A Night To Remember

It can't have been the scallops Or the rump of Islay lamb, Washed down with white Rioja Followed by sweet meringue. It wasn't the skate au poivre Or smoked salmon canapes Nor garlic stuffed green olives Or the double chocolate glaze. The ruby red barolo Is surely not to blame (It was so very very good, We had some more of the same). The piquant piccalilli That came with the ham terrine Was absolutely to die for, In French, "Cuisine Sublime". The roasted veg in garlic, The rich redcurrant sauce, All perfectly delicious - And then we passed the port. Replete, we left the table Of coffee to partake, With a couple of Glenlivets To sup for old times' sake. A perfect evening, then off to bed To dream of happy days. 'Twas not to be, a sudden waking With a screeching shout of pain, The hounds of hell were gnawing At a foot now sore inflamed And throbbing, throbbing, throbbing, In purgatory now moaning, In agony exclaiming,as, Tormented, he writhes about, "Must be a change in the weather Has caused this devilish gout !"