One-Liner Wednesday: Age Cannot Wither Her

It’s Spunky Old Broads Day. Make way for some aged pearls of wisdom!


I can’t wear yellow anymore. It’s too matchy-matchy with my catheter.
Joan Rivers


An archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have. The older she gets the more interested he is in her.
Agatha Christie


LindaGHill hosts One-Liner Wednesday. This is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the theme. Check out her blog for the rules, read other one-liners, and join in the fun!

One-Liner Wednesday: Poetry in Motion

Happy Birthday John Cooper Clarke born today in 1949.
He is an English performance and “punk” poet.

LindaGHill hosts One-Liner Wednesday. This is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the theme. Check out her blog for the rules, read other one-liners, and join in the fun!

One-Liner Wednesday: A Son of the Desert

Celebrating the wit and wisdom of Oliver Hardy, born today in 1892.


“You know, there’s a right and wrong way to do everything.”


“We never see ourselves as others see us.”

LindaGHill hosts One-Liner Wednesday. This is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the theme. Check out her blog for the rules, read other one-liners, and join in the fun!

One-Liner Wednesday: Lactose Intolerant

Today is National Milk Day in the US. Let’s hear it for the white stuff!


A corpse is meat gone bad. Well and what’s cheese? Corpse of milk.
James Joyce


I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose.
Woody Allen

LindaGHill hosts One-Liner Wednesday. This is not a prompt so there’s no need to stick to the theme. Check out her blog for the rules, read other one-liners, and join in the fun!

The Saturday Shed: Fixing Banjo’s Wagon

Image source: pixabay.com

Tales from the Saturday Shed: The prompt this week is MOB.
For those with the time or inclination: Feel free to join in!


Thanks to Banjo, I have to reassess our equality and diversity training. And put all future assignments on hold until everyone is up to speed. Annoying, but it could have been worse because at least he didn’t piss off any of my gold card customers. If that cockwomble had done something like that with someone like Anjay, the comeback would have been swift and brutal. But Moody? He took it on the chin.

“Shit happens,” he said. “But a word of warning: it wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t cute.”

No, it wasn’t. When Moody hired us to sort out his problem with some yardies muscling in on his patch, I never expected Banjo to dress up in a white pointy hat and wave a burning cross around. God knows what was going through his tiny mind, and I said as much to Moody.

But he shrugged it off. “His rather unsavoury solution worked. So, no harm done! Well, not to my reputation.” Then he winked.

And I realised I would be in serious trouble if word got around, especially if Anjay heard about this. With a big, friendly smile for Moody, I steered the conversation around to the subject of compensation.

“I’ll take a full refund for the last job plus,” he grinned, “an extra five hundred. And a 50% discount if I hire your services again.”

“No problem,” I said, thinking; you greedy bastard. “And how about a meal on the house tonight in Raj’s restaurant?”

“Don’t mind if I do: me and the missus love a good curry!”

That was handy; it masked the poison. Raj put Moody and his party in a side room and asked them to use the executive entrance. After the groans and screams stopped, Banjo moved the bodies and arranged them around Moody’s dining table. By lucky chance, I managed to pin the blame on one of Anjay’s rivals. Win-win for all concerned, except for Banjo. I disposed of him myself. He’s under the foundations of the new synagogue on Oswestry Lane.