Favourite Number Plates #149

I’ve told you before of my delight in looking at personalised number plates.

Travelling down to Rutland the other week we speculated whether the 4×4 in front of us was actually being driven by St. Valentino of MotoGP, its plate being RO551. On passing it we decided the peroxide blonde at the wheel was probably the wife of the local ice cream man.

Another one that caught my eye in Sheffield yesterday was V141GRA.

Not sure I’d be boasting about that myself…

It’s All In The Name.

Remember how you used to snigger at the kids with the funny names and try to work out how they got them?

Xantia, tee hee, must have been conceived in the back of a Citroen.

Brooklyn, bridging the gap in a dodgy relationship.

Bobby-Bobby Jackie Peter Nobby Geoff, born anytime between summer ’66 and ’67.

No prizes then for guessing what the parents of twins Tia Maria and Jack Daniels had been up to before getting up close and personal.

It’s All In The Name Take Two

You will possibly recall at the start of the school year back in September the uproar surrounding the sharing of the knowledge that teachers feel they can spot trouble-makers just by a swift glance at the register.
The Jordans and Jaydons will send teacher’s hearts plummeting to the bottom of their boots whilst the Jonathans and Jameses will fill them with hope at the high achievement just waiting to be fulfilled.

In a report in The Sun today a young single Mum talks about her aspirations for her son as she struggles to bring him up in one of the poorest areas in Britan.

She wants him to be a doctor when he grows up.

Not with the name KAIDEN he won’t.

Hands Off Our Spotted Dick

County council catering staff in Flintshire have re-named Spotted Dick, the currant sprinkled suet pudding.

They claim its name results in smutty remarks from customers.

Hello-oh? It always did. Primary school dinners would become sniggerfests when Spotted Dick was on the menu, thus helping the kids to develop a sense of humour. Mind you, the state of said spotted dick, you needed a sense of humour to even go there.

One wonders what other items might be re-named, menus the world over seem to inspire smuttiness.

I wonder how many times Fairy Cakes or Faggots have been asked for in a camp voice or with a limp wristed gesture?

Then of course there is Queen of Puddings.

And who needs to say anything? Ladies can be downright obscene when presented with a Magnum, Flake or chocolate eclair.

Male genitalia are forever invoked when talking of Cock a leekie soup, Coq au Vin, Meat balls and dough balls, not to mention Sunday Roast with its “meat and two veg”.

Even in the preparation stage food invites innuendo, just look at the shape of things, carrots, bananas, cucumbers.

Michael Bywater once wrote a spoof of the Bad Sex In Literature award, citing a man waiting for a good frost so that his parsnip went hard.
Grapefruit and melons are euphemisms for breasts and one chap approached me one coolish summer evening, holding up half a lemon he was preparing to slice for his G&T with the chat up line, “Oh look at this lemon, its the same shape as your nipple.” (Hint, don’t try that one at home chaps, at least not without a good quality cricket box.)

And don’t forget one of the first TV cooks, Fanny Craddock.
There’s just no getting away from it, food and smut are inextricably mixed

So get yourselves down to Flintshie County Council canteen, get those placards ready.

“Hands Off Our Spotted Dick,”

Joe King by name and Joe King by nature…

What do you call some of the most unfortunate people in Britain? Well just in case you are stuck for an answer here are some suggestions. Justin Case (sic), Barb Dwyer and Stan Still. It sounds like a typical Boggart Blog Department of Tired Old Jokes offering, but a trawl by serious researchers through the necrobuffonomicon (the book of dead funny names) has revealed that there really are unfortunate people with those names in the UK. Joining them on the list are Terry Bull, Paige Turner, Mary Christmas and Anna Sasin. And just imagine having to introduce yourself to a crowd as Doug Hole or Hazel Nutt. The names were uncovered by a research team from parenting group TheBabyWebsite.com after parsing through online telephone records.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog

The Wombles Of Wombleton

When I was younger and we went for day trips in the family Ford Zephyr I used to get confused as to where we were. We’d end up in Penrith and there wouldn’t be a welsh hat in sight. It took a good deal of patient explaining that Penrith was in Cumberland and I was probably thinking of Penryn, in Wales.
I still think Penrith sounds too Welsh to be English, even if it is the last outpost of England.
But place names are like that aren’t they?
Yesterday we were driving along the A170 from Pickering to Scarborough when we passed a sign for Kirbymoorside.
“That should surely be the other side of the Pennines,” exclaimed hubby. “It should be next to Kirby Lonsdale.” Indeed it should.
Mockerkin in West Cunbria should be nestling up there on the west coast of Scotland, near the Mull of Kintyre, if not across the pond as a Native American reservation.
Wigton really ought to be near Barnet and the next place you come to after Wimbledon Common should definitely be the small village of Wombleton.

More humour every day from Boggart Blog
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