OK – I think the one with banana type growths in its armpits may possibly have taken a shine to me. It seems that poking a soggy chip in my ear and saying ‘ibble’ is a sign of affection. So, having noted the benefits that Mark and Baz and Tom have scored, I rashly promised him a deep and meaningful poem. He grunted something that sounded a bit like ‘P Aggle’ – and then ‘T S Eliot’ and grinned so hard, one of his warts popped. So – gulp – here goes…

The Love Song Of P Aggle Bananapits

Let us go then, you and I, when the fungus stuff is growing across your eye

Like the stuff that horses drop across a stable

Down certain streams of bubbling grease, past nasty squeaks

From one eyed farting trolls

With hairy lips who play with chewed up dolls

Streams that lead us to an overwhelming question

Is there any chance of a Pot Noodle?

Without the living creatures in it?

 

I thank you.

Not sure about the result. So far, he’s just given me a funny look and then wee’d down one leg (his own, I’m glad to say).

Is that you I can hear whimpering, Andy?

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