
I’ve got two mutts who sniff the butts
Of dogs whom they don’t know
But what is worse and quite perverse
This passes for Hello!
Imagine if we all did this
When meeting someone new
If that’s Hello! I’d like to know
How one would say Adieu!
light verse and much, much worse

I’ve got two mutts who sniff the butts
Of dogs whom they don’t know
But what is worse and quite perverse
This passes for Hello!
Imagine if we all did this
When meeting someone new
If that’s Hello! I’d like to know
How one would say Adieu!

Prince Harry chose to jet abroad
And start his life anew
Her Majesty had thought it odd
He’d given not a clue.
While chess has always been about
The move that’s unforeseen
No pawn has ever taken out
A well-defended queen.

Rapunzel’s prince betrothed his love
Her freedom he was wishing her
Alas, he could not climb above!
(she’d used too much conditioner)

A friend of mine who used to teach
Said some kids he just couldn’t reach
A situation made more grim
For they were learning how to swim

Several years ago while travelling around Ukraine, I entered the only shop in a remote village to buy a couple of cold drinks. Placing my purchases on the counter, the elderly shopkeeper tallied my bill on an abacus then pushed it toward me. Not entirely up to speed on ancient counting tools which predate our own numeral system, I played it safe and handed him the equivalent of $5 in Ukrainian money. This, apparently, posed a problem and he asked if I had anything smaller. I replied, regrettably, that I did not. Thinking on it, he disappeared into the back before returning with a duckling which he duly handed over as my change.
The problem with holiday brochures is that they rarely cover an abacus/duck scenario. The pictures in them are enticing but the language is, at best, euphemistic and at worst, a flat out lie. And while it’s true that every situation can’t be covered, a bit of a heads-up regarding waterfowl as legal tender would go a long way for novices like moi.

Here then, is a list of terms from holiday brochures with their true meanings:
in-flight meal: UN ration with complimentary poppadom
in-flight entertainment: the sequel to the remake of the original, only this one’s set in the future where everyone can fly and stuff
short transfer to hotel: bring earplugs
car rental: how are you at replacing a head gasket?
bus service: you may be seated next to a goat in labour
local delicacies: if we can catch it, we’ll cook it
chef’s special: cake with a fly on top
all-inclusive resort: local excursions aren’t worth the risk of being kidnapped
in-house entertainment: an old man who takes out his artificial eye for the kids
cultural sensitivities: lose the MAGA hat
conservative: lose the rainbow flag beach towel
stunning wildlife: pack an anti-venom kit
365 days of sunshine: locals view redheads with suspicion
steeped in history: when in doubt, tell them you’re Canadian
friendly locals: a warlord wishes to marry your daughter
vibrant nightlife: gunfire
local amenities: you’re sharing a well with the next village
stunning scenery: ignore the oil refinery
exotic spices: stick to ketchup
unspoiled wilderness: don’t go in unarmed
tranquil setting: abandoned due to an ebola outbreak
health clinic: the vet will see you now
museum exhibits: those artefacts our country forgot to cart off when we left sharpish 150 years ago

The President was heard to say
I am not wearing a toupée!
And though they’d said it just to kid
It really made him flip his lid.

A bear who needs to use The Gents
(one of life’s everyday events)
Faces a pressing issue:
What does one use for tissue?
According to the local lore
Passed down by those who’ve gone before
Most bears will grab the nearest thing
To wipe away those bits that cling.
A most hygienic habit
But tell that to the rabbit.

