One Part Prompt/Two Parts Silly

 

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If you were one part human, two parts something else — another animal, a plant, an inanimate object — what would the other two parts be?

Before I started my weight loss programme (not a diet; I don’t do diets), I was one part human/two parts Maltesers.  Now, I am mostly one part human/two parts hungry.

The Hub says I am one part human/two parts vampire i.e. sucked the life right out of him.

Scratch that, he didn’t say anything of the sort.  But he did offer to slice me open to find out.  Consider me one part grateful/two parts terrified.

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Here’s a prompt response I found in my drafts folder:

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y NIGHT! What’s your favorite way to spend Saturday night?

A movie, a large packet of cheese & onion crisps and a glass or three of JC Le Roux’s La Chanson.

I’m writing this post at seven-thirty on Saturday night, in bed with a hot water bottle.  No, the Hub is not giving me the cold shoulder because I was mean about him one too many times (like there’s a limit…); I sneezed today and put out my back.  The power of snot.

Talking of my favourite wine, Number One Son bought me a bottle for Mother’s Day.  Then helped me drink it.

Now he’s Number Two Son.

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Think about an object, an activity, or a cultural phenomenon you really don’t like. Now write a post (tongue in cheek or not — your call!) about why it’s the best thing ever.

Writing responses to WordPress prompts is the best thing ever because it allows me to make fun of the most off-the-wall people on the planet.

No, really.  They are as much fun as dieting.

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Your local electronics store has just started selling time machines, anywhere doors, and invisibility helmets. You can only afford one. Which of these do you buy, and why?

I think I’d buy the invisibility helmet.  I like the idea of walking around scaring people when they see a headless body.

And think of how much weight loss that adds to my non-diet…  No one can call me fathead any more!

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The friendly, English-speaking extraterrestrial you run into outside your house is asking you to recommend the one book, movie, or song that explains what humans are all about. What do you pick?

Of course, it would be an alien that spoke to my headless body, wouldn’t it? Because it wouldn’t know I was weird.

And the book – as you regular readers must surely know – would have to be Ender’s Game, in which we earthlings kick some alien butt.

Damn aliens, coming over here and stealing all our humanity.

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When you do something scary or stressful — bungee jumping, public speaking, etc. — do you prefer to be surrounded by friends or by strangers? Why?

I prefer to be safe in my bedroom, not jumping off or on to platforms, thank you very much.

You are all welcome to crowd in, of course; but I get the window side of the bed.

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You’ve been given the superpower to change one law of nature. How do you use it?

Crisps and Maltesers would be one of my five-a-day.

Do you not know me at all, WordPress?

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What’s the one guilty pleasure you have that’s so good, you no longer feel guilty about it?

Tormenting WordPress Prompters.

Oh, and breaking wind…there’s no smell, now I eat properly.

What?  Nobody comes here for the dainty English refinement – you know that, right?

Tuesday Tattle

222/365: Droodle glass (Photo credit: add1sun)

2013 has been a great year in many ways, but I do seem to have had a lot of minor ailments.   As someone who hardly ever gets sick except for the occasional cold, I am beginning to feel irritated with myself.

Or I would, if I didn’t feel so unwell.  It’s a sore throat, congestion and queasiness today.  Nothing a two-hour afternoon nap and a shout at the Hub can’t cure, I’m sure.

Maltesers bucket (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Thank you to those of you who have sent jokes in exchange for the hope of a box of Maltesers.  There’s still plenty of time to email them to thelaughinghousewife@gmail.com.  I’m looking for a good ‘un for Joke 1001.

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I signed up for another creative writing class which began last night at the local high school.  It must be my fourth in as many years.  They are a great stimulus to writing, a way to make friends (you can never have enough friends; especially when you have a birthday coming up), and jolly good fun, too.  

