinent mourner) and "Ode to Joy" (Joy being the name of a favourite ewe). To supplement his non existent income as a poet, he moonlighted as a bouncer at several less than salubrious establishments. He attracted ridicule as a doorman wearing a cravat, spats and a smoking jacket but having seven, elder brawny sisters he had in his repertoire a wide variety of underhand fighting skills, despite his effete appearance.
His first income as a poet came when an illiterate villager asked him to write a birthday poem. Despite the fact he was paid with a turnip and a length of baler twine, he knew he was at last on his way to greatness.
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