Here is the crappy poem what I wrote to accompany the gift I gave my compatriot James Grayston at the after-show party, in the ceremony we call the ‘Netties’.
This inmate is further in years,
Than his partner in crime, it appears.
When calling for “Food!”,
His “Pleas” are quite good
His “Not me!” a treat for the ears.
But way back before he could shave
La la la la la la la lave,
The careers officer,
Der der der der der,
Cos he wanted to be “Depraved!”
Utter shit I know, but all I could come up with between the matinee and the last performance. The poem I got from Jane was much better.