However, I forgot that we have to do fiction writing and I don’t like fiction writing, except about my life (you didn’t really think the Hub was happily married, did you?).  I have to create a character for next week and even I can see he’s cliché-ridden and a bit of jerk (sorry; I was daydreaming about…no, I’m not going there: it’s my birthday next week and I want him to be speaking to me).

Todays doodlegirl brought to you by generous dontations from Al Literate, Cade Ants, and Rye Mann (Photo credit: Graela)

In an effort to stave off the worst of this bug and lose weight at the same time, I have overdosed on Vitamin C today (too much Vitamin C acts as a natural laxative, apparently).

I had lemon juice in hot water but it tasted salty.  Does anyone know why?

I do hope it’s not that the dishwasher isn’t rinsing properly.

On the other hand, that would explain my general germiness.

King Germ (Photo credit: eat more toast)

 

900 Days

Today is the 900th day of my 101 tasks in a 1001 days challenge.

I have told 900 jokes.  More than 900, probably, because some days the jokes are so bad I tell a few more in the hope of getting one weak but elongated laugh instead of a brief but definite chuckle, or – nirvana – a huge belly laugh.

Notifies people of a joke. (SVG version) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have to tell 101 more jokes to meet my challenge.  That’s 101 days or fourteen weeks and a few days or three and a half months and a bit days or a quarter of a year or a whole lot of hysteria because I want my last joke to be a laugh-out-loud-so-hard-you-pee-a-little joke so that I finish with a flourish.

I have yet to find one, despite having had 900 days so far in which to search.  That’s where you come in.

You knew when you started reading this post there was going to be work in it for you, didn’t you?  But I just sucked you right in, anyway.  Here’s my request: I need clean, funny jokes.  Send them to me.

I know that’s more like an order than a request, but the stress is getting to me. Sorry.  I can’t be funny and do all of the research and eat Maltesers instead of real food (I’m on a diet), now can I?

Speaking of which, the joke that is posted on the Last Day of the Challenge will earn a box of Maltesers.  I will post to anywhere in the world.

Maltesers in a tray. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Please don’t let it be like last time, when I awarded a box for the best Christmas joke and I had to post it all the way to…Scotland (nae offence intended, Wee Scoops).  I want a funny joke from a foreigner; or from a non-foreigner residing in a foreign land. Somewhere overseas; and that doesn’t mean the Isle of Wight.

Local readers are, of course, encouraged to send jokes as well.  It’s not that I don’t value you; it’s that I want to see the Hub’s face when he has to pay postage to the other side of the world (are you listening, Australia?).  That would be a Christmas present worthy of the name.   I reiterate – no rude jokes (are you listening, Australia?).

If you have a joke for me, please email it to thelaughinghousewife@gmail.com. Please.  No, really.  I want a laugh-out-loud-I-didn’t-expect-the-punchline-my-ribs-hurt kind of joke.  I won’t part with my Maltesers for anything less.  

I mean it.  You know these hips don’t lie.

More Prompts

Tell us about something you’ve done that you would advise a friend never to do.

Malteser First Aid Recovery Position (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I once asked you for a Malteser.

I would advise you never to return the ask.

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What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?

That people who don’t often laugh, would come here and laugh at me.

I’ve already started with my family.  They laugh at me all the time.

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Go back in time to an event you think could have played out differently for you. Let alternate history have its moment: tell us what could, would or should have happened?

DID:  I asked a friend for a Malteser.  She laughed, then quaked (for obvious reasons).  Then she gave me one.

SHOULD:  I asked a friend for a Malteser.  She gave me the whole packet and a voucher for more.

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Invent a holiday! Explain how and why everyone should celebrate.

Belly Laugh Day.

Everyone is required by law to watch funny DVDs and tell jokes and amusing stories.

Anyone noncompliant will be tickled by banana skins wearing feather dusters. Whether it is the banana skins or the noncompliants who wear the feather dusters is up to you.

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Write a letter to your 14-year-old self. Tomorrow, write a letter to yourself in 20 years.

