Here’s my entry for July’s Blog Battle contest.  I said to one of my blogging friends a while ago that I could write a whole story in  Cockney rhyming slang –  and so here it is!


I’ve been laid up with me chalfonts and I’ve had a lovely kip, but the jollop’s wearing off now I’m stable.  I tried not to ‘ave a tin barf when the doc came round and had a butcher’s up there.  Gawd – didn’t he want to be a train driver when he was a saucepan lid?

It’s like a pox doctor’s waiting room in here; everyone’s got a long face.  I try and talk to the bubble in the bed opposite, but it’s like flogging a dead ‘orse.  He hasn’t got many hampsteads, but he has huge plates of meat – must be size 12 or more.  I think he’s wearing a syrup.  The raspberry in the corner ended up brown bread in the night.  I wonder when it’s my hopping pot?

All I want is some mungy – anything’ll do; taters, or saveloy and pease pudding.  I couldn’t ‘arf go a bundle on a big plate of pie and mash – me stomach thinks me throat’s been cut.  Nurse says it’s too soon after the old Mickey Finn.

The trouble and strife will be in at visiting time, and I might get a cup of char by then.  Someone brought round the me and you earlier on, but I didn’t get a chance to fill it in before I was out of me noddle.

I’m a bit peezy on me pins when I get up, and the bubble looks a bit worried.  I may be 82, but I’ve never been Tom Dick in me life.  I give him a wave and he says something, but as I’m a bit mutton I just nod.  He comes over and walks me to the khasi, but I would have gone on me Jack Jones.  Nice chap.  I ask him what he’s in for, and he points to his bottle;  he’s had his chalfonts done – just like me!

He’s me old china by the time the trouble and strife comes in.  I haven’t had time for a Chas and Dave, but she doesn’t care. She’s cream crackered after having to run up the frog for the bus.  She brings in a cotchel of Ruby Murray, and I give some to the bubble.  Nurse tells us off, but the old ruby never tasted so good.

Doc comes back and says I can go home.  All in all, it ain’t been so bad after all.  Mind you, the bottle’s a bit sore – perhaps I shouldn’t have had that Ruby Murray…