Bob, re sartorial helegance ..
Oooop norf we dont see much of that big bright light in the sky, so its de rigeur at every opportunity to show off the prize knobbli knees --- and its "off with the flat cap, get the ferret out of the trousers, let the whippet off the leash, ditch the clogs, untie plastic bin liner shin guards, discard the sack shoulder drape, lose the sprout- net vest (optional), but keep the string waist tie and one leather trouser brace.....(knotted handkerchiefs as headgear now solely reserved for the annual charabanc day trip to Cleethorpes), but a stained and frayed coloured 'kerchief is a must have accessory, plus snuff and baccy tin...
admittedly not a pretty sight , but beauty is in the eye of the beer holder!
wasnt expecting to be compared with those windmill owning veterinaries from down souf (although it was a a rather pretty fwock....
A man was sitting reading his papers when his wife hit him round the head with a frying pan.
'What was that for?' the man asked.
The wife replied 'That was for the piece of paper with the name Jenny on it that I found in your pants pocket'..
The man then said 'When I was at the races last week Jenny was the name of the horse I bet on. The wife apologized and went on with the housework..
Three days later the man is watching TV when his wife bashes him on the head with an even bigger frying pan, knocking him unconscious.
Upon re-gaining consciousness the man asked why she had hit him again.
Wife replied.. 'Your horse phoned'
Man sitting at home on the veranda with his wife and he says, "I love you."
She asks, "Is that you or the beer talking?"
He replies, "It's me.............talking to the beer."
Peter,
Awfully glad you have not taken a fence, ringed or otherwise, however, when watching the Arthur Neal Trophy race I was puzzled as to why you were not racing, despite being named on the entry list. An analysis of my photographic efforts revealed, however, that you had indeed been competing, but had clearly removed the basket of racing pigeons from the luggage rack, and it was this that had caused my confusion.
I understand that the sight of your ..er .....er ....er... frame clad in nothing but a pair of ragged footy bags, caused quite a few female hearts to flutter alarmingly. Such were the palpitations triggered that smelling salts were in great demand among the more faint hearted of the fair sex present.
I wonder, is this phenomemon confined the effete ladies of the Southern Counties or do the hardy wenches of Yorkshire and similar areas suffer similar feelings at the sight?
Bob, I have decided that it is best to let you boys enjoy your little jokes, we girls don't need to mock you - you can make fools of yourselves without any help from us......
By the way, I have heard that after you had enjoyed a couple of lemonade shandies you managed to get lost somewhere in London and had to call Sally to find you as you didn't know where you were, maybe you should have taken that electric lawn mower with you?