We’ve done something similar before but, okay, here goes.  I’m nothing if not compliant:

Dear Tilly,

N.

Love Tilly.

PS Eat less.

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Dear Tilly,

T.

Love Tilly.

PS I told you you should eat less. 

 

It’s All Facebook’s Fault

Bad Mood Today? (Photo credit: Frank Wuestefeld)

I wrote this on Facebook yesterday:

Writing workshop this morning; eldest son home this afternoon; Dr Who tonight. Can this day get any better?!!

(Without the italics, of course; Facebook seems to be averse to correct punctuation.  I don’t understand that(.

My friend posted this reply:

Workshop – awesome. Your son visiting – epic. Dr Who – not on until Christmas. Gutted 😦

I was gutted, too.  She compensated by:

1. Giving me a gift of cute post-it notes – so that I could write cute love notes to the Hub, because we ‘like that sort of thing.’  She doesn’t know me very well.  I got the present so that my ‘birthday week doesn’t have to end yet.’  She knows me so well.  She also gave me a box of Maltesers.  I think I love her.
2. Giving me a lift to the workshop, which was forty miles away.   Thank goodness I had the sense to book her on it when I booked my place.

I’d forgotten that British TV now does that stupid season break thing.  America, I love you, but what’s with that?  Why can’t your TV shows act in a civilised manner and air until they are finished?  Lucky for you I’ve got extra Maltesers and I wrote nine poems yesterday, or I’d be a tad grumpy.

Now I am grumpy – what an irritating word ‘tad’ is.  I can’t believe I used it.

Time for a quick Malteser fix, I think.

Malteser (Photo credit: Olaf_S)

…peel off the chocolate…allow the malt to tease my taste buds…swig of Earl Grey…aaahh!  My universe has righted itself.

That was the moment Hub chose to break it to me that eldest son was not coming home yesterday (I hadn’t noticed, being high on chocolate and poetry).

Someone pass me a dictionary; my mood is a tad violent….

Weekly Photo Challenge: Mine

Plus the box on my bedside table and the empty one in the recycling bin.  

Don’t tell me I’m not predictable.

Or environmentally friendly.

Related articles

• http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2012/10/01/weekly-photo-challenge-mine

M Is For Many Things

Maltesers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

M was, of course, for Maltesers, as most of my many musers managed to mention in the comments.

There were some other submissions:

• M&Ms.  A majority of my readers are from across the mighty Atlantic so this was the most popular suggestion.  Meh, as my eldest son might say – a meagre replacement for the greatest sweet (candy) to ever live.
• Malted Milk Balls: the imitation – almost a mockery – of my magnificent Maltesers.  Meh meh.
• Meals.  An assumption that makes sense, given my interminable meanderings on foods I most adore – Maltesers, mainly.
• Motherhood.  Well, yes, maybe I like being a mum; but do I like being a mum as much as I like Maltesers?  It’s a moot point.
• Muffins.  Mojitos.  Marzipan.  Idiosyncratic Eye knows me well enough to remain with the food theme.  However… Marzipan – yuck yuck yuck!  Mojitos – got an impression it’s booze, so IE doesn’t know me that well yet.  Muffins – good choice.  But English or American…?
• Money.  Not something I crave, unless it’s to pay for the Maltesers I’ve amassed.
• Aquatom was right: M’s for many of ’em.  Yes, Tom; I did see what you did there.  Consider me cheesy grinning.
• Patti suggested it was so easy, I should write another post.  Here it be, Patti.
• Marabou chocolate was sent to me by comment link.  Many compliments to my new best mate, Viveka, who knows a request for a bribe when she hears one.
• Commiserations to my ex-best mate, Viveka, who made the mistake of imagining I wouldn’t want to receive many more Maltesers than I presently have stashed in my store room.
• More congratulations go to Slip Martin (my son’s name for him), who magnificently monitored over many of my posts that there was only one word in the English language that started with M…MALTESERS.  A man of discernment.

