A jackanory is a story in cockney rhyming slang.
Why not sit back and read about the misadventures of one London lad who took things a bit too far?
This story was contributed by one of our readers.
He hoped he would also see the tutti fruity full richard with the nice arris behind the Ringo.
When he got there, there she was with her Bethnals stretched tight over her shapely bottle and wearing a long and flexy blouse, which showed off her lovely thruppennies making him feel a bit fine and dandy. She was also wearing a blonde irish which made her look even more sexy.
Well, he bought her a Vera Lynn and they had a chat. He had few pints of smile and an I’m so and then went for a jimmy. When he got back, there she was, putting on her billy. “Can I give you a lift?” he asked. Her north and south opened revealing her lovely pearly Hampsteads. Her mincers sparkled as she flashed him a dog’s dinner of a roof tile. “That would be chicken and rice” she murmured as she pulled her daisies over her plates and up her shapely mystics.
He couldn’t wait to get his brasses on them. He opened the roger for her and they went out into the frog. It was a bit taters but the lah-di-dahs were shining and she pressed her sweet body against his to keep warm. This bird his Donald Duck was in. He could feel it in his Newingtons. The Aunt Nell of her filled his Mary Rose and his hampton stirred in anticipation.
His old jam jar was nearby and they climbed in. He started to beehive up the Jack and Jill and it wasn’t long before they reached a deserted light and dark. After a quick heavenly bliss and a grope, they got out of the jam and went behind the bushes. She lay down on her Cilla. He undid her Bethnal Greens and slid his jazzes into her Alan Whickers. It wasn’t long before he found her Bloody Mary Jacky Danny.
What a Donald Duck to remember that was! It left him completely creamed, and his strawberry going like the clappers. And he hadn’t even thought to ask her moniker. If she was like this in the Alan Clark, what would she be like in his uncle ned?
That was lovely he said as he dropped her off, but don’t say a dicky bird. No, don’t worry, I’ll keep it zipped, she replied with a Sandy Lyle. See you tomorrow.
When he got to the gates of Rome he was really cream crackered. He called out for his trouble. The cat and mouse was in a right two and eight. It was never very lemon tart, but now there was a dreadful pen and ink.
“I just popped out to the lollipop“, he responded.
He assumed her Chalfonts must be giving her gyp.
She came rushing down the apples and smacked him in his north and south. He’d never pearly queen her like this before. She was quite Mariah Carey! He tried to grab her round the Gregory, but she brought her knee up into his orchestras and gave him a right unscheduled meeting.
“What’ve you been up to you bastard?” she screamed. “I don’t Adam and Eve it. You’re Brahms and Liszt. You’ve been down the rubber ‘aven’t you, you merchant, spendin’ all our bangers? And you half inched some from my purse, you tea leaf. I bet there’s none left for me and I can smell the Penelope Cruz on you. I know, you’ve been sniffing around that little tart of a barmaid again haven’t you!”
He collapsed on the floor, groaning.
“I’ll stop you shagging that little paraffin lamp. What would she see in a randy old git like you anyway? I bet she doesn’t know you don’t even have any Kathy Burke and you’re peppermint. She’s welcome to you.”
He crawled into the kitchen, blew a raspberry and was Moby Dick on the floor. The end of another perfect day.
When he woke he was still on the Roger Moore in the kitchen. He wasn’t sure how he got there, and he still felt a bit uncle dick, but the cat and mouse was quiet. The love and kisses must have gone to her uncle ted without him. Why would she have done that?
Slowly the events of yesterday came back to him. What a real Tony Blair that had been! He got up and shuffled to the Kermit for an Eartha Kitt. He looked in the mirror. He was in a right two and eight, but what should he do? He knew the trouble wouldn’t take him back; he’d made a right jaffa cake with that oily rag from the near and far.
“Hello me old mate. I had a bit of a Barney wiv the trouble last night. Can I rattle over?”
By the time he reached his friend’s house be had had time to think.