Position Closed - Cashier Balancing

Position Closed – Cashier Balancing

Another from the “Bewildering Signs” collection.  Previous examples were:

·        This Toilet is Out Of Order

·        Do Not Worry Livestock

·        Casual Bearers Wanted

·        This Door Is Alarmed

 

Whilst waiting in the bank the other day

I noticed that things were exceedingly slow

That the number of people had started to grow

Only two cashiers open – what do you know?

Their automated facilities I’d chosen to eschew

So the time I was spending I’d started to rue

And, as I stood there in the lengthening queue,

I wondered what else I could do

In a chair at the side an old lady dozed

Slowly to the front my position had nosed

And I saw that there a notice had been posed

On the third cashier’s till – Position Closed!

The reason given was what puzzled me

“Cashier Balancing” but it was easy to see

She was sitting down – how hard could it be?

 

But I had a vision that amongst the cash and receipts

She was secretly practising great feats

That she was only pretending to be in her seat

And that really she was a talented athlete

That, if she hadn’t maintained an even keel,

She’d soon be attempting a cart-wheel

Or perhaps she was a prancer, or a chancer

Disguising her skill as a ballet dancer

That, operating without the aid of a safety-net

There were tricky positions into which she could get

Including that of a pirouette

That she practised with her legs as she sat

Her various manoeuvres as an acrobat

Perhaps she would glimmer and shimmer

When working as a synchronised swimmer

Or maybe she was cast, while working really fast

If she ever appeared as a gymnast

 

And, as she pretended to work at her station,

I wanted to award marks for “Degree of Difficulty”

Or even for “Artistic Interpretation”

For I’m sure that mere double-entry book-keeping

Sometimes must have reduced her to weeping

And, not wanting to appear dumb,

She extracted every last crumb

Of comfort, whilst she sat on her bum,

Not letting her body grow numb

But maintaining her equilibrium

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Parsnip, Thyme & Cheese Bread

Recipe for: PARSNIP, THYME & CHEESE BREAD 

Ingredients: 

• 1 tblsp sunflower oil
• 1 large onion, peeled & very finely chopped
• 180g self-raising flour
• ½ tsp salt
• 1 tsp fresh thyme leaves
• 50g hard cheese (goat’s, cheddar, parmesan, or a mixture)
• 180g parsnip (peeled & grated)
• Fresh ground black pepper
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• 2-3 tblsp milk 

Method: 

1. heat oven to 180C/ fan 160C/ 350F/ gas 4
2. heat oil in frying pan & sauté the onion gently until soft & lightly coloured, stirring occasionally – about 10-15 minutes.  Remove from heat & allow to cool
3. in a large bowl, mix together the flour, salt, thyme, cheese, parsnip & some pepper
4. add the cooked onions & mix thoroughly
5. beat the egg lightly with the milk, then add to the dry mixture
6. mix to form a soft dough, but do not overwork. Just bring together with your fingers and a very light knead
7. shape into a small round, then place onto an oiled baking sheet
8. bake for 40-45 minutes, until the loaf is golden & makes a hollow sound when tapped on the bottom
9. leave to cool on a wire rack, before slicing 

What else you need to know: 

1. serve warm or cold, spread with butter and a deep bowl of soup

Chaff

Chaff

When the crop is safely gathered in

When the valued grains are pulled away

Then we are straw, and we are only chaff

Forced to live upon the gleanings and the leavings

 

When the creamy cheese has formed its curds

When the butter has been turned and churned

Then we are whey, and we are poured away

Fit for only cattle and for pigs

 

When the fruit is picked and carried home

When the trees have been emptied of their bounty

Then we are leaves, and we are broken twigs

Not even worth the sweeping

 

When the bread is risen and has been baked

When the loaves are shared and sliced

Then we are crumbs, and we are but dusting flour

Cleared from the table into the bin

 

When the beer is brewed and well fermented

When the casks of ale are drunk and emptied

Then we are lees, and we are only ullage

Poured away and down the drain

 

And when the fires burn our dwellings

And when the towers turn to charnel-houses

Then we are ash, and we are only cinders

The residue, the forgotten of society

 