Maltesers in a tray. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Summary: Mention Maltesers and my mood is one of amiable harmony and merriment; and you will be gifted with the honorarium of an over-emmed post.

Many thanks for making me smile.

And drool.

Thank You, Dear Readers

 

Thank you!!!! (Photo credit: camerakarrie)

Yesterday, I read a post which led me to a post which led me to another post which I read and deleted.

I never gave it another thought.

I went to bed.

I slept.

There’s a funny thing about the English language: sometimes words end in -pt and sometimes in -ped.  Why?  Why do we say slept and not slepped?  Slipped and not slipt?  And as we are pondering that broad theme, why does it suddenly pop (which, in the past tense, would be popped and not popt) into my head that we can say leapt and leaped without our brains leaking from our ears?

Anyway, I went to bed.

I dozed.

I woke up.

One stray sentence from that random post jumpt into my head:

Thank your readers.

It didn’t say why; or if it did, I don’t remember.  But it seemt like a good idea so, without further ado:

Thank you for:

• Reading my posts
• Coming back, despite having read my posts
• Leaving comments on my posts
• Leaving further comments, when I may not have replyt to the earlier comments
• Not leaving compliments, because you know they make me uncomfortable
• Leaving compliments because you don’t care that they make me uncomfortable: you’re nice; you like me; and I’m just going to have to put up with it
• Reading my posts

Have a Malteser:

English: A pile of Maltesers candies and one split in half. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

While I’m in a thanking mood, I’d better be nice to the Hub.  Here is this morning’s love offering:

I am Hub’s other wife, who can’t spell.

Thanks, Hub.  Liquorice Allsorts are an acceptable substitute when I’ve given away all of my Maltesers in an obvious attempt to bribe my readers to stay.

I wonder if they’ll work on offended husbands?

 

Victory Victoria

Maltesers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have a treat for you today – a guest blogger!  Her name is Kate Shrewsday and she and I have been following each other for a long time.

Kate has a wonderful parlour trick: she can take two disparate subjects and link them so that they make one interesting post…Batman and aqueducts; sharks and cats; death and Debussy.

She knows the value of a hook – that first line of writing that grabs the reader and keeps them reading.  My personal favourite: Everyone loves a cross dressing lady sailor.

I gave Kate what I felt was an impossible challenge: link Maltesers and Queen Victoria.  She was back in a couple of days with a So you think you can beat me, Mrs Wrong… and the following post.  It’s hard to believe there was ever a time without Maltesers, but Kate has unearthed that disturbing fact.

Enjoy the post!

Then go and visit her blog; I’m sure you’ll like her.  Who wouldn’t like a burping woman?

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Queen Victoria (State portrait) by Sir George Hayter (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It is a well-documented fact that the quick fire humour of the Laughing Housewife is fuelled by small spheres of malt, covered in a thin coating of chocolate.

The Malteser, created in 1936, is iconic. It is moreish in much the same fashion as that Wonka bar of fictional fame, and might as well be made by oompa loompas, for all we know, for the company – Mars Incorporated, a family concern – is notoriously schtumm about its methods.

 

In 1993 The Washington Post, the paper which broke the Watergate scandal, congratulated itself thoroughly on being able to send a reporter into an American Mars factory to witness the ‘M’ being painted on an M&M.

 

It’s all very hush-hush. And I should know: I live not far from the mysterious British industrial cathedral which fills lorries with Maltesers and speeds them up the M6 to Stockport.

 

You may have heard of it. The birthplace of the British Malteser is Slough.

 

English: An aerial view photograph taken over the infamous Slough Trading Estate in Slough, Berkshire. United Kingdom. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

A barren industrial wasteland,  Slough earned the poet John Betjeman’s scorn: “Come friendly bombs and rain on Slough,” he intoned famously; “it isn’t fit for humans now.”

