I know of schizophrenia, but this is remarkable.

The countryside abounds in rustic charm-
I wonder why I've never been before?
I envy he who labours on a farm
Instead of punching keys behind a door.
I love the ‘zoidurrr’ and the hearty food,
The bawdy songs the locals like to sing,
Their readiness to frolic in the nude
Inside a sacred megalithic ring,
And how their wise old womenfolk attest
A swallowed shrew’s the thing to cure a wart.
Tomorrow, which is May Day, they request
I join them for a function of some sort.
I’ve heard a cryptic rumour that they plan
To introduce me to their 'wicker man’…?

Rob,

I shall have nightmares tonight, now that you've reminded me about Wicker Man. That film totally freaks me out. Aaargghhh!!!! :eek:

But seriously, that's a terrific entry, with an unusual angle. I'd put money on it...

Jayne

Thank you Jayne. Sorry for the nightmares, though.

Nah, it's theology.

“Oh, you must come and visit me, Darling,
in this charming old cottage of mine.
I have a nice guest room,
in fact it’s the best room;
the view from it’s simply divine.”

So I went, leaving what I was used to:
city life with its permanent thrill.
My great-aunt was charming,
though it was alarming
how difficult days were to fill.

No, I’m sorry, I can’t hack the country:
the slow life, the silence as well.
That first time – and last time –
not my kind of pastime
at all. It’s as lonely as hell.

The country was at war. The men had gone,
And farmers needed help producing food,
So city-dwelling girls were called upon
To 'do their bit'. Although the work was rude,
Ophelia volunteered to be a Land Girl,
Her first time in the English countryside.
The farmer greeted her: "My, you're a grand girl!
There's much to learn; my son will be your guide."

One day, she asked him: "What are 'country matters'?"
The farmer's son was happy to explain,
And soon her clothes (and virtue) lay in tatters.
Later, she told him: "Well, they can't complain;
I've learnt to feed the piglets in their pens,
Muck out the stables, dig for victory,
Collect the eggs each morning from the hens . . .
I've 'done my bit'." He grinned, for so had he.

Plainly Jayne's lonely lady and Brian's farmer's boy should meet. Which one of you is going to write the tale?

How pc is The Oldie?

Hard to say, Alan, without knowing what you want to send in. A good way of judging the tone would be to scroll down through this forum and look at all the "results" threads Jayne has posted. That will give you a "feel" for the sort of thing that goes down well.