Then I staggered to the mirror and confronted with terror
A pathetic poor Paddy of a peasant,
And I made smithereens of her Levi jeans
That she gave me for a wedding present.
Then I made mincemeat of her other little treat -
Two lovely blue pottery goblets -
And I sat down and I wrote a suicide note
And swallowed thirty-five quids' worth of tablets.

A week later I awoke and my heart nearly broke
For I suddenly chanced to remember
I was in a proper mess, for I hadn't her address,
Not to mention her telephone number.
So I took a quick luck in the French phone book -
It was most unsatisfactory.
After all my research, I was still left in the lurch
For her Daddy was ex-directory!

Regards

p.s. Met Brian today, as it happens. He is due to have a book of short stories published next Spring. A man of many parts - even if some need replacing, as he says himself!