The doctors esteemed prognosis....

                                   

                                      
Yesterday, my doctor advised me to pack in the booze. This will be a massive change for me. I have been with that doctor for 25 years. 

"I just can't take it anymore, doc," Barmy Albert says, wincing. "I stand at the urinal for twenty minutes, and nothing happens. Is there something I can take?" "I'll tell you what you can take," the doctor snarls. "A cold dose of reality! Do you have any idea what's happening out there?! Global warming is destroying the planet! Wildfires are engulfing the landscape, mega-volcanoes are waking from dormancy and spewing red-hot lava down the mountainside, engulfing the homesteads below! Putin has started World War III! Visibly shaken, the Albert looks down and realises he's wet himself. Ashamed, but relieved, he thanks the doctor profusely. "No trouble at all," the doctor chuckles. "All you needed was a little dire rhetoric."

Last weekend I had dinner at an excellent Christian restaurant called "The Lord Giveth". They also do takeaways.

The double-glazing salesman knocked on the door, and after a few seconds, it opened to reveal a boy about eight years old with a tumbler of malt whiskey in his hand, smoking a cigar. The salesman was flabbergasted and asked the kid, "Excuse me, are your parents home?" The boy took a puff of the cigar, sipped some whiskey, then replied: "What do you think?"

I’m currently in Tameside Hospital. Unfortunately, I have been diagnosed with this hide-and-seek virus. They are transferring me to ICU…

Maestro of bunkum and baloney Chester Draws visited Scropton Street Casino, and as he meandered among the various gamblers, he noticed a poker table where one of the players was a dog. He was astounded and asked young Willy Eckerslyke, “Is that dog actually playing poker?” “Yes.” Willy replied. “That’s got to be the smartest dog in the world!” Chester exclaimed. “Nah,” Willie replied. “Every time he gets a good hand, he wags his tail.”

To impress her guests, Non-Stick Nora was preparing a complex Heston Blumenthal recipe of Escargot, which roughly translated is snails in garlic. She dispatches Barmy Albert to buy the snails, which he dutifully does, but then pops into the Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife pub for a quick tankard of Farquharson's Auld and Filthy Best British Bitter Beer. He gets involved in a game of darts and dominoes; one thing leads to another, and he stays for a few rounds, so many in fact, that by the time he leaves it's after nine o’clock. Realising he's extremely late, Albert legs it home, pours the snails over the path leading to his house, then he rings the bell. A furious Nora opens the door. “Where the hell have you been?” she screams. Albert waves back to the snails, “Come on, lads!” he shouts “We're almost there!”
  

                                                                     

Octogenarian Tommy Grabknuckle had a row with his neighbour so in a fit of pique, he dumped an old wash basin on his front lawn. As Tommy was walking away, he shouted: “If you think I'm apologising, you’ve got another sink coming!”

A lawyer died and ended up at the pearly gates. “There’s got to be some mistake,” the lawyer opined, putting his case. “I’m far too young to die. I’m only 42 years old!” “Just 42? That doesn't sound right,” said St Peter. The lawyer sighed with relief. "Thank you so much. I knew this had to be some manner of error." "Ah, wait, here it is," St Peter declared, looking over his records. "According to our calculations, you're actually 102 years old." "Where in the world did you get that number? That’s completely fabricated.” The lawyer responded. St Peter replied: "Not according to all the hours you’ve invoiced your clients!”

                                            

The Seductive Specsavers Scenario!

                                    

I was on holiday in Turkey and came across one of those Turkish bath houses. They shave with a solid steel stone-ground razor, snip out nose and ear hairs, wax off chest and stray black hair, all finished off with a moustache trim and alcohol rub. Honestly, the wife has never looked so good....

Barmy Albert told Tommy Grabknuckle that he argued with Non-Stick Nora and told her that what she’s wearing is wholly inappropriate for gardening. Tommy asked: “Did she listen to your advice?” Albert replied: “Nope. She’s digging in her heels…”

On the TV quiz show front, did they ever reveal what 'Blankety Blank' was actually called?

I told the barber that I wanted my hair cut like Tom Cruise. So, he gave me two cushions to sit on.

I spent the weekend installing a high-voltage electric fence around my property. My neighbour’s dead against it.

I recently had my pet frog Fritz DNA’d. Apparently, he's part German, part French and a tad Pole.

                       

  

Went to see my granny yesterday in the care home where she is domiciled and one of the residents kept saying what a pretty boy I am! I thought she's got good eyesight for her age. Ten minutes later I noticed that she was reading her newspaper upside down.

