[Brian Allgar]

Oh, well, since Bazza seems to be lying low, noblesse oblige. Every line more or less has a rhyme, although not in a regular order. (I borrowed 'ragout' from Chris.) And I must confess that there's not much of a connection between the acrostic and the subject-matter.

Freddy Fitzherbert Fitzackerly Fortescu,
Utterly clueless, though ‘uper-clarse’ (sic),
Crassly unlettered, and thick as a brick,
Knew, so he thought, how to make a ragout.

Taking some beef that was stringy and tough,
Heaving a packet of old vermicelli
Into the mixture, some rank haricots,
Slivers of mutton that, frankly, were off,

Fillets of cod that were barely so-so,
Oysters, an eight-month-old gift from his father,
Reeking and rancid (but so was his Pa).

All this he believed he had seen on the tel-
Ly, confused with a recipe used by his Ma.
After the meal, his companions felt rather
Regurgitative, and were fatally sick,
Killed off by the scoff from the trough of this toff.