Ed. Note: Nothing is better to read for entertainment value than the mighty limerick. And today we close out 2025 (a somewhat quiet, dweebish year that appears happy not to have secured a place of infamy) with six limericks, in two sets of three, by Geraint Jonathan.

No rest for the wicked, the wiccan or the wickered. We will return tomorrow…Leila

3 Limericks from Wales, by Geraint Jonathan

(For John Bilsborough R.I.P)

There was a fine man from Caersws

Who went for a bath in his boots

He splashed for a while

But his feet remained dry

And his wardrobe full of moth-eaten suits.

There was a man by the name of Harris

Who dreamed of dying in a garret in Paris

But getting to France

He’d no fucking chance

Being skint and with it embarrassed.

There was an old man of Kidwelly

Who’s spent his life watching the telly

And so it was b’there

His eyes became square

As did, most curiously, his belly.

3 Limericks from the North by Geraint Jonathan

There was a young man new to Morecambe

Who loved the sea air it was awesome

But talk of monsters

Seen out in the waters

While untrue he still swore that he saw some.

There was an old man from Carlisle

Who bore his teeth in the shape of a smile

Among further adventures

He misplaced his dentures

And his gums did the work for a while.

There was a fine fellow of Kendal

Who was thought to be quite sentimental

I don’t know about that

He said but did add

It’s less of the senti, more the mental.