The little red car bobbing down the lane
Zipping thru the countryside
Waiting at the lights
Parking up between the lines
Is so much more than a little red car

With sympathetic hands she mends the wounded
Sends them on their way
Fights her corner with the managers in their pointy shoes
Lends a sympathetic ear
Saves lives

Makes her way back to the little red car
Thinks about her day, her family
Passing green hedges
Noticing the sunset
Looks forward to a cup of tea
As the little red car bobs back down the lane

Wags from the dog
Jen's home

There was a vicar from Crewe
Whose congregation were few
To make amends he brought in his hens
And they all lined up on a pew

Then he compiled an avian choir
(For the singing voice of the hens was dire
And the only song the cockerel knew
Was ****-a-doodle-do)

The church fell silent as we heard
The Lord is my Shepherd from the minor bird
The vicar invited us to pray
And we got the Lords Prayer from the African grey

There followed a rendition of psalm thirty four
Performed without fault from the tenor macaw
The parakeets squawked and scratched their fleas
As they jumped up and down on the ***** keys

The vicar was thrilled it was going so well
The geese gave a honk as they pulled on the bell
But then there appeared right at the back
An evil sparrowhawk poised to attack

Calamity reigned inside the church
The African grey fell off his perch
The first to escape was the tenor macaw
As fast as he could through the open door

The chickens shrieked and went home in a flap
The minor bird had a heart attack
The geese walked away back to their pen
And the church fell silent once again

Lottie lived in an old pebble-mashed cottage in the middle of nowhere, with a ***** muzzle tree in the garden. She always wore white glubbs on a Sunday, and going to mumble sales was her favourite pass-time.

  All year round a lyre would smoulder in the gate, as the house was not connected to the lucidity grid, which Lottie considered the work of the davel. She liked to recite Shakespeare to her clogs but as she got older would mix up her worms and get her lettuces in the wrong order. At times I was the only one who could stand on her.

   There was a lovely orchard out the back in which all kinds of baffles, tums, bears and cheeses grew. She made the best crum plumble you never tasted.

  She loved her macaroni wireless, the old type powered by molluscs, although in latter times she accepted my gift of an up to date transittor with a built-in bat pack.

  We would ***** away many an hour as she reminisced about her youth, when she had traveled far and wide in the grand old days of steam *****.
  
  Lottie kept all her marbles right up to the end in an old sweet jar, kindly leaving them to me when she passed. So now it's up to me to carry the mantelpiece.  Dear old Lottie was unusual, but I liked her concentricity.

There's no one quite like Lottie
I'm sure you will agree
To some she didn't make much sense
But she always did to me