And when the screams of death have faded

And when the desperate shouting’s fallen quiet

Then we are but an echo, just a faint vibration

Of a voice that no-one ever heard

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Don't Tell Me

Don’t Tell Me

Don’t tell me what his bloody name is, for it’s not at all important

And don’t tell me how old he was, because I do not need to know

I don’t care what he was like to be with at his school

Nor which college he went to, or what subject he studied

Whether he was a good student or not

Don’t tell me all about his family

Of his mother grieving in her disbelief

Of his father long gone missing

Or of his brother now gone into hiding

I have no interest in his general profile

Of his background and how he was brought up

Don’t tell me about the places where he used to go

And do not guess at his beliefs, religious or otherwise

And spare us all the speculation on his motivation

The careful planning and the murderous intent

Don’t tell me whether he was a person of special interest

Or whether he was known to the security services

And do not talk of the limits on immigration

Or of second generation integration

Nor waste my time explaining the meaning of jihad

Or about the programmes to prevent radicalisation

Because none of that really matters now

In fact you can spare me the whole bloody back-story

Because I simply do not want to know

 

But tell me more about the victims

Their names and tender ages

Unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time

Caught out by the bomber’s blast

Who suffered and were caused to die

Tell me about the devastated families

Who will have to live forever more with grief unbounded

And to make the funeral arrangements

For their dearly departed loved ones

 

And tell me about the paramedics

The emergency services and the first responders

Those who risked their lives to try and save the wounded

Those whose job it was to pick up dismembered body parts

And to re-assemble them to make them whole again

To allow their formal identification

 

Tell me about the police and ambulance men

The forensics and the explosives specialists

Tell me about the homeless men who tried to help

The taxi drivers who offered lifts

The cafes that gave away hot drinks

And the hotel workers who offered rooms and blankets

 

I want to hear about these heroes, not that villain

And please - don’t tell me that I’ve got that wrong

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

An Occasional Gardener

An Occasional Gardener

Along the old familiar lane

And up to the house that was my home

With a key that still fits within the lock

And turns easily as it always did

The rooms inside mostly empty

Awaiting a some-time final removal

Then stepping out to the garage and the shed

The garden and the greenhouse

To find the cobwebbed tools and mowers

Needed to give the old place its weekly trim

A short back and sides

To keep its neat appearance

And to do the running repairs

Until someone else can grasp the baton

And I can cease these painful visits

No longer an occasional gardener

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Drivel From Devizes - Dateline Sunday 2nd May 2021

Drivel From Devizes: Dateline – Sunday 2^nd May 2021 

Here is our weekly round-up of events from D-Town:                                              

1.      A major row has broken out in D-Town’s Council Chamber after it was discovered that the Lord Mayor had decided to redecorate his private office using materials supplied by B&Q and Wilko. Having paid for the materials himself, and declared the receipts in the Register of Members’ Interests, he was criticised by the Leader of the Opposition, Bob Sherunkle.  “This is totally unacceptable,” he said.  “No self-respecting mayor should use such cheap and shoddy materials when we have a local stockist for Ball & Farrow in the town. And it shows precious little respect for the long tradition we have in the borough for having a properly devious, self-centred and hypocritical scandal.  Keeping things all above board like this is just totally unacceptable.” 

2.      The centre of the town will be under curfew from 9pm tonight, and restaurants and licensed premises will be asked to close by 8.45pm, so that everyone can be at home to watch the final episode of “Shine of Beauty”.  This gripping serial, which has been through 43 series and 6,107 episodes now, is expected to finally reveal the identity of “H”, or “the fourth child” responsible for controlling the OCG (Organised Cabbage Group) for stealing brassicas from allotments down by the canal.  It is hoped that the final denouement will be a CHIS (Complete & Hysterical Identity Solution). 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021

Do Not Worry Livestock

Do Not Worry Livestock

Seen upon a farmer’s gate whilst out walking

I pondered upon this heartfelt warning

What did it mean? And who was talking?

Was it a command to me and other ramblers?

Not to mess or mutilate his milkers

Nor to hassle or harry his heifers?

Was his pedigree bull of nervous disposition

And could not withstand any inquisition?

Or perhaps I should not rouse

Any of his hogs or his farrowing sows

In case they should feel forsaken

And then produce less tasty bacon?

Or maybe I should cross the field quickly

And with his sheep not shilly-shally

Nor hang around and dilly-dally?

No chattering with the chickens

And, under no circumstances, should I feature

In the discussion with any creature

An existential debate

Of what might be their likely fate?

 

But, then again, there was just a chance

That it was a message of reassurance -

He might have been reaching out to human-kind

Begging us not to be of troubled mind

Rather, telling us to put behind

Us all our cares and woe

That he wants us all to know

That when we’re feeling down and low

When we hear the ticking of life’s clock

That when our friends do naught but mock

And with guilt we’re had up in the dock

That when our life has foundered on a rock

Don’t worry – livestock!

 

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2021