A Night To Remember
It can’t have been the scallops,or the rump of Islay lamb,
washed down with white Rioja, and followed by sweet meringue.
It wasn’t the skate au poivre or the salmon canapés,
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.
Relentless, there’s no respite. In purgatory now moaning,
in agony exclaiming, as tormented he writhes about,
“Must be a change in the weather
has caused this devilish gout”.
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