*****

I went to a country craft fair,
On the stalls I inspected the wares.
On one I did spy 
Some wool octopi,
Which gazed with malevolent stares.

The stall holder smiled up at me;
"A traditional craft, sir," said she.
"In days long gone by,
such green octopi,