My girlfriend accused me of cheating. I told her she was starting to sound like my wife.

Seductively, she leaned in, lowered the lights, and looked straight into my eyes. I measure the mood, and go in for a kiss. Then the next thing, I’m being escorted out of Specsavers and banned from going in there anymore!

Two young chemistry students walk into The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife pub. Trying to sound smart, the first one asked the barman for a pint of H20. He was served a glass of water. The other student, who was also trying to sound impressive, said, "I'll have a pint of H20 too." His funeral is next week.

Yesterday, I burned 2,000 calories. That's the last time I leave a pepperoni and mushroom pizza in the oven while I take a power nap.

Hey! Andy Burnham! I reckon that I've come up with a credible solution to the illegal immigration and asylum seekers problem. Why don't you swap Border Force with GPs receptionists and then no one will get in. Furthermore, another brilliant brainwave that I’d dreamed up is: why don’t you get rid of all the Lollipop men/women and rebuild all the schools on the other side of the road!


                                           

Non-Stick Nora texts Barmy Albert at work: "Don't forget to get some bread. Oh, and your girlfriend Cynthia says hi." Albert was perplexed and asked: "Who's Cynthia?" Nora replied: "Nobody, just making sure you read my text." Albert sez: "Phew! I'm with Cynthia right now. I thought you copped us! Nora sez: "What?! Where are you?" Albert told her: "In the Wetherspoons next to the bakery." Nora is incandescent and tells him: "Stay there, I'm on my way!" Five minutes later: Nora: "I'm here, where are you?" "I’m still at work. While you're there, get a loaf!"

Maestro of bunkum and baloney Chester Draws dad sadly passed away, so he goes to the undertaker and tells him he wants the best of everything for his father. The funeral is absolutely beautiful, and Chester is extremely pleased. The next day, Chester received an invoice for four thousand quid, and he pays it. The next month, he gets another bill for £85. He figures it's just a little supplementary bill, so he pays that, too. The following month, another bill for £85 arrives, so he calls up the undertaker and says, "I keep getting these bills for £85. I thought I paid for the funeral already?" The undertaker says, "Well, you said you wanted the best for your father, so I rented him a tuxedo from Moss Bros."

Bountiful bunkum and baloney from bounder Chester Draws...

                                            

Barmy Albert reluctantly agreed to paint the local church. Money was tight, so he surreptitiously watered down the paint to make it go a lot further. Halfway through the job, a violent storm rolled in. Thunder crashed. Lightning struck. Then a booming voice came from the sky: "How very dare you swindle MY church!" Albert fell to his knees and lay prostrate at the altar. "Lord, I'm sorry! What can I do to make recompense?" The voice replied: "Repaint... Repaint... and thin no more!"

I attended a dinner last week where they held a wine tasting event prior to the main event. I must admit that whenever I hear wine experts talk about a ‘complex’ wine, I assume they mean one that doesn't have a screw top. In an effort to improve my limited knowledge, I’ve joined a wine club. We meet at 9 am in the local park every morning.


In the spirit of Wimbledon, I bought a punnet of strawberries and looked on the internet to see the best way to serve them. It suggested I halve the strawberries, sprinkle them with icing sugar and pile cream on top. My verdict is that Preparation H tastes awful!

In the unlikely event I ever get offered three wishes by a genie, I not only have them all planned out in advance, but typed up in a Word document. One of them has fifteen subclauses (so far) to avoid any malicious genie skullduggery and malpractice.

Octogenarian Elsie Grabknuckle was telling Non-Stick Nora that her husband Tommy went to the local Co-op to get some spuds for their tea and he was hit by a van." Nora opined: "That’s terrible! What are you going to do now?" Elsie thought for a moment and replied: “I think I’ll go to the chippy!”.

Isn’t it fascinating how potatoes give us not only French fries, but vodka too! All the other vegetables should sort their life out and step up to the plate!

A shady character in my local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife, asked if I wanted to buy a pocket calculator. I politely declined and told him in no uncertain terms: "No thanks, I already know how many pockets I have." The wife suggested, on the way to the pub, I drop my trousers at the dry cleaners, which I did. I got a round of applause but was banned from ever going in there again.

                                           

Master of bunkum and baloney, Chester Draws was on the prowl in his Double Glazed Windows company's reception area when he spotted a bloke languishing in the corner, doomscrolling on his phone. He asked him outright: "What are you doing?" The fella replied; wasting my time until I get paid." Chester was furious. "What is your monthly salary?" The guy replied: “Fifteen hundred quid.” Chester then counted out £1500 in cash and gave it to the man. "Take this money and get out! You don't work here anymore!" The bloke silently took the money and left. Chester walked up to the reception. "By the way, who was that guy?" With all the dignity that she could muster, the receptionist sez: "Pizza delivery."

