A Travesty Of Justice

Posted by Davidd Bearkeeper OBE on
Category: General21 Comments

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St Catherine’s Hospital prior to its demolition in 2010.

Today I would like to report a possible conspiracy which has haunted me for 57 years. As you will all have read, yesterday was my birthday. I was born in St Catherine’s Hospital[*] where the most hideous of mix-ups occurred that has affected my whole life. You see my Mummy – who we call Granny here on Jammy Toast because she is The Chimpton’s Granny – is thick, as you all know from some of the stories we have published over the years. I also have two sisters who are exactly the same; both as thick as Granny and who prattle-on on just about any subject you care to mention. On the other hand, I am a relatively intelligent person who – as the Chimpton will confirm – is quiet, noble and withdrawn. In fact, the complete opposite of Granny, Diane and Pauline. What I have always maintained is that all those years ago there was a mix-up at the hospital and a rather intelligent, good-looking family took Granny’s real son home and I was left to endure the family from hell.

Happy Second Birthday To New Jammy Toast

Posted by Davidd Bearkeeper OBE on
Category: Jammy Toast19 Comments

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Today we would like to wish New Jammy Toast a very happy second birthday. Two years ago today, at 6pm, we published our first post on the brand new site. We decided to move from the old site because we got fed up with all the rain and wind and storms of England and decided to move to our very own tropical desert island. On our island the sun always shone and the temperature was always at least into the thirties – sometimes even the forties. We ate our Jammy Toast on the beach disturbed only by the sound of the waves hitting the beach and the distant cry of the gulls – much to The Chimpton’s annoyance. Once a week a boat arrived with supplies on-board for the coming week, including plenty of sun-cream to stop us from looking like a frequenter of nudist beaches. Needless to say Razzi says the sun-cream is only for wimps and insists that the knotted-hankie on his head is enough to keep the sun at bay – he learnt well from the Master. The days were relaxed and the evenings spent in the tranquillity of the balmy heat remaining from the day. Then the alarm-clock went off and we were back in Birkenhead…