Digby Dogbreath and Henrietta Halitosis

Henrietta Halitosis

Suffered a very cruel fate

The thing that you’d find if you got up too close is

Her breath smelt of rotting fish bait.

Digby Dogbreath’s isolation

Began when he was thirteen,

For Digby’s every exhalation

Made all those around him turn green.

But Digby loved Ms Halitosis,

And she to her Dogbreath was true,

They imbibed their environment as through osmosis,

Though the rest of the world just said “Poo!”

Very few people would venture too near,

For the airwaves around them were foul.

But they never felt sad or rejected no fear!

And you’d never see them frown or scowl.

One day Henrietta said, “Digby my love,

I‘ve got the most wonderful news;

We’ve been blessed with a gift from the stork up above;

And in eight months a baby is due”.

Their joy was complete for a couple of days,

As they floated on cloud number nine

But slowly a question formed out of the haze,

At the back of Hen’s practical mind.

Genetical issues worried her slightly,

Her child should be happy and strong,

So she went to her doctor to ask him politely

If afflictions like hers were passed on.

The doctor told her that she mustn’t worry

Her baby was healthy and stout.

And then tried to get her to leave in a hurry

Before all his patients passed out.

On the day of the birth, proud Digby was there

To encourage and help Henrietta,

He told her to breathe, not to gulp in the air,

Though the nurse thought not breathing was better.

When the baby was born, she opened her eyes

And let out her very first shout

And the pong it produced was no great surprise,

Her parentage never in doubt.

So Harriet Dogbreath – Halitosis,

Who’s known to the whole world as Hal,

Is happy and loved, and I don’t think she’s noticed,

She’ll never be no femme fatale.

Montague Marcus McManus and His Special Diet

Montague Marcus McManus of York

Never left home without his own fork,

For Monty was sure that wherever he went,

The cutlery there would surely be bent,

And dirty, and probably rusty to boot,

And Montague Marcus was sharp and astute.

So even if lunch was not on his agenda

Montague took no risks, no matter how slender,

And taking a new plastic fork from the packet

Slipped it in the pocket of his purple jacket.

 

Montague Marcus McManus one day

Set off on a trip, he was going away;

To see his great aunt on the Island of Muck,

Where folk are outnumbered by sheep and by ducks,

By seals and by otters, though not by great auks.

Thus the chances seemed high they‘d be short of new forks.

So Monty packed plenty, and just for good measure

He tucked into his suitcase his one greatest treasure;

A beautiful fork made of silver and gold

With the crest of the Clan of McManus of old.

 

Now Great Auntie Minnie McManus, it’s said

Was losing the marbles she had in her head.

She’d always been quirky, eccentric and rude,

And like her great nephew was strange about food.

But now she would only eat things with a straw,

Such as soup or hot milk, that don’t trouble the jaw.

It could come in a bottle, a can or a packet,

When she had a delivery, the boy had to stack it,

In neat piles of sachets, and mountains of tins

Heaped so high in the larder; you could barely get in.

 On the evening that Montague Marcus arrived,

(He came on the boat at a quarter to five),

She sat him right down to give him his tea,

And set out before him a bowl of green pea.

She didn’t expect him to eat with a straw –

For he’d written to tell her a fortnight before

That he’d bring his own cutlery, so she needn’t worry,

And that he wasn’t faddy, though he didn’t eat curry.

So she was surprised by the look of dismay

That came to his face when he saw his tea tray.

“Oh dear, Auntie Minnie”, poor Monty exclaimed,

“I think that there’s something I should have explained,

I’ve brought my own eating utensils from York,

But the thing is I only can eat with a fork.

This soup looks so nice and delicious it’s true,

But the nearest to soup I can eat is a stew.

Do you think I might have something else for my tea?”

But Great Auntie Millie said, “Oxtail, or pea.

That’s the choice that you have my Sassenach child,

For mulligatawny you said you reviled.”

 So Montague Marcus McManus of York

Spent a week in the Highlands with only a fork,

To scoop up his soup every lunchtime and dinner,

So as you might guess, he’d grown notably thinner

By the time he went home on the Saturday ferry.

(Though it’s true he had managed to pick a few berries).

But the new, svelter Monty who arrived at York Station

Was ready to bring his idea to the nation;

The brilliant McManus diet; eat all you’re able

But eat only soup, with just forks on the table.

 And that is how Monty McManus became

The world famous man, whose world famous name

Was in all the supplements each blinking weekend.

Till all the large people whose figures were sleekened

Revered and cherished the man and his diet,

(Though to others his diet engendered disquiet),

They found they could dine for hours on end

And sit round the table with all of their friends,

And chatter and laugh, or have meaningful talks,

As they slurped on their great bowls of soup with their forks.

The Fabled Freaky Foodies

Titus O’Toole is a bit of a fool,

He covers his dinner with custard,

On cold corned beef hash, on his bangers and mash,

Then he brushes his gnashers with mustard.

Pippa McPratt is much smarter than that,

She says Titus is stupid – or crazy!

But her pudding’s not ready, be it fruit pie or jelly

Till it’s smothered in onion gravy.

Little Miss Twit really takes the biscuit

For she always has breakfast at noon;

She has kippers with clams, spicy chutney of yams

Which she slurps from an old wooden spoon.

The Reverend Clott is the worst of the lot,

He puts jam on his roast turkey dinner,

As he’s watching his weight, for dessert he has eight

Trifle butties, to help him get thinner.

So get out of your head that thing you just said,

‘Bout my manners being fit for a stable,

And be glad I’m the one that your eyes light upon

When you ask who just burped at the table.

Windy The Poo

A gaseous emission slipped silently out

And nobody noticed a thing.

I sat in my seat, looking down at my sprouts,

And hoping the thing wouldn’t stink.

‘Cause sprouts may be known for their vitamin quote

But also they’re quite rightly famed

For their power to make a boy fart like a goat,

Although of course they’re never blamed.

And so, as you guessed, this one made itself known,

To the folks sitting all round the table.

To Nana and Gramps, Uncle Pete and Aunt Joan,

And especially Great Auntie Mabel.

Who wrinkled her nose, with a quizzical look,

To see if the dog was nearby.

While my father was quickest to bring me to book;

“Was that you?” I said, “No Sir, not I.”

But everyone said they knew very well who,

Well, you can’t really say it was Mabel,

Or Nana or Gramps, it was Windy the Poo!

(Yes my digestive tract is quite fabled).

And Windy the Poo danced around for a while,

As I stared red faced down at the ground,

Till on Aunt Mabel’s lips there appeared a sly smile,

From her backside, a raspberry sound.

“Don’t blame the poor lad,” she came to my aid,

These things really do have to come out.

I think it’s important; the point should be made,

We should blame the one who cooked the sprouts!

Well of course, in the light of this second example

Of colonic perfume at the table,

They all had to agree, the proof was quite ample:

Blame the cook, ‘cause you can’t blame Aunt Mabel.