MY CORNER.

Grey River Argus, 27 June 1925, Page 2

MY CORNER.

PRINCIPALLY PIE,

(By

Jack Horner).

n-MouMh cou.'.-it nws ove thin *. -lunkiy football. Government is,. o o i ng lo re . nlille the railtvnys * ti. Doogan is the prophet of too niucli profit. . f * * There’S been a lot of hot air about ‘••e gas.works. •Some members of Parliament won’t ‘-'in gel a reseat for their expenses at the next elections. Amundsen gave it a ‘mod flv 11 looks as though the Wellington tramways will go bussed. When there’s soak there’s Fryer * * * . Tho Post Office staff is always ■ slumping about something, *• * w Greymouth appears to be well euchred these winter nights. His Worship the .Mayor has been elected a vice-president of the South , -island Poultry Association. —Good egg. * * 4r Some Society Aladams lead their husbands—as well as their dogs—On a st ring. * * * i It’s a stale business, this throwing eggs at political candidates. Bulgaria, is going in for wholesale c.xocution, to prevent bloodshed in the (•oviit ry. At the Magistrate’s Court on Monday a Greymouth licensee was lined. . five shillings for allowing his chimney to catch lire:— 'i’he rain is falling fast ouvsidc And the blaze is licking the chimney side. On such a night my one desire -«s a rumbling, roaring, raging fire. So fetch the faggots to feed the flames And bring us a couple of what’s.is. names. Heigho! The Hames roar up tin* flue. Some more wood yet, boys- -that ’s the clue. What care I for the chimney, mates? "Five bob will fix the magistrates; And what’s five bob to me, old dears; I’ll take it out. in ten long beers, <'r fix the dift’renre for that dollar, I’’.v giving ei’ery b«?er a ‘‘collar.’’ .So stir the blaze my merry chaps And then I’l] turn it on—perhaps. 'l’he pair id’ white gloves that was presented to Air .Tustice Alpers on Tuesday meant that nobody was going to have a hard time—except the lawyers. # ® * 'l’he Mawhera has been throwing mud abouf. * * * Sergeant Fryer often assumes a glassy stare after six. Spain and Erance are. having a fight, ful time of it in Morocco. 'l’he jirobability of another war is only some China tease. Ruru appeared truly Rurural to Air Justice Alpers. * * * Some politicians suggest more waist It ss speed. * * V? Old fashioned women are a -hin ,‘l<i il is cvidcni that Ihe several football codes are not in league wi‘h i-.i'-h cl her on Ihe Coast. t.’rc .Ml Black is Righlon cverv irmc, * * * It would seem now that a <-ow ll'M ei'i-ws f"rn ge‘s ihe ear_aehc. whereas a man who chews beer merely g»‘t: -1 h c.’i da <die. Xn doubt Ihe Esquimaux weir glm to see Captain Amundsen drop in foi Australia ? s new anthem: L:ing t( T!i - Grrvmouth Borough ('ouiiri won‘ *t allow Sunday football. bill there’s not so much racquet about i as tennis. • Tom Ryan's motion was tabled. ’* * Upholsterers have a cushy job. * * The thousands of Greymouth peoph who witncssed the big picture at tin

back ■" baCk SPI '" s I ] With sonic people, it is a nm | between thinks. . Automobile Association who ..rflisit' ing the Coast on Tuesday will have a rattling time on some of our mads * * Hie West Coast Cricket Covneil !• thinking of (.laying erac-kit next yea. ' f : ■''' erounils are nm (irovideil. All swell, as the man said when he went to the dentist. 'lalking about dogs.—Judge, lawyers and witnesses in the Greymouth Sr_ I'leme Court on We.lnesd.lv. * -X- -xDuring the whitebait season some butchers don’t find it much chop. * * ■siDam the Arnold, anyway. ** ' # politicians have all gon e to Wellington for a good blow. * * Madame Melba has announced her intention of retiring.—Well, she’s been making a song about it long enough. Turtill has proved himself one <>f the Star flyers this season.—A Turtilldovc, for instance. * «• * A cable in Tuesday’s “Argus” said that the Prince of Wales placed a wreath on the grave of the late Oom Paul Kruger, at Pretoria, and then rested for the remainder of the day:— Put some ice upon my brow and bring me bottled beer; I always feel so queer, this season of the year. Aly daily toil extracts from me a mete of solid graft— Fellers of my craft are really under, staffed. I shake the dook of every chap who offers me his fist, know they will insist; and now I’ve sprained my wrist. They slide me ’round in motor cars, and all that sort of junk, I think to me a thunk —I’d like to do a bunk, And stretch, my weary limbs full out upon the roses red; But bust a pig wot’s bled; that ain’t the stuff for Ted. ; Aly programme’s all mapped out for me, my duties they define, Till sometimes I incline to think that > me ain’t mine. 'So put some ice upon my brow and pull a blighted cork. No corkscrew eh? oh lawk! Then use a blanky fork.