I was in a Top Man store trying to buy a plain grey pin-striped jacket. The cashier asks for my email for the receipt. I told her: “No thanks. Just the jacket is fine.” She stops scanning, looks me dead in the eyes, and whispers: “Please just give me a fake one. My manager tracks my capture rate.” I panic and blurt out, batman@hotmail.com. She types it in, nods slowly, and says: “Thank you for your valued custom, Mr Wayne.”

Thursday Quiz: Q) How do you apply Tartan Paint? A) With a Bay City Roller.

I visited my local Chinese takeaway last night, and she asked me if I'd like to hear The Specials. They gave me Too Much Foo Yung....

                                              

Summer tales from the Scropton Street Back Snicket...

                    

It’s Saturday, and the heat has settled over Scropton Street like a damp towel someone forgot to wring out. Thirty‑six degrees, the kind of temperature that makes even the brickwork sweat. You stand at your window, watching the neighbourhood come to life in its usual, unhinged choreography.

Up the back snicket, the miscreants are stirring — a slow, feral awakening. Paddling pools materialise from sheds like relics of a forgotten civilisation, each one held together by 79% masking tape and 21% blind optimism. Four kids are already submerged in one, splashing around with a lolloping Lurcher and Uncle Derek, who’s cooling his cans of Carlsberg in the same tepid broth.

The shirtless tattooed blokes have emerged for their annual migration, pale as Matthews Turkey Twizzlers now, destined to resemble lobster thermidor by teatime. They still insist they “don’t burn, me,” even as their shoulders audibly sizzle.

The air outside is a cocktail of Factor 30, Lynx Africa, Hollands meat‑and‑potato pies, and the rancid pong of No. 32’s wheelie bin, which has been quietly fermenting since last Monday. Non‑Stick Nora is parading her new £15 fan from B&M like she’s installed full air‑con, while Barmy Albert’s nan sits in her conservatory in a buttoned‑up cardigan muttering, “It’s not that warm.”

The local Facebook group is already in meltdown. Half the posts are “Is this your dog?” The other half are people complaining about children screaming. It’s the first sunny weekend in eight months — they’re feral now. Accept it.

Tommy Grabknuckle is washing his Skoda with Fairy Liquid, blasting Max Bygraves’ 12‑inch Megamix cassette loud enough for three postcodes to harmonise. By early evening, two blokes will be arguing about whose turn it is to fetch more ale, someone’s kid will have lost his front teeth, and the air ambulance will probably be landing because Big and Daft Dave has attempted a somersault off the dog kennel into two feet of water.

Burnham BBC Breaking News Breakfast Bulletin....

 Young Woody Eckerslyke told Barmy Albert: "I'm having a clandestine dalliance with the vicar's wife. Could you distract him and have a long conversation about God and the bible in church for an hour after the service for me?" Woody asked. Albert wasn't comfortable with the concept, but as a good pal, he reluctantly agreed. Once the service ended, Albert began engaging the vicar with all sorts of pointless questions in an effort to buy Woody some time. Eventually, the vicar grew impatient and asked Albert what he was really up to. Riddled with guilt, Albert finally confessed, "Look, I'm very sorry. My mate Woody is having an assignation with your missus right now, and he asked me to keep you distracted." The vicar paused for a moment, smiled warmly, and with all the decorum that he could rally, placed a comforting hand on Barmy Albert's shoulder and sez: "You might want to hurry home, dear boy," he said. "My wife died over two years ago.”

                                                            

                                              

Andy Burnham visited one of the poorest towns in the North of England yesterday and asked the local mayor what the three priorities were to revitalise the area. “The first is the hospital”, he said. “It’s there, but there are just not enough doctors and nurses to fully staff it. Andy pulls out his cell phone, talks for a couple of minutes, and then announces: “Done. When I become Prime Minister, a team of doctors and nurses will arrive at the end of the month” “The second is the potholes; they’re everywhere” He picks up the cell phone again, says a couple more words, and announces: “Sorted! When I’m PM, they’ll be filled within a month. “And the third?” He asks. “The third is cell phones,” the mayor replies. “There’s just no signal whatsoever, and nothing works around here.”



