Wanted: A Bicycle Made For Two

 

Thus read the advertisement which appeared in the local press shortly before Caddoc and Ada planned to marry. He dreamed of taking her on a tandem tour around local beauty spots for their honeymoon....  Sadly, one was not forthcoming, and their story ran more like this...

"One minute, dearest," Caddoc said."I've things to see to in my shed."
"I'm the one", Ada replied, "needs seeing to!"
But Caddoc cried "Look you! My leek is growing limp!"
"That's not all, you weird Welsh wimp, that's hanging down in glum dejection where I should spy your Welsh . . . "
"Perfection!"
came the rejoinder from her spouse busy in his new greenhouse. Soon Ada's fears were laid to rest, and Caddoc wooed her, full of zest...
"All it needs is a brief spell of watering from my special well. Then you'll find your leek just grew some. We can make a blissful twosome."
And soon young Cad let out a shout.
"So THAT'S what nuptials are about! No more pottering in my shed- We'll spend our time in bed, instead!

You can see more of Caddoc waxing lyrical HERE, thanks to his being reminded of the stars in Ada's eyes, after Tess' "Cycles Sirius" brought back his disappointment over the non-appearance of a tandem...but Alicia was to blame for the honeymoon theme...

BRAvissimo!

After seeing this week's prompt  from Tess at Magpie Tales, Caddoc set to work with a will. But he could be heading for trouble.  Perhaps I should suggest he destroys the evidence . . .

ANOTHER POEM FOR MY BELOVED

by Caddoc Trellis

Dear Ada, now you're getting older

you need a stouter boulder-holder

to hoist them nearer to your shoulder

and help them both not to turn colder.

I found this on a raunchy site

while I was surfing late last night.

I think those cups will fit just right,

and hold you up for my delight,

my Ada, my sweet sexy sight.

My Lips Are Sealed- Almost!

I am a mollusc;
from inside my shell
I will never see the sea.
I may feel the ocean,
but have no concept
of its vastness.

Must I forgo security
and leave my home
to acquire wisdom?

Or, like a hermit,
will inner spaces
allow me to complete
a meaningful journey
in my solitary world?

This continues in the same introspective vein as my previous post. Ada seems to be on one of her 'Let's ignore Caddoc' kicks, which gives me plenty of time to look inside myself in search of yet more answers.

To the question 'Why stop at 55 words?' I have found a reason on the bottom line HERE!

Man Or Mouse?

Thanks to Alicia's Maffick Monday prompt, I'm looking for answers... I need to know more about how to get angry- enough to stand my ground against Ada when she's on the warpath!

Anger Management? Ah! Just the job-
it might teach me to be a proper slob,
to rant and rave and shout...

Oh, dear!

That's not what they're about-

Now I see I've got it wrong...
Their mantra is "Do get along!"

Time For Frivolity

Before Ada comes down to my shed and finds me writing ditties about the fairer sex, here's an off the cuff offering for Alicia, who posed the question "What if birds ruled the world?"

Answer: They do, dearie, they do!

Birds do rule the world -
but not the feathered kind!
I think you'll find they walk on legs
tacked to a cute behind!
 
They're really ladykillers,
as all us menfolk know,
but could we do without 'em?
I'm sure we'd all say "NO!"

Sorry Ada!, blame it on Alicia! Your ever loving Caddoc. X

Caddoc!

It has come to my notice that Mr T has been bandying my love of dragons about in Blogland, following a strange illustration that popped up all over the place today.

Here is my answer to him!

Welsh dragons are red and not green!
Cad, how could you never have seen
the difference between their red and that green
which Jinksy sploshed over her screen?

Sorry, jinksy, but it IS a bit bright!

A Monday Special

I see my Ada has been wandering Blogland again, writing messages to a gentleman doctor. But she has lead me to discover what might be a fun new blog to follow, HERE where Alicia asks us to write about a terrible dancer, for her first steps onto the floor of the Prompt Palais de Dance.

A terrible dancer
is usually a chancer.
He whirls girls around the floor,
hoping they'll stay for more,
as he craftily plants a
kiss on their cheek!
What a way to start the week...

Please note, Ada, this is not autobiographical.
Love, 
Caddoc. X