So we’re out of the EU.
Although I’ve lived in the UK over 30 years, I still play the role of casual observer even during times of great upheaval. This does not mean I’m short of an opinion or two, it simply means I know when to put up and when to shut up. Regarding the national catharsis that is Brexit, something that never fails to amuse me is hearing the British refer to the continent as Europe.
“Why do you want to leave the EU?”
“It’s Europeans… they’re all bonkers.”
“But aren’t you Europeans as well?”
“Are Canadians Americans?”
For some it’s much more straightforward while for others it’s a case of perspective. After years of soul-searching, many British have reluctantly conceded that they have no affinity whatsoever with foreign tongues, Carl Jung and snail croquette in vinaigrette. They genuinely enjoy visiting their European cousins on holiday but also enjoy returning home again, to the UK, where they believe good fences make good neighbours. So the guilt complex and hand-wringing need to end because Britain is no different from anyone else who decides to call time on a relationship that isn’t working.
Growing up in Toronto I had classmates from Italy, Greece, France, Ukraine, Germany, Poland, Spain, The Netherlands, Hong Kong, Jamaica, Japan, Vietnam, Korea and thought nothing of it. Everyone was from everywhere. I myself was the son of immigrants and knew what it was like to be a hybrid kid: Canadian-sounding with accented parents who ate some pretty weird food.
And a large portion of my diet back then was ethnic humour – not racist humour – ethnic humour. There’s a difference and even as a kid I knew an ethnic joke from a slur because I was raised properly in a good community. On TV I’d watch Joan Rivers tell Jewish jokes, Richard Pryor tell black jokes, Dean Martin tell Italian jokes and Don Rickles tell jokes about everyone. And everyone laughed because we all recognised our own cultural eccentricities within them, along with those relatives certain jokes described to a tee.
Tell these same jokes today and you’ll be arrested by the Fun Police.
The referendum was, of course, about more than Polish plumber jokes. There were serious constitutional and inter-governmental sore points between the UK and the EU which neither side could resolve. This, however, doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends who can share a laugh among ourselves.
We’re simply getting rid of the joint bank account and the in-laws.
So then, what about the future?
Well, my guess is that nothing will change because nothing ever does. The British will still holiday in Europe, continentals will still come here to take selfies with the pigeons in Trafalgar Square and the French, as is their way, will continue to dine on creatures we wouldn’t even poke with a stick.
Plus ça change, eh?
While teaching a class of 12 year olds, one of my students asked about the origins of life.
(for the record, she was supposed to be conjugating the present tense of avoir)
“Can you narrow it down a bit for me?” I wasn’t sure where she was going with it.
“Well, something had to start something… so what started everything?” Lucy wondered.
“It’s a kind of Chicken & Egg question,” I replied.
“What do you mean, sir?” she persisted.
“Whenever we contemplate the origin of anything we often ask, which came first: the chicken or the egg? Some questions we just can’t answer. Well, not yet anyway but I think we’re getting closer.”
Lucy stared at nothing in particular but I could see her wheels turning.
“And now I’ve confused you,” I laughed.
“Only because you’re confused, sir,” she stated, as respectfully as possible. “The answer to the Chicken & Egg Theory is easy: Chickens are birds. Birds are descendants of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs didn’t give birth to live young but laid eggs, therefore the eggs some dinosaurs laid eventually evolved into chickens. The egg came first.”
Wow.
A colleague once told me, “The best thing about being a teacher is that we are, indeed, the smartest people in the room.”
Some days I’m not so sure.

Where’s Monica? a colleague asked
The heating’s not turned up enough
It’s not as if she’s over-tasked
To take care of this kind of stuff.
Where’s Monica? another chimed
It’s 9:05, we’ve got no milk
Do we now have to have her timed?
Her job? Her breaks? Her type? Her ilk?
I never bother, you know me
Head down, work hard and see it through
But did she get the gluten-free?
If not, my bowels will turn to glue.
The printer’s low on paper too
Delivery was yesterday
It’s just one flight, it isn’t two
So why the need for this delay?
I saw her tumble down the stairs
The look of shock upon her face
Those sandwiches went everywhere
And crystal’s not cheap to replace.
What if she’s poorly, do we know?
Those files won’t files themselves today
Or HR, did they let her go?
For if they did, they didn’t say.
No, Monica is fine and well
She hasn’t quit, she wasn’t fired
Her colleagues didn’t hear her tell
In one week’s time she’d be retired.
So now she sits as each day ends
With husband, Jim, and the odd glass
And smiles at what she left for them:
A photocopy of her ass.