Don’t Pay To Notice

When your best mate Blue (yeah,
he’s th’ bloodnut) asks you, How
d’ these marital things work really?
Dunno, y’ tell him wisely; ‘n when
he looks sick y’ say, Read th’ label
mate, there’s bound t’ be a hint in
bold-face somewhere – they print
‘em big for blokes these days.

Strewth says Blue, an’ he’s lookin’
proper crook, Didn’t get one – or a
handbook that I recollect. Reckon
I’m buggered mate? Just a guess
Blue, I’d say it’s too bloody late ‘n
you’ve done y’ fancy dough. Y’ see
I know for a fact they don’t come
with money-back guarantees.

Crikey he says, It don’t seem a fair
go – I mean you’ve been married,
what, forty years? How come you
‘aven’t ‘ad a malfunction. Oh, but
I ‘ave, I say. Th’ model I got spits
‘ers regularly – same way yours
does. ‘N mate, I learned long ago,
it don’t pay to notice...
© 7 June 2008, I. D. Carswell