Beer Fever
I must down to the pub again,
To the Wheatsheaf or p’rhaps the Savoy,
And all I ask is a cool beer
On a Thursday night to enjoy;
And a hearty laugh with some excellent mates
With stories that cannot be faulted;
Some nachos and cheese or some packets of crisp -
Anything but ready salted.
I must down to the pub again
To the call of the Abbott Ale;
And all I ask is a corner seat
And to listen again to the tale,
Of the mystery car or another new bike,
Or to work out the square root of five
Then it’s off up the hill before those fearful words:
"Fancy a pint at the Hive?"
Steve McForrester (with apologies to J Masefield)
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An Ode to Thursday Night
T’was formed of balls and clubs and sacks,
When men threw tat to sky,
The witching hour drew folk to bar,
Where Ale was in supply.
Alas the air fell silent,
As jugglers withdrew,
But all the might of Thursday night,
Could ne’re part man from brew.
So whilst the night sky deepens,
And partners lie in waiting,
Our menfolk quench their coffee breath
With liquids far more sating
As ale hits head and cheeks they redden,
The conversation studders,
From maths and bikes and javascript
To the occasional pair of udders.
In age and height they vary,
By girth and hairline too,
They’ll tolerate a shandy,
Plain crisps will never do.
So here we sit we merry clan
A fist bent round ye pint,
Pray raise and sup and lift ye glass
In praise of Thursday night
Dave McBarter
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