Intermission - On a mission.

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Affairs of state call me interstate.

No doubt the varlet, Sir Percy Bisque Silley will be up to no good in my absence but it is a risk I must take.

I will deal with him on my return. Severely so.

Come Sancho...

...

Interlude - The Shroud of Tureen

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Some of you may remember a poetry challenge of some years ago. The prize was the 'hand' (figuratively, of course) of the fair Mayden. The competition was won by a late and able entry, the dark horse-dog, K9.

My entry can be found here but to get the full taste of the competition you need to start here and move towards the conclusion.

Now, the as was Percy Bysshe Silly has reappeared, re-badged, as Percy Bisque Silley; all cheek and bravado, he has launched a Silly Poetry Competition.

Who is this soupy usurper? What is his story? Who knows. The bisque is a worry, implying a thick yet creamy (Dare I say unctuous? Yes.) foe.

Should I compete? Probably not, but most probably will.

By way of a ladle taster, here is a poem, slightly risque from the Bisque:

Bad, Bad Percy Brown
By Percy Bisque Silley

I walked a tightrope tambourine,
A Davy Jones at play;
I flirted gamely with the beat
As Ladies swooned in splay.

O splaysome Ladies, woe, for Shame!
You make me blush and stammer –
Although tis true in London-Towne
They know Me as The Hammer.

Which received my light rebuke in the comments:

A poet, one Percy Bisque Silley,
Was seriously proud of his willy.
But when he asked a young maid
If she would like to be splayed
The reception was decidedly chilly.

So, as you can see, the the bar is starting very low.

◊◊◊

Footnote:

Having been chastised by Percy for not capitalising "willy", I added the following:

There was worry on the face of the gal.
Percy was quick her doubts to dispel:
"It's to do with the cold
With warmth it'll unfold"
She blushed and just murmured "Capital".

...