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Spring is sprung,
Da grass is riz.
I wonder where da boidies is?
Da boids is on da wing,
Or so I hoid.
But dat’s absoid,
Da wings is on da boid.
It’s official spring and I’m glad to oblige reader Dick Pope with these wonderful lines he requested from Spring in the Bronx, to mark the official end of winter.
Who wrote them? Spring in the Bronx is often attributed to Ogden Nash, sometimes to ee cummings. But actually it’s anonymous.
Unfortunately, spring in South Africa – KZN especially – is not quite like spring in the Bronx.
It actually heralds a bit of balmy weather alternating with sharp, cold snaps, colder than what we had in winter. But let’s not quibble. Let’s rather join with Gilbert & Sullivan.
The flowers that bloom in the spring,
Breathe promise of merry sunshine –
As we merrily dance and we sing,
We welcome the hope that they bring,
Of a summer of roses and wine,
Of a summer of roses and wine.
This is a constant refrain these days at the Street Shelter for the Over-40s.
Whoops! Mea culpa!
Last week I confused biblical character Isaac with Jacob. As Joel Sassoon points out, Esau was Jacob’s nasty brother, not Isaac’s.
Of course. Isaac was the son |of Abraham who was about to be sacrificed by his father when the angel made available the ram in the thicket instead.
Sigh! Back to Sunday school!
A headline last week – “Time, gentlemen!” – takes reader Mike Pye back to the ’80s and the Robert E Lee pub at the Los Angeles Hotel, off Musgrave Road.
There was a waiter by the |name of James who every night towards closing time would walk around shouting: ‘Time gentlemen, please!’ We all chorused the same back at him. We suspected that he used to finish off all the left-over liquor so we left our drinks unfinished, just for him.
Time can, of course, be an elastic concept in bar closing. In days of yore I used to frequent a pub in deepest Herefordshire, England.
Closing time in that county was 10.30pm.
About midnight I was approached by the landlord. “Arrrr,” he said. “Oi’m afraid we’ll ‘ave to close in an hour. We’ve got a new bobby in t’ village and we don’t know which way he joomp yet.”
A Jack Russell terrier caught a commuter train all the way from Kent to London. Frankie, aged six, ran on, slipping between the |legs of passengers during the morning rush at Gravesend station. Then – as picked up on CCTV camera – he found a window seat where he sat for the 30 minutes to St Pancras station, London.
There he was rescued by train staff. The train manager telephoned the number on his collar and found himself talking to an astonished Jane Abbott, his owner. Mrs Abbott and her daughter caught the train to London to fetch Frankie.
It cost them £59 for the peak time fare, but the £17.50 owed by Frankie was waived.
Was that a good idea? You don’t want to encourage these joyriding terriers.
Going for it
Australian canoeists were astonished to find a koala bear swimming among them in Tallebudgera Creek, on the Gold Coast.
Koalas are not known for their swimming skills, nor for any punishing training regimen as they sleep for about 16 hours a day.
But this one was there in the water, swimming manfully. Eventually they lifted him into one of the canoes and took him to the bank where they released him.
Pesky canoeists! Won’t they |let a koala train in peace? The Aussies are clearly desperate to |win some gold at the next Olympics.
A large, hairy Chilean rose tarantula – presumably an abandoned pet – has been found beside a rubbish bin in Glasgow. The Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals is investigating. Amazing what can drop out of a Scotsman’s kilt.
Pastor: “You need to join the Army of the Lord!”
Congregant: “I’m already in the Army of the Lord.”
Pastor: “How come I don’t see you except at Christmas and Easter?”
Congregant (in a whisper): “Secret service!”
They are ill discoverers that think there is no land, when they can see nothing but sea. – Sir Francis Bacon