Most amusing, Rob.
(I went for the sweet cigarettes and liquorice pipes too, and they haven't made me a smoker).
Bombay Duck! oh fish, not fowl,
My past repasts adorning!
For you I pine, and long I howl
Since that benighted morning
When EC jobsworths’ rule forbade
Your continued importing
Since ‘in no factory’ you’re made,
But dried, in sun disporting,
As fish-catch of small village trade!
Why penalise the humble? Oh,
Odour, taste, lost! I, dismayed,
Wept for my vanished Bummalo.
Permitted though at last, you’re still
Not sold where once I found you;
I’ll sing your praise and count the days
Till hindrance no more hound you.
Last edited by Graham King; 06-12-2013 at 08:52 AM.
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