[Jerome Betts]

I shan't add to the growing nose-bag full of Tesco meat-and-meat-products gags: that would be flogging a dead horse... Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead)

But there may be money in dead horses, Carolyn. If the Spectator can flog a dead Richard the Third, can a request for verse on defunct equines be far behind? I think the Eratosphere Collective of Drillers and Amusers should assemble a precautionary bank of horse laughs in these days when the term ‘selling plater’ has acquired a strange new resonance.


Horses For Courses

While Fay loved Jean's finesse and flair
Her parents liked his fine cord breeches,
His sporting style and savoir faire
And rumours of his Swiss-banked riches.

Till one sad day her father tried
A question touching stud and stable,
And ‘Yes, I breed zem’, Jean replied,
But boldly added, ‘for ze table.’

[Brian Allgar]

You're undoubtedly right, Jerome. I shall start working on "Horse d'Oeuvres". And possibly another piece called "Lunch at The Nag's Head - that was our lunch". Or would that be gelding the lily?

[Brian Allgar]

We’re invited for lunch at a neighbouring pub,
“The Nag’s Head”, where it’s said they serve excellent grub.
The beer’s fully English, the cooking is French,
And since it is sunny, the table and bench
In the garden provide an agreeable venue
To swallow a pint while consulting the menu.
The waitress arrives, but she’s sorry to say
That everything’s off but the dish of the day.
We decide that we’ll have it, we’ve nothing to lose;
The weather is fine and there’s plenty of booze:
G & T for the ladies; the men stick to beers.
At last it is ready; our luncheon appears.
When the dish is uncovered, our appetite wanes -
They’ve boiled a whole nag’s head, with bridle and reins.

[Carolyn Thomas-Coxhead]

Where's the Galloping Gourmet when you need him most?

[Jerome Betts]

Behind the scenes in the kitchen preparing the mane course for Brian's ploughhorse lunch?

[FOsen]

I'd just be trotting out hackneyed old chestnuts that have been around furlong time.

[Jayne Osborn]

Hay! I don't wish to be saddled with an unstable bunch like you lot, but I haven't got much choice: I suppose I must 'ang about with you all for a bit.

Jayne

[Douglas G. Brown]

One of my favorite TV shows in the early 1960s was "Mr. Ed", whose title character was a talking horse. The theme song, which can be found on a web search ( I want to avoid copyright issues here ) begins

"A horse is a horse, of course, of course,"

Anyway, here in my entry in this sweepstakes, based on Mr. Ed's theme song;

A horse is a horse, of course, of course,
And Englishmen never dine on horse -
Unless, of course, that bloody horse
Is ground up with their beef.

xxxxx The Frenchman loves his wine, you know,
xxxxx And likes his women petite;
xxxxx But he will never touch cheveaux
xxxxx Unless he wants something to eat.

The hippophilic English race
Has suffered a minor loss of face.
But, Limeys, there’s not much disgrace
To be conned by the French.

xxxxx The North Korean eats rice, of course,
xxxxx That’s fried in the fat of a hog.
xxxxx But he will never sup on horse
xxxxx Until he has run out of dog.

The denizens of the Sceptred Isle
Will rouse a smugly smirking smile
In other nations for a while
Because of what they ate.

[Peter Goulding]

My son, the time has come for you to canter
across the field and vault the picket fence.
Nuzzle me once more, then get thee hence –
alas, there is no time for idle banter.
In freezer five thy father lies in Tesco,
round in shape and coated deep in frost;
but still I see him, nostrils flared, mane tossed
and whispering how great sex was al fresco.
But now is time to set thy fetlocks flowing,
as laid down by the ancient equine hymn.
I am old and sadly weak of limb,
but you, my darling son, you must be going.
Run swift to where the wild horses thrive –
the Findus van is coming up the drive.

[Jerome Betts]

Some promising runners and riders in a race so far without prize money!

In February 1868 Mr Punch was also piling on the nag gags at the expense of The Society for the Propagation of Horseflesh as an Article of Food, which mounted a campaign in the wake of a devastating cattle plague. However, its attempt to provide cheap meat for the poor foundered on horsemeat’s image as unsavoury-looking dog and cat food sold on skewers in the street.

Hence Mr P’s fun with the hippophagists’ after their banquet at the Langham Hotel on February 6th and its offering of ‘boiled withers’ or ‘Shetland pony with Salad’ at Ramsgate two days later. Cue jokes about horse-chestnuts and chestnut horses, pie-balds, first and second coursers, Horsemonger Gaol, and various verses such as ‘Nursery Songs for little Horse-Eaters’.

Hey diddle diddle!
Horse-loin in the middle,
Horse soup at each end for the spoon.
The little dogs fear their supply may run short
And the knackers may shut up shop soon.

Douglas, was 'Mr Ed' any relation to 'Francis the Talking Mule'?