Last weekend, I got home from a gig, and the wife wasn’t there; all her stuff was gone, and her wardrobe was empty. Then right in the middle of the TV screen, I spotted a Post-it note. It read as follows: “This isn’t working – Goodbye.” However, when I picked up the remote control and switched the telly on, it was working perfectly; Graham Norton was on, interviewing Madonna. The missus had me worried for a minute or two there. She’s in a bad place right now. Not mentally, just Gorton town centre.


                                                                

Q) What’s green, fuzzy, and if it fell out of a tree, it would kill you?

A) A pool table.


                                  

A harridan with a face like a bulldog licking frog spawn from a thistle was in Tesco yesterday morning. She put the divider down for the bloke behind her in the queue. He didn't thank her, so she just picked it up and put it back. Honestly, that level of curmudgeonly, misanthropic pettiness was just awesome to witness.





A Moscow citizen goes to buy a car. He goes through all the endless red tape and bureaucracy, fills out the copious paperwork, and counts out all his rubles to pay for the car in advance. The official stamps his papers and says: "All right. Everything is in order. Come back in exactly ten years to pick up your car." The buyer scratches his head and asks: "Should I come back in the morning or the afternoon?" The official gets annoyed: "It's ten years from now! What difference does it make?" The citizen replies: "Well, the plumber is scheduled to come in the morning."



Here we are, 30-odd years on, and the Spice Girls' music has really stood the test of time. It's still bobbins!



An airline pilot goes to his wife and declares: "All my mates are telling me you are having an affair with an air traffic controller." "No, Roger.", says his wife with a big sigh, "I'm not having an affair with an air traffic controller. If I've told you once, I've told you niner-niner times. Roger. Over."

                                             

Non-Stick Nora has two handsome admirers. One of them is a doctor, and the other is a deaf guy. Every day, the doctor gives Nora a red rose. And every day, the deaf bloke gives her an apple.
One day, Nora asks the deaf geezer: "Hey, that doctor friend of mine gives me a red rose every day, and I get the symbolism of that. But why do you give me an apple a day?" And the deaf guy sez: "Eh?”



It was roasting hot last week, and we all should be thankful that it wasn’t snowing. Just imagine trying to shovel snow in that heat!

                                                                      

The thin line between success and failure...

                                                 

The missus was on the warpath. She shouted at me: “You’ve been sat here watching Wimbledon tennis day in and day out. You have no consideration for how I feel. I bet you can't even remember how many years we've been together!" "Fifteen Love," I replied. That’s when the fight started!

It’s Saturday, and it’s 36 degrees. All the miscreants and reprobates who are domiciled up Scropton Street back snicket are awakening. The paddling pools have appeared from the rear of the shed. Every front garden has one that is 79% masking tape and 21% optimism. There are at least four kids ensconced in it, one lolloping Lurcher, and Uncle Derek cooling his cans of Carlsberg in the same tepid water. The shirtless tattooed blokes have emerged like they’re migrating for summer. Pale as a packet of Matthews Turkey Twizzlers at 12 noon, then resembling a lobster thermidor by teatime, still insisting, “I don’t burn, me.” The ambience outside is a fascinating mix of Factor 30, Lynx Africa, Hollands meat-and-potato pies, coupled with the rancid pong of No 32’s wheelie bin that’s been percolating nicely in the heat since a week last Monday. Non-Stick Nora has purchased a 15-quid fan from B&M and is acting like she’s installed full air conditioning in her hovel. Meanwhile, Barmy Alberts nan is sat in the conservatory wearing a buttoned-up cardigan and opining: “It’s not that warm.” The local Facebook group is in meltdown. Half the posts are “Is this your dog?” The other half are people moaning about kids playing outside. “Can they stop screaming?” Karen, it’s the first sunny weekend we’ve had in about eight months. They’re feral now. Accept it. Meanwhile, Tommy Grabknuckle is washing his Skoda with Fairy Liquid while blasting Max Bygraves’ 12inch Megamix cassette tape on his ghetto-blaster loud enough for three adjacent postcodes to sing along to. By early eventide, there’ll be at least two blokes arguing over whose turn it is to visit the corner shop to buy more ale, someone's kid will have lost his two front teeth, and the air ambulance will probably be landing because Big and Daft Dave thought it’d be a good idea to somersault off the dog kennel into two feet of water. Such is life.

                         

 

Fascinating Fact: In football, there's a thin line between success and failure. It’s called Hadrian's Wall.

Further Fascinating Fact: Many moons ago, Little Richard once helped me with the gardening. He lopped all the rhubarb; he lopped bamboo.

