The Feast Of Love

If food be the music of love then feast on, my friends.

Don’t stand on ceremony, don’t

Hold back please – just feel free to get stuck right in…

Don’t be afraid to roll your sleeves up,

It’s time to get down and get dirty.

 

 

No need for knives and forks, no need for table manners,

Or fine linen napkins

To dab effetely at a spot of soup on your chin.

We’ll have none of that fussiness here.

Why waste time with etiquette

When there’s so much fine food on the table?

 

 

No need for small talk, or stilted dinner table conversation,

That just gets in the way of

The important business of stuffing your face.

Words aren’t the thing here my friends,

We’ll skip all the niceties…

 

 

You’ll have gravy all down the front of your shirt

By the time you’ve finished here,

I can promise you that!

You’ll have custard splashed all over your cardigan

You’ll have moules mariniere in your moustache

And strands of the very finest sauerkraut woven into your beard…

 

 

You’ll have sweet-and-sour sauce dribbled all over your socks,

And semolina in your briefcase.

You’ll have pickled onions crammed in your waistcoat pocket and

Halva in your handbag

You’ll have ketchup sprayed all over your tee shirt

And truffle sauce on your jeans.

 

 

I could go on,

But I won’t.

Love’s a mystery to us all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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