Alf
Established Member
As I assume our resident poet, MMD, is probably a little busy, instead you can suffer my poor attempts at festive foolery. I'm not a poet, and I know it...
(To the tune of “Good King Wenceslas “)
Normite woodworker looked out,
At the sight of routers.
While The Slope lay round about,
Steeply sliding doubters.
Brightly shone the Unisaw that night,
Though the dado cruel,
When a galoot came in sight
Gathering rusty tool-oools.
Wotcha, galoot, please don’t shirk,
If thou know’st it, tell me.
How’d I make this plough plane work,
And which is the best; Lee or Lie?
Normite friend, go from this place
Surrounded by tailed demons;
Choose instead a state of grace
And get arms like gorillas…
Bring me smoothers, bring me saws,
Bring me chisels hither:
Plenty more in my bench drawers
So no more need to dither.
Galoot and Normite, forth they went,
Forth they went together;
Slipping down the hand tool Slope
Shavings flying hither.
‘Loot, the Slope grows steeper now,
Fear I am c#ll#ct#r
Bank account is getting low
And SWMBO starts to mutter.
Mark my words, Normite friend,
Heed these words if able.
If thou wants that Clifton plane,
Sell that saw of table.
Down that Slope the Normite trod,
Claiming to be a user,
Guided by the Old Tool Gods,
His power tools were losers.
Therefore, woodies all, be sure,
Normite and Neander,
Ye who now will all guffaw,
May next year be a Slider…
Happy Christmas to one and all.
Cheers, Alf
(To the tune of “Good King Wenceslas “)
Normite woodworker looked out,
At the sight of routers.
While The Slope lay round about,
Steeply sliding doubters.
Brightly shone the Unisaw that night,
Though the dado cruel,
When a galoot came in sight
Gathering rusty tool-oools.
Wotcha, galoot, please don’t shirk,
If thou know’st it, tell me.
How’d I make this plough plane work,
And which is the best; Lee or Lie?
Normite friend, go from this place
Surrounded by tailed demons;
Choose instead a state of grace
And get arms like gorillas…
Bring me smoothers, bring me saws,
Bring me chisels hither:
Plenty more in my bench drawers
So no more need to dither.
Galoot and Normite, forth they went,
Forth they went together;
Slipping down the hand tool Slope
Shavings flying hither.
‘Loot, the Slope grows steeper now,
Fear I am c#ll#ct#r
Bank account is getting low
And SWMBO starts to mutter.
Mark my words, Normite friend,
Heed these words if able.
If thou wants that Clifton plane,
Sell that saw of table.
Down that Slope the Normite trod,
Claiming to be a user,
Guided by the Old Tool Gods,
His power tools were losers.
Therefore, woodies all, be sure,
Normite and Neander,
Ye who now will all guffaw,
May next year be a Slider…
Happy Christmas to one and all.
Cheers, Alf
