Daft Bob

Daft Bob is as daft as a very daft thing
Much dafter than your average brush
So I’ll tell you the story of daft Bob
If you’ll grant me the obligatory hush

Daft Bob lived with his long-standing missus
A grand lady known as ‘Our Alice’
They rolled along nicely in a daft sort of way
Without any rancour or malice

But then a dark cloud on the horizon loomed
Threatening their soporific solitude
When Alice’s brother Jack came to stay
Terminating the refined, tranquil mood

The mother had passed on so he had to arrive
You could tell that Bob wasn’t too keen
But a man has to go where life takes him
Especially when he can’t cook or clean

For when it came to domestic chores
Jack wasn’t too handy or willing
And daft Bob was soon quick to spot this
Despite him not being the full shilling

But what Jack could do well was carp and moan
He certainly liked a good whine
And daft Bob was forced to sit and endure
That relentless, unending chime

He liked his eggs boiled for four minutes 
No more or less could he take
He was quite precise about the size of his pies
When Alice attempted to bake

Black puddings were done in the traditional way
His potatoes were always well salted
But though she tried hard with iced fancies
They were all too frequently faulted

Pikelets must not be overheated
Or it spoilt the flavour within
And when she served him burnt scallops
Jack tossed them straight in the bin

One Sunday Alice served afternoon tea
With two biscuits each, on a plate
But sadly not quite to Jack’s liking
And so he began to create

I would have preferred custard creams
He proclaimed, whilst half closing each eye
But then all hell was let loose 
As daft Bob suddenly let fly

You’re so full of cack! He roared in a rage
As he gave Jack’s head a great whack
And then he pushed his chair over 
And Jack was flat on his back

He gaped at Bob in amazement
Breathless and unable to shout
And daft though daft Bob certainly was
His bravery was no longer in doubt

Jack’s eyes opened wider in horror
As Bob kicked him hard on the knee
His hobnobs were crushed in the fracas
His string vest was all soaked with tea

He leapt up and seized his windcheater
(Three quarter length and quilted)
And then he lunged towards the door
As all his courage wilted

He got the bus to Warrington
Still in some considerable pain
He limped around for quite some time
Despite the pouring rain

He ended up – God knows where!
He never ever once came back
Though Alice did get a letter
From her unlovely brother jack

I know I’m not welcome in your house
It cannot be my home
For I was attacked and described as cack
He wrote, with an acidic tone

There’s talk of him having a lady friend
A hardworking sort some would say
While others maintain he lives all alone
And survives on the odd takeaway

Daft Bob is as daft as ever he was
But as happy as he ever could be
And a mischievous glint remains in his eye
As he sips his afternoon tea

So take this story as a grim warning
You may not get another
Don’t take a man’s wife for granted
Just because you’re the brother