 

It is, but it ain’t purdy. Concrete, a mix of new shopping paradise and tired old parades, it goes on for mile after relentless mile, with little to persuade one to tarry.

 

It has not always been a concrete jungle. It was once known for something very different from Ricky Gervais, and Forrest Mars’s chocolate factory.

 

Its fame stemmed, back then, from a lady who was rarely amused.

 

Her nearby gaff at Windsor Castle had long been a place to which dignitaries flocked. Even in Shakespeare’s time the visitors were much in evidence – one glance at The Merry Wives Of Windsor will show you the extent of the bustle.

 

But Queen Victoria was not just a queen, she was an empress.

 

And an empire’s worth of visitors: that’s a lot.

 

They came from all over the British Empire to visit her by invitation at Windsor Castle. But there was an awkward problem.

 

The castle wasn’t particularly comfortable. It is said its design, and formality, were stuffy: and the Queen had a suspicion of gaslight and would not tolerate it. It was strictly candles-only at Windsor Castle.

 

And so, furtively, visitors began to book hotels: just down the road, in a conglomeration of villages which gathered around the Great Western Railway station which opened in June 1838. It was collectively called Slough.

 

The station attracted understandable interest. It was just an informal stop for a while because the headmaster of Eton made a rumpus about railways interrupting the discipline of the school.

 

In a typically British compromise, the train just ‘happened‘ to stop at Slough so passengers could alight.

 

But you can’t rely on chance when an empress gets on.  

 

Queen Victoria made her first journey to London from Slough’s newly built station in 1842. Long before Betjeman invited the bombs, before concrete, before industrial estates.

 

And 94 years before the advent of Maltesers.

 

 

 

*Joel Glen Brenner, “Planet of the M&Ms”  Washington Post Magazine, April 12, 1992

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• http://kateshrewsday.com/2012/07/04/the-one-who-wears-the-trousers/
• http://kateshrewsday.com/2012/06/25/bask-while-the-sun-shines/
• http://kateshrewsday.com/2011/05/25/medic/

Tilly’s Blog Jubilee: Day Two

One of the reasons I love blogging is that it allows me to indulge my silly side.  Here are four posts from 2010; you get four because I couldn’t choose between them.

The Son’s Love post wasn’t, technically, my silliness; but I include it to show that it won’t die with me.

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Happy Thanksgiving!

I’m not American but I reckon that if we can import Trick or Treat and McCardboards, it wouldn’t hurt to say what we’re thankful for on one day a year, like our friends across the pond.

Here’s my list:

1) My boys.

 

2) My loving husband.

3) Indoor plumbing (for obvious reasons)

4) Modern dentistry, otherwise I’d look like this:

5) Maltesers (Number 4 refers)

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A Joke For You

A friend of mine posted this joke on Facebook and he said I could share it with you. Be warned: it’s not to everyone’s taste; the Hub for one is going to read it and go ‘Huh?’ He doesn’t see the funny side of puns and nonsense and jokes that subvert expectations, but it had me laughing for an hour after I read it:

Last night I had a dream that I was eating a giant marshmallow. When I woke up this morning, there was a man stood at the side of my bed predicting the punchline.

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Never Misunderestimate A Son’s Love For His Mother

Tory Boy to me on the phone the other day:

Dr Who was right: some points in time are fixed. You are going to be one of those crazy cat ladies some day, aren’t you?

 

A proud moment and yet I’m dressed like a weird movie villain.

 

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At The Movies

 

Cover of The Time Traveler’s Wife

I’ve just watched The Time Traveler’s Wife. 

But he knew that.

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Related articles

• A Joke For You (thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com)
• At The Movies (thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com)
• Happy Thanksgiving  (thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com)
• Never Misunderestimate A Son’s Love For His Mother  (thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com)

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I have to reblog this, if only for the truth of the last line.

Janie's Place

Tilly Bud, you won’t believe this.

