[Philip Quinlan]

Himself Jan Ode
(Ligging and Lolling down the pub)

Suff’ring from winter’s strife,
To ward off all malaise:
A vest of string.
Aye, that’s the thing!

Not nylon, no; not silk,
Nought of that ilk;
But wool and such;
It’s hue don’t matter much.

So long as it be thick,
Aye, that’s the trick!
I’ll wear a pullover;
Suff’ring be over!

And, for an hour or so,
I’ll go the pub,
But here’s the rub:
I have no cash in hand.
No free beer in this land!

O, earth, give us the corn,
(Come rain, come sun)
From which is whisky born,
And I’ll have one
On borrowed cash.
It’s time to dash!
O, keeping warm’s such fun!

Note - the only anagram I can find for my name is "Phalli quip inn" - not sure what that means?

Sicilian Salt Gal
(Daphne goes daft on holiday)

Midlife, swinger, Dirty Dancer -
Up for some fun. I like a beer:
A free one, I’m a chancer!

On holiday,
And, sick of Greek food, I
Have come to Sicily.

A root beer doesn’t do it, though,
For me: yeah, in your dreams!
I’ll have a Grappa, Twinkletoes.

Much do I drink, but little eat;
I have a blurring in the eyes.
S***e! How I sweat in this heat.

Finally, you seize my arm
As vomit thickens in my throat,
And I have lost my fatal charm.

So I give in; I’m full of booze.
The cab fare is your only gift to me;
My gift to you, puke on your shoes.