ChatterBank7 mins ago
Mrs O Doesn't Want A Sympathyfest.
59 Answers
But she is back in hospital....not been good since the taxi crashed. Messages as follow:
Sib....your staples are safe.
Moped boy......She is going to thrash you at the current Scrabble game.
DT........she expects a "poem what I wrote"
Tony......She will catch up on your misdemeanours when she is home.
Sib....your staples are safe.
Moped boy......She is going to thrash you at the current Scrabble game.
DT........she expects a "poem what I wrote"
Tony......She will catch up on your misdemeanours when she is home.
Answers
...honestly, some people[i... right then gness, tell her I'm sending over a mixed bookay of fucus vesiculosus, some alaria esculenta, and a bit of bifuracria bifurcata to finish off ..[i]and see if that shuts her up].. :x)
15:55 Tue 22nd Jan 2013
Here we are, gness - something to send on with my love and that she gets better and home soon
Mrs O, in hospital again today. Oh gosh,
that’s no fun, but let’s hear it for NoM's porter
who stopped and asked our gal if she was lost.
And for the wizened JoeLukelike she was sat next to whom
whose joyful affability preened and sheened
the wait in that antiseptic waiting room.
He told her that he had worked from fourteen
on a marigold farm; how to save flowers
from icy frost, they’d burn fuel oil in drums unsealed
all across the field, smoking the bowers.
With yellow marigolds though, how each Whitby field
comes up with a bumper crop
every seventh year, on his oath;
how unpooped desktop offerings breaking
will make it fed up, creating new super growth.
Then there was the seadogg-clad mackerel fisherman,
in the hospital for a Sqad operation
on his soles, stopping the need for brown kippers
as his pungent slippers to cover Voddie's crustaceans.
“Why are you here in hospital, Mrs O,?”
the question on his fishy lips, bulging eyes,
chubby cheeks, gills puffing, as if he had bestowed
the gin bottle, under her old purple frock.
“An appendix, and poison, other things put straight,
I’ve now become Barmaid's staple box.
Back home, just a routine check, a tony taxi to wait,
some dipstick on the road leaves
yellow marigolds and fishy grease .
I’m looking for the dumb cretin who caused the skid,
My sharpened scalpel’s ready to castrate.”
Mrs O, in hospital again today. Oh gosh,
that’s no fun, but let’s hear it for NoM's porter
who stopped and asked our gal if she was lost.
And for the wizened JoeLukelike she was sat next to whom
whose joyful affability preened and sheened
the wait in that antiseptic waiting room.
He told her that he had worked from fourteen
on a marigold farm; how to save flowers
from icy frost, they’d burn fuel oil in drums unsealed
all across the field, smoking the bowers.
With yellow marigolds though, how each Whitby field
comes up with a bumper crop
every seventh year, on his oath;
how unpooped desktop offerings breaking
will make it fed up, creating new super growth.
Then there was the seadogg-clad mackerel fisherman,
in the hospital for a Sqad operation
on his soles, stopping the need for brown kippers
as his pungent slippers to cover Voddie's crustaceans.
“Why are you here in hospital, Mrs O,?”
the question on his fishy lips, bulging eyes,
chubby cheeks, gills puffing, as if he had bestowed
the gin bottle, under her old purple frock.
“An appendix, and poison, other things put straight,
I’ve now become Barmaid's staple box.
Back home, just a routine check, a tony taxi to wait,
some dipstick on the road leaves
yellow marigolds and fishy grease .
I’m looking for the dumb cretin who caused the skid,
My sharpened scalpel’s ready to castrate.”
This Taxi:
Her lover one day takes O for a walk in a section of the city where they never go - the Montsouris Park. After they have taken a stroll in the park, and have sat together side by side on the edge of a lawn, they notice, at one corner of the park, at an intersection where there are never any taxis, a car which, because of its meter, resembles a taxi.
"Get in," he says.
She gets in. It is autumn, and coming up to dusk. She is dressed as she always is: high heels, a suit with a pleated skirt, a silk blouse, and no hat. But long gloves which come up over the sleeves of her jacket, and in her leather handbag she has her identification papers, her compact, and her lipstick.
The taxi moves off slowly, the man still not having said a word to the driver. But he pulls down the shades of the windows on both sides of the car, and the shade on the back window. She has taken off her gloves, thinking he wants to kiss her or that he wants her to caress him. But instead he says:
"Your bag's in your way; let me have it."
She gives it to him. He puts it out of her reach and adds:
"You also have on too many clothes. Unfasten your stockings and roll them down to above your knees. Here are some garters."
By now the taxi has picked up speed, and she has some trouble managing it; she's also afraid the driver may turn around. Finally, though, the stockings are rolled down, and she's embarrassed to feel her legs naked and free beneath her silk slip. Besides, the loose garter-belt suspenders are slipping back and forth.
Her lover one day takes O for a walk in a section of the city where they never go - the Montsouris Park. After they have taken a stroll in the park, and have sat together side by side on the edge of a lawn, they notice, at one corner of the park, at an intersection where there are never any taxis, a car which, because of its meter, resembles a taxi.
"Get in," he says.
She gets in. It is autumn, and coming up to dusk. She is dressed as she always is: high heels, a suit with a pleated skirt, a silk blouse, and no hat. But long gloves which come up over the sleeves of her jacket, and in her leather handbag she has her identification papers, her compact, and her lipstick.
The taxi moves off slowly, the man still not having said a word to the driver. But he pulls down the shades of the windows on both sides of the car, and the shade on the back window. She has taken off her gloves, thinking he wants to kiss her or that he wants her to caress him. But instead he says:
"Your bag's in your way; let me have it."
She gives it to him. He puts it out of her reach and adds:
"You also have on too many clothes. Unfasten your stockings and roll them down to above your knees. Here are some garters."
By now the taxi has picked up speed, and she has some trouble managing it; she's also afraid the driver may turn around. Finally, though, the stockings are rolled down, and she's embarrassed to feel her legs naked and free beneath her silk slip. Besides, the loose garter-belt suspenders are slipping back and forth.
MrsO has spent most of the day in a side room waiting for a scan and has been bored witless. She thanks you for your messages which have cheered her up. God but I'm slow texter. :-( How do these kids do it with their whizzy thumbs?
We did have a fun chat on the phone and nothing keeps that woman down does it? I was trying to cheer her up but she had me in stitches....no pun.
She has her book with her and is taking names...Tony. xxx
We did have a fun chat on the phone and nothing keeps that woman down does it? I was trying to cheer her up but she had me in stitches....no pun.
She has her book with her and is taking names...Tony. xxx
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