Thursday, 31 December 2015


Sometimes, kiddo,
Things get just a little too serious,
Don’t you find?
Life and Death and all that,
Well, I know they’re both important
And not always fun.

Times like that I’m glad I’ve got you to talk to
Even posthumously and
Believe me! It really does help.
Back at The Hermitage, the Devil came by with some more visions
I could have done without.

The tempting fiend, diobolically transmogrified
Into a monkey-fingered Indian cook,
Curried favour and you, Piggles,
Served, with poppodoms, you,
Sweet-flavoured enough to make a saint spit,
On a spit.

You had been plumping up nicely for a pet
But the Devil, who envies all that’s good,
Disposed me to see:
Four Cumberland sausages for your four fat legs,
A pink pork belly that besought beans,
A ham-acting rubber bum.
It was enough to try the patience.

What saved you this time?
Saint George, bless her!, came by with fish and chips.
Nice piece of cod, Tony!
Passeth understanding, Captain George!
We laughed.
You escaped incommunicado
beneath the table.
You were remitted.

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