In York again for a tax conference

Sudden rain shower, hid in a café

The work done, I relax; well, in a sense,

Because there’s still some work of sonnetary

Nature to do that can’t be shirked. Here’s me

Sat on the edge of this large hotel bed,

Writing on hotel pad these pencilly

Remarks that pad out what is to be said

In my diary, this one that’s later fed

Into the internet. While I’ve still sense,

Before the drinks begin, I must first say

My fourteen lines (at least not a hundred).

I shall return after maybe immense

Amounts of booze and grub…well, hopefully.