EARLY ONE EVENING

Early one evening, just as the pubs were opening,
A traveller came walking down a dark and rainy street,
Noticed the door ajar,
Stepped into the public bar,
"Landlord, I would like a drink, and something nice to eat".

"I fancy some some crusty bread, and roast beef of old England,
Butter from the churn, and tangy home made pickles too,
And if you think you could,
Draw some bitter from the wood,
I'd be most content to quaff a foaming pint or two".

"I'll sit here by your open fire, and contemplate infinity,
The quiet of your hostelry shall creep into my heart,
And if a regular,
Should chance to step into the bar,
Mayhap I'll engage him in a contest with the dart".

"Come in", said the landlord, "I got prepacked fishpaste sandwiches,
And soya sausage substitute I purchase by the ton,
And should yer fancy it,
I might defrost a bit,
And plaster it wiv ketchup, on a supermarket bun".

"I'll sling yer a plastic pot of supersparkle Reddibru,
As advertised on telly, by a famous rugby scrum,
No filfy barrels 'ere,
We serves 'ygenic beer,
Safely paralysed inside these alyerminium drums".

"Sit dahn by the fire squire, I'll switch the logs on right away,
Or maybe you'd prefer to play my latest fruit machine,
Free cherries in a row,
That should set yer 'eart aglow,
Or 'ow abaht me jukebox, that should really set the scene".

The traveller sat down beside the polystyrene inglenook,
The plastic beams vibrated to the electronic sound,
Took a bite, began to chew,
Sank his pint of Reddibru,
Gave a ghastly gurgle, and fell dead upon the ground.

"Oh dear", said the landlord, as he switched his colour telly on,
"Anuvver fatal accident, the fird this week, I fear,
If they can't 'old their own,
Why don't they stay at 'ome,
MY GAWD, YER DON'T 'ARF GET SOME FUNNY CUSTOMERS IN 'ERE".


Researched (nicked) from a Fred Wedlock album. I'm not sure, but it might be another Miles Wooton.

Don T.

P.S. Of course none of this applies to the Mudcat Tavern.