I thought of entering a competition about the Diamond Jubilee this morning but I was distracted when I knocked a cup of coffee over my writing desk and on to the carpet. The next half an hour was spent mopping up with a rancid flannel I retrieved from the bathroom. After that, the Muse had left me so only three verses got written. Here they are – in no particular order.


Does she fret when they wee on the carpet,

Or when they snaffle an ankle or two?

Does she toss them a biscuit

While boiling some brisket –

So deliciously tender to chew.


Does she sigh at the pile of red boxes

While she longs to be watching a soap?

Does she curse the word ‘duty’

And believes that there’s beauty

In reducing them all to a note?


Does she weep in her bed close to midnight

For the griefs she has suffered in life?

Does she cry for dear Maggie

And Mummy and Daddy

And Philip who’s caused her such strife….?

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