BEASTLY TALES

SUNDAY LUNCH

“Them olives got pits,” the housekeeper said,
As Lord Squalid Hatherby stuffed food in his head.
“Don’t swallow them pits, they’ll stuff you up proper.”
“No-one will help you, not even a copper!”
“And if you chomp on ‘em with your teeth,”
“You’ll need ‘em all out, top ‘n underneath.”

Lord Squalid looked at the housekeeper sideways,
He always wilted under her stern gaze.
“And for pud, we got Spotted Dick!”
“Don’ gobble it, or it’ll make you sick.”
“For ‘afters’ we ‘ave coffee ‘n cake.”
“That kind of cake, you love me to make.”
Lord Squalid liked gluttonizing on food that was solid.
Coffee was liquid, and so, unappealing to Lord Squalid.
“You likes your grub, we all knows that.”
So said the housekeeper, donning her hat.

Lord Squalid gobbled his lunch in a manner most reckless,
His willpower not to over indulge really quite feckless.
He finally finished his chewing and swallowing
And peeked into the kitchen, to see if there was anything following.
Reluctantly he came to the sad conclusion,
That any further courses were just an illusion.
He eructed in a manner most robust,
If the housekeeper had been there, she would have sneered in disgust!
“Them onions is what’ll give you gas!”
“All them foreign foods, you should pass.”
“Good English cooking, what’s good for your gut!”
“For anythink else, you should keep your gob shut!”