Category Archives: Flying

Who could sleep last night what with the excitement of Santa Claus’ impending arrival? Looking up to the sooty sky I could scarcely imagine the stress on that ol’ coot in the red suit… Anyway , something sparked the imagination.

Merrily On High.

Down the chimney Santa Claus went
But he’s a touch laden down at present,
For Santa may wish to discharge his duty
But Santa Claus is carrying too large a booty.

The dazed and confused residents below
Heard his ‘Yo ho ho’ become an ‘uh-oh.’

Santa was stuck fast ‘neath the chimney pot-
Speaking of which, pot is legal now, is it not?
They puffed and strained to smoke the stout fellow out
But a man of Santa’s weight can butt wait and mellow out.

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Ah yes, the joys of travel. Off to strange lands, to see culture at its best. (Inspired by a blog on Bonnywood Manor/Wordpress- Present Tense-#9 (and our trip to Old Scotland that had a few similarities.)

A Breath Of Fresh Air.

It was wonderful to depart the plane in Spain
After a flight at the height of the tourist season,
Yes, it seems I’ve picked up the travel bug again-
Ten hours of recirculated air would be the reason.

I thought all would be well once at the hotel
But upon arrival, well, sadly I was not,
So I laid my heavy head on the pillow a spell
Awaking to find no piffling sniffle, this was snot.

No, no not for me a sick bed holiday,
I was dying to see the Medieval sites,
Down the cobbled streets I made my sway,
To climb to the castles rarefied heights.

Thus we began the now-historic climb;
Those first steps were hewn by a craftsman;
Higher up steps were taken to cut the time,
Carved by ‘prentice or cut-price artisan.

No miss-step was quite the same,
Some a stretch, some one leapt up;
Any stonemason worthy of the name
Surely should’ve looked, then stepped up?

At every switchback, at every frikkin’ fork
I’d clutch my ribs and cough and blow,
Down every declivity I’d hack and hawk.
My apologies and sympathies to those below.

But I’d climb my Everest of a mountain
Though snot ran in an unending stream,
At a thousand steps and still countin’
It became more nightmare than tourists dream.

Ah, but when one steps upon the crest-
Oh, the view is quite breath-taking,
I clasped my hands to my breast-
It’s a heart attack in the making.

Another one to throw out there, off the top of my head. Much like the dashing debonair pompadoured Donald did, actually.

Thin Skinned And Thick Headed.

Don’s having a bad hair day today, lets be blunt,
It sits imposingly on his head, but back to front,
It’s thick- ever so thick, from hairline to crown,
Long enough to slick it back and stick it down.

There its lacquered and all but tacked in place;
For a balding man he’s got it all ass-about face,
Donald is inordinatly proud of his golden mane
But one puff of wind shows it is all in vain.

Donald thought flying on Air Force One would be a breeze. Now he’s up there, running his trembling hands through his hair.

Swept Away In Style.

Donald has perfect hair of platinum gold,
Its a creation that’s a wonder to behold,
But as he boldly boarded Air Force One
All saw Male Pattern Baldness had begun.

The back of the great mans pate
Gleamed in a barren and hairless state,
His lustrous locks have long since thinned,
His careful comb-over, gone with the wind.

The only one worried his hair has gone
Is the ever youthful, even childish Don,
But you can guarantee, after today
Don’s investing in a toque, or a toupee.

A bad companion piece to ‘all part of the fun of expanding ones horizons.’

In Full Flight.

Sixteen hours of fractious flying
Next to a baby who won’t stop crying,
How sweet it will be to hear the sound
Of lips on tarmac when I kiss home ground.

Oh, the joy of being able to sleep a piece,
To surrender to Morpheus’ sweet release,
Far far away from a cry baby that won’t quit-
And a mom who invests in diapers that fully fit.

What the not-too-seasoned traveler has to put up with you wouldn’t hear about. Then again, I guess you might.

Head Banging Stuff.

Sat waiting at the terminal, interminably bored,
Then came an announcement for the last passengers to board;
‘This is your last and final call,’
Rang round the Customs hall
‘We’re waiting for passengers Yang Tang and Wang,’
Sounded like like the chorus from some 70s song ABBA might’ve sang.

(And I quote- true story, that.)