Warning: You'll find no jokes here! So, for those whose time's precious dear, With a flick of your wrist, Take the next on the list, Lest you want to be bored then keep clear.
You may know it from earlier post, That I live on the English south coast, But of me, myself, I proceeded with stealth, You may think me no more than a ghost.
In the March of 1945, In the hospital mother did strive, From her belly to bring This alien thing, Under weight and but barely alive.
So was born I, a gamekeeper's son, Short-sighted, no good with a gun, And lousy at sport, Usual cricket score, nought, So I found me alternative fun.
Science at school had me hooked, And I oft had my head in a book, And especially math, Which determined my path... An engineering degree I then took.
By now, a power station built near, Offered me a chance of a career, So thatt came to fruition, But with no ambition, I never reached very high spheres.
One day a truck filled with cider Came smashing into my car's side, aargh. Two weeks later I woke, With several limbs broke, In a hospital ward long and wide, aah.
The hospital soon sent me home, At first on crutches to roam, Where a beautiful girl With a head of blonde curls, Caused seeds of love to be sown.
So that accident-day changed my life, Not due to the young surgeon's knife, No, it brought me that sweet Girl from just up the street, Who soon would become my dear wife.
Of necessity, not just for fun, My wife's dad shot game with his gun, So once I had caught her, The old poacher's daughter Married the gamekeeper's son.
Two sons my pretty wife bore, Quite enough, we didn't want more, And the power plant's pay Meant that we paid our way, It at least kept the wolf from the door.
It's the spring now of '79, Doing mods to a Rolls Royce turbine, But I must stop my job, I see flashes , black blobs, So it's off to the doc one more time.
A retina's somehow detached, Many tries are made to re-attach, They all fail, never mind, That one eye's blind, But the other one's still up to scratch...
Or it is until 1983, When similar symptoms I see. The story's the same, 16 ops. to my name, Now I can't see the wood *or* the trees.
Retired sick in '87, With a pension - enough to live on, For years, nine or ten, 'Til some cash I could spend, And buy this kit in '97.
This talking computer's a boon, I could sit here at dusk, dawn, and noon. And with love, laughter, life, [thankyou Kaylin] And a wonderful wife, I'm content as the man in the moon!
Tiddy Ogg.
[I hope this hasn't depressed anyone. Life is a practical joke, and we all have to suffer the occasional prat-fall.
Well, that's about all there's to say, Now find somewhere cheerful to play, To find this old dog, E-mail: tiddyogg @madasafish.com OK?
{you can make that scan if you try hard enough.}
Read the full story if you must...
Last updated: Wednesday, September 07, 2005