TV Top Tips: Watching a fabulous show on Netflix called “The Snotty Conk.” It’s streaming now!
                                  

Back in the day, Adam Ant sold me a guitar for fifty quid, but he told me that for an extra tenner, he would throw in a Stand and Deliver…

 
Young Woody Eckerslyke asked Barmy Albert if he could help re-turf an entire field so he can stage a civil war re-enactment over the Bank Holiday weekend. Albert said: “Sod that for a game of soldiers!”


The missus will NEVER have to worry about me being unfaithful. She’d have to arrange it, forward plan it and then remind me of what time I’m supposed to be there. Then she’d have to tell me what to wear and yell at me while I’m getting ready and tell me that I’m going to be late.

Renowned master of bunkum and baloney, Chester Draws was in his local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanley Knife, trying to chat up his ex-wife in a futile effort to rekindle their failed relationship. However, she wasn’t having any of his pleading, because she realised that he was only after his money back! Divorce is like algebra. You look at the X and think Y?



Thought for Thursday: A baby’s laughter is one of the most wonderful sounds that you will ever hear. Unless it is 3 am, you are home alone, and you don’t have a baby…

                                                  

Phew! What a scorcher!

                                  

Great news for Scotland fans! If you purchased your Scotland shirt during the World Cup, you should still be eligible for the 14-day returns guarantee. 

Barmy Albert phoned young Willy Eckerslyke yesterday and sez: "I've just had a massive argument and a fight with Non-Stick Nora. Have you got a spare bed for a few weeks, until I can find a flat?" "I'm afraid not," Willy replied, "but I've got a sofa, if that's of any help." "Spot on!" he said. "You're an absolute superstar. I'll send her round in a bit."

After all the roasting-hot weather last week, I've been convinced that I require some manner of cation. However, I need to ascertain if it's a vacation, staycation, medication or maybe intoxication. I apologise for the alliteration.



Upon entering 10 Downing Street, Andy Burnham discovered a letter from Sir Kier Starmer. A short cover note informed him: "Welcome to your new job. Please find herewith three envelopes. Open and use when the going gets tough". So, all is well for the first few weeks, and then Andy finds himself facing increasing criticism and pressure, so he opens the first envelope and reads: "1) Blame the previous government". He makes some speeches in parliament and for the press, and the criticism and pressure subsided for a brief spell. However, nothing lasts forever, and poor Andy discovers his approval rating is beginning to suffer. So, he opens the second envelope and reads: "2) Blame the media". With a few suitable speeches, he manages to convince his detractors that he is the victim of a concerted campaign by the media in the pocket of his enemies, and once again, all is well for a while. Unfortunately, things get worse once again, and Andy Burnham finally turns to the third envelope. Taking a deep breath to avoid a panic attack, he opens it, unfolds the paper inside and reads: "3) Prepare three envelopes."
                                        

Barmy Albert's boss asked him, “Why do you come out in a terrible rash when I give you your wage packet? Albert thought for a moment and replied, “It’s because I’m allergic to peanuts!” Non-Stick Nora knew of his nut allergy and used to play Russian Roulette with him, using a bag of Revels…



It’s a sad depiction of society today, when you hide under the bed naked to surprise your wife, then remember you don’t have a wife, and now you’re banned from IKEA.



I woke up this morning with a face full of yellow rice. I must have nodded off as soon as my head hit the Pilau…



Octogenarian Tommy Grabknuckle was sitting at the bar of his local pub, The Pitt Bull and Stanleyknife with a saturnine grimace and looking quite forlorn. "Wassup Tommy?" asks Dastardly Derek, the landlord. Tommy tells him, "I got the words 'Jacuzzi' and 'Yakuza' mixed up." "So?" asks the bartender. And Tommy replied: "Now I'm in hot water with the Japanese Mafia."



Renowned master of bunkum and baloney, Chester Draws is playing golf by himself on a quiet Sunday morning. He comes to a par three over the water and takes out an old scuffed-up ball to hit. As he addresses the ball, he hears a heavenly voice: "Put down a new ball." He looks around, then goes to his bag and unwraps a brand-new Titleist Pro V and tees it up. He hears the majestic voice again: "Take a practice swing." So, he steps back and takes his practice swing. He hears the voice again: "Put down an old ball."
                                         

Do any of my readers know how I can get rid of eight full-grown lions? I think I misunderstood the meaning of ‘Pride Month’.



After an awful argument with the mother-in-law, I told her that there’s a special place in Hell reserved especially for her. Without any hesitation, she gave me an evil smile and sez: “Yes. It’s called a throne!”