Last winter (January maybe?) I found Maltesers in the ethnic foods section for Great Brittan in the huge supermarket in the Big City.  So, I dutifully bought a package because, well, I just had to know what a Malteser of Laughing Housewife fame tasted like.

Now what you really won’t believe is that it made it all the way home (a 90+ minute drive) and into the house unopened.

Even more unbelievable, and down right sacrilegious I’m sure, is that it got put in my candy dish on the top shelf of my desk hutch (out of sight of the spud, who can sniff out candy from a block away) then buried under mail, spud artwork, homework and other flotsam for some 4 or 5 months until today, in cleaning off the desk and hutch, I unearthed the candy dish and rediscovered the existence…

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Ten Don’ts For When I’m Dead

If I die, think only this of me: there is a corner shop going out of business because of the dramatic drop in Malteser sales. 

Maltesers (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

1.  DON’T say I was your ‘rock’. 

I’m not a cliché in life; don’t make me one in death.  Paul Burrell started the fashion for this and it really irritates me.

2.  DON’T leave flowers at the scene.

Yes, my going was tragic: the way that bus skidded to miss a cat and toppled sideways on to me did not leave me looking pretty (though it did leave me thinner: there’s always a silver lining), but I don’t like this maudlin habit of loved ones, strangers and people who hope to get on the news leaving flowers and soppy notes to go mouldy in the rain.  I’m too British for all that nonsense.  If you must leave something, make it a box of Maltesers.  Take off the cellophane (please dispose of wrapper responsibly; I was many things but a litter bug wasn’t one of them).  It never stops raining in Stockport and a river of malted chocolate would be a fitting tribute to the greedy pig I was.

3.  DON’T worry, I won’t haunt the Hub.

It’s okay for him to marry again.  I want him to be happy at least once in his life.  But she must have a sense of humour.  She’ll need it, with our kids.

4.  DON’T bury me.

My husband will marry again and forget me; my kids will live successful lives abroad; the world doesn’t need more worms.  Cremate me, then scatter my ashes in New York and Washington D.C.  I’m determined to get there, one way or the other.  Or turn me into a diamond.

Aside for my boys: If you do turn me into a diamond, give me to your Dad’s new wife for Christmas.

5.  DON’T buy an expensive coffin.

I want a white cardboard box with a lid, like a shoe box.  Everyone must write and draw messages on it, like it was a plaster cast.  Take photos, for posterity.  Use safety crayons – no toxic fumes.

6.  DON’T think that hiring a stand up comic for the after-funeral party is too crass.

It isn’t.

7.  DON’T choose sad songs for the service.

I’m a cheerful soul and death is not the end for me.  Celebrate!  Especially you, Hub: maybe you could play ‘Free At Last’.

8.  DON’T forget to tell my readers.

Don't Speak (Photo credit: susy ♥)

Let them know I’m now the mouldering housewife.  It’s only polite.  Accept all compliments at face value.  I’m dead; I no longer have the power to ban them. 

9.  DON’T throw away my notebooks.

You’ll need them to plan my funeral.  Check all of them: there’s a large, circled ‘F’ at the front of each one that has a funeral requirement hastily scribbled down.  I have about a hundred song choices; you may have to narrow it down a little, unless you’re planning a state funeral.  If you are planning a state funeral, I don’t want Elton John.  He’s such a diva.  Mika would be nice.

10.  DON’T forget I can’t count.

I never completed a Top Ten list in my life; don’t expect things to change when I’m dead.

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Three DOs.

READER

If you enjoy my blog, DO share the laughter.  Post a funny picture, a joke, a hilarious video.  Share a funny story about yourself.

Then acknowledge me as the one who made you do it and send all royalties to my family.

THE HUB

DO have a good clear out at last, if only to prove that the real reason your stuff is all over the house is because the cupboards, loft and shed are filled with your wife’s junk.

MY BOYS

DO miss me a little, but most of all, live, love, laugh.  And be nice to irritating people – they might be missing their mother.

