we cross our legs and hope it passes, as you mutter " eehh those pigs trotters were more-ish"

suddenly a bitter northerly wind did moan and groan is it whistled
around the cathedral sounding shrill and eerie like a dead paupers lament,
but its the rustling in the bushes that worries us, and a whiff of expensive aftershave
\assails our snitches, we follow the trail to a gate, by prebends cottage,
it stands open as if some ones just passed through, we take the horrors, well wouldnt you.?
you agree " yes .. it would be rude not to".

You ducked behind an oak tree changing into satin doublet and black
tafetta breeches, when questioned you replied "this wind could prove hazardous,
one gust the wrong way would be distressing for all of us"

I agree, some one could be lying in the bushes prostrate, with a long range lens,
this jiggery pokerys got me demented, my reputation, may never be mended,
if caught "tiggerhanded" , i,m very nearly round the bend.
Ive no desire to appear in the morning paper, letting all me mates know of
my mysterious caper.

It could be classed as espoinage, for which theres a penalty, locked up in a chamber
in the dungeons of durham castle spouting the most dreadful profanity,s.
no private corner to perform ablutions, which becomes a living nightmare
when bothered by the looseness.