As I listened to Don Maclean sing American Pie,
I wondered, as he sang about those stereotypical
‘Good ole boys’, where they really that good,
when they all seemed to be drinking ‘whisky and rye’?

Well, I mused, it was an improvement on the usual 
musical fare I'd been reared on,
and wondered how the old folks would have coped
with being stuck in the parental home.

They had approved of my lady friend Claribel, 
and told me it was about time I settled down,
and laughed when I referred to her as my ‘lock-down gal.’

Later on my daily walk I bumped into Brendan,
an old Irish actor who, though a veteran of stage,
was only known for playing a rebel in a
movie shot in his own Co. Donegal, 
coincidentally where my mother hailed from.

We discussed Maclean’s song and other famous thought-provoking lyrics,
like the Bach-influenced classic from Procul Harem,
A Whiter Shade Of Pale, with its virgins heading somewhere east of Suez,
and we both agreed that it stood out among other classics.

But Brendan sensed that all was not well in my confined existence.
So I explained that Claribel had insisted on watching that
daft Irish comedy Father Ted.

Being half Irish I was rather touchy about this,
with herself saying I shouldn’t be so sensitive,
and our relationship had hit a hiatus.

Then Brendan told me a story that got me thinking.
Early in his career he’d been typecast as 'a thick Paddy',
a character constantly in trouble for his wild drinking,

Though Bren was reluctant to play what some would
call an English stereotype of his fellow countrymen,
at the time he was living on cast-away vegetables and stale bread.

Years later he is still earning royalties from what became a very successful comedy.

He is still vilified by the PC brigade, but points outs
that the movie also featured a Colonel Midsummer Montague,
a pompous stereotypical Englishman,
but nobody criticises the venerable English actor, Giles Gumshoe-Geraint,
who played him in that very funny film.

I digested this example of hypocrisy and vowed to say I was wrong about Father Ted.

My apology did smooth the waters somewhat,
but it was my anxiety-induced need to visit the toilet 
which actually restored diplomatic relations.

It happened thus – I could hear her singing in the bath
and splashing her plastic duck,
but I wasn’t even allowed in to tickle her feet.

So, as the water closet was barred to me due to her morning ablutions,
I had to walk to the public convenience for a you-know-what.
There, I absently-mindedly examined the rude drawings
that adorn these establishments.

And was drawn to one, showing two lovers
throwing things at each other behind a closed curtain.
Underneath was written, ‘Lock-in love may be tough,
but keep your pecker up, for mine’s available for hire’.

I returned with a picture of it, and herself smirked fit to bust,
but not at that piece of dubious wit.

This proved to be a turning point in our relationship as,
you see, it had proved there was mileage in our relationship yet.

For I’d laughingly suggested that I could follow the
example of that toilet advert,
and offer myself as a lithe, sexual athlete.

Then Claribel laughed, saying, ‘Don’t be silly, you’ve only...’
She giggled, and finally blurted out, ‘got a little Denns!’,
then collapsed laughing, so amused was she by the image
of me as a toilet toy boy offering my sexual prowess at my convenience.

Cute Claribel then added the final insult by saying, ‘and you’ve got flat feet!