Always know that you were the highlight of my life: I love making fun of you.  Such rich source material.

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Related articles

• A Few Do’s and Don’ts (thequirkycreative.wordpress.com)
• Maltesers (lornastearoomdelights.wordpress.com)

Weekly Photo Challenge: Indulge

As in: indulge me.

Having shown you a photo of me not at my best (last post), it is only fair for the sake of balance and my vanity to show you a photo of me at my slimmest:

The indulgence must come from those of you who have seen it before.  The rest of you can marvel that I now come as a three-for-the-price-of-one package.

And take this as a warning: if you too want a figure like mine as it now is, indulge in as many Maltesers as you like.*

*Pompous syntax is free.

The Christmas Joke Competition Winner…

 

Image via Wikipedia

 

…and now my mortal enemy (forcing me to give up Maltesers like that), is…

…no!  Wait!  I’d better tell you how the judge arrived at her decision: 

She got the Hub to choose.

It was like this: I asked you to send me jokes; you did.  I asked that they make me laugh; they did.  I know you all; I like you all; I couldn’t decide on one winner without worrying about those I didn’t choose.  I’m like that; I’ve never yet watched a sports event without feeling sorry for the losers.  I understand the need for competition but it’s not for me.  When it came to choosing the winner of my own competition (a good idea at the time; never again; far too much stress), I wimped out. 

The Hub is made of sterner stuff.  I c+p all entries onto a Word document, anonymously, and let him loose on them.  He knows my love of puns so he went with the one pun that made him laugh – he’s not a fan of puns; did I mention that?  He has a good sense of humour but he doesn’t laugh constantly and inanely like his wife; he’s particular in his chuckle habit.  That’s why he chose the one pun that made him laugh.

You may have read it already, either in the comments or in this morning’s joke post.  It was submitted by Wee Scoops.  Well done!

Readers, if the joke is not to your taste, please bear in mind that humour is subjective and the judges’ decision is final.  Maybe.  I’m down one box of Maltesers; I could be persuaded.

Sadly, Wee Scoops lives in Scotland.  I say ‘sadly’ because I had hoped to send Maltesers off to foreign climes, introducing them to the ignorant, forcing them on people who don’t know they need or want them, rather like when we Brits had an empire.  It’s not always a good idea to foist your own particular loves onto others, however; that’s how they end up smashing you at your own game at the World Cup (1966 aside), the Ashes, the Rugby World Cup, Wimbledon…do I need to go on?

Congratulations, Wee Scoops.  Would you consider emigrating?

Your Maltesers will be on their way as soon as you send me your address.  Or I could just post a pound to you and you could buy your own, next time you’re in the pound shop.

Thanks to everyone who entered; sorry you didn’t win.  If I had the money, I’d send you all a box of Maltesers.* 

*You believe that? I bet you still believe in Father Christmas as well, don’t you? Bless.

I’ll be using your jokes in the run-up to Christmas; acknowledging the source, of course.  I may be cheap but I’m always scrupulous.

This was fun!  Let’s never do it again. 

 

 

 

 

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• A Christmas Competition (thelaughinghousewife.wordpress.com)

A Christmas Competition

Here’s a new departure for this blog: I am going to ask for your help, but this time I’m willing to pay for it – just one of you, mind!  And only because it’s Christmas.

I need CLEAN Christmas jokes and/or cartoons. 

That’s it. 

Leave them in the comments section of this post until next Saturday.  The one I judge the funniest will win the prize of…here’s the kicker…a box of Maltesers.  A SMALL box, of course.    I will post them to anywhere in the world, providing you give me a contact address when I ask for it.

The winning joke/cartoon will be the one that makes me laugh loudest.  Any jokes or cartoons I use for the December daily joke post will have the source acknowledged i.e. I’ll mention your blog and/or name.

Go ahead.  Make my Christmas day.