Despite intrepidly travelling the world alone and returning with a Dead Sea Scroll and the pelt of Bigfoot, society still had the expectation that Florence should be impressed by some random suitor with a wilted bunch of pansies.
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Ernest proffered some watercress to join the lettuce on Florence’s hat.
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My all time favourite newspaper correction
@apiln.bsky.social

A rediscovered treasure from 2015:

I think this is the most likely explanation for what unfolded after the fact. #DonaldJChrist

😂

Little Edith was sad. She’d realised she was not like the other children as they all had feet the right way round.
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What did St Patrick say as he was driving the snakes out of Ireland?

“Are ye all right there in the back lads?”

The Garden of Earthly Delights (detail), by Hieronymus Bosch, 1480-1505, 📸 by @alexbrandon

The other ladies were in awe of Phyllis’s lettuce styling skills
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Yep - two of mine are out there

‘By ‘eck,’ thought Cecily, ‘ ‘e’s never going to stop a pig in a ginnel with them legs’
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Mildred’s long held ambition to be the back end of a pantomime horse had not impressed her husband.
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LET'S NOT PLAY FRISBEE WITH THAT POET ANYMORE. [This is a comic strip, with a poem laid over it. On each panel a new line of the poem is written. The scene is a park, in the summer. A man in a trenchcoat - implicitly Philip Larkin - stands folorn, motionless, looking at people throwing a frisbee. It becomes apparent as the comic progresses that they are trying to play frisbee with him. He stand stock still for the whole comic, watching the frisbee as, panel by panel it soars closer and closer to him]. After contemplating the approaching frisbee for two silent panels, Philip begins his thoughts: Unloosed, unheralded, You soar toward me Across the dying afternoon. bright disc of childhood, Long since thrown wide Of Youth's green imaginings, Your slow declining arc Figures a sky-written truth: We will all succumb, and soon To earth's hard oblivion. [The frisbee hits Philip on the head with a resounding DONK. He falls backwards, to the ground. [Ends]

Let's Not Play Frisbee With That Poet Anymore

I have been put off the idea of ever getting a robot vacuum cleaner after hearing a friend’s tale of an encounter between one and an incontinent pet 😳

Mildred’s ability to dislocate her neck made her an invaluable member of the domestic household and second to none when it came to cleaning around corners.
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😂

Great Aunt Agatha’s withering gaze never failed to put a bit of a dampener on any game of charades.
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Phyllis stuck her head around the door to check on her innovative range of inflatable relatives designed for those without. Whilst the Great Aunt had remained at an impressive maximum PSI, it seemed the Mother had sadly developed a slow puncture.
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George carefully considered how to tell Phyllis that there was a bat impaled on her hat.
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Their romantic stroll was going well until Ethel’s castors seized.

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Thank you 😊

Everyone knew that little Bronwen’s harp playing would often conjure up apparitions of recently deceased local residents, but all agreed something had gone a bit amiss when one day Buffalo Bill made an unexpected appearance.
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Little Bronwen’s harp playing was so bad that passers-by frequently opted to simply topple down the hillside rather than endure it any longer.
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As she began to lose consciousness, Phyllis wondered if using cling film as a veil had been a good idea.
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Unbeknownst to the happy crowd enjoying their alfresco teas, someone had just audaciously made off with the chocolate swiss roll.
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Just listen to what Andrew’s nickname was amongst royal protection officers.

Nigh on impossible to look cool with a toilet seat under your arm I’d say!

The new lord of the manor had a range of eccentricities but his insistence at always keeping a toilet seat under his right arm at dinner was one of the more notable.
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