Toilet Humour

I haven’t talked about Spud for a while so I thought I would mention that he is at the schoolboy toilet humour stage.  He always giggles when we pass a butchers called Tittersons, and he think it’s hilarious that someone keeps changing the second ‘o’ to a ‘c’ on the Cook Street sign.  He told us that in P.E. they were given equipment called ‘nuts’ to use and the teacher got fed up with the class not listening and yelled, ‘Will you lads stop messing with your nuts!’  And then she blushed a mighty red.

He came home one day to say that he had accidentally got into trouble.  He came across a crowd of students walking to the hall and, being a nosey little git – for which we are always scolding him – he followed the crowd to see what was happening.  What was happening was that they had all been up to mischief and they were being sent for punishment in the hall, and Spud found himself being punished right along with them.  He told a teacher that he hadn’t been involved and she said he could take it anyway for being a nosey little git (or words to that effect).  He was surprised to find that instead of indignation, all he got from us was a ‘serves you right for being nosey, you nosey little git.’ 

Talking of being nosey…once, on my way into the school where I help out, I passed a group of staff in the head’s doorway, chatting, and as I passed someone said excitedly, ‘My husband phoned and said “Madonna’s bouncing on our trampoline!” ’  I passed back that way at least four times before I was able to collar the head and find out what had happened.  Turns out ‘Madonna’ is the name of the woman’s pet hen.  Either way, it’s a bizarre image of a scrawny old bird bouncing on a trampoline in someone’s back garden.

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This prompt was to write about an unlikely pairing – a speaker and an event that wouldn’t normally go together, for example, Nick Clegg becoming Prime Minister.  It led to an idea about racism (the Lib Dem’s terrible immigration policy still being fresh in my mind) but it’s not quite there yet; it has no title and I will definitely be coming back to it.  I must post a poem a day, however, so here it is:

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Dog asks, ‘Cat, will you marry me?
I’ll give you dedication. 
Add your devious nature and
we could found a nation.’ 
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Cat sighs, ‘Dog, I am surprised:
you’ve ideas above your station.
We could never marry;
it would be miscegenation.’

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I have been dying to use the word ‘miscegenation’ in a poem ever since I first heard it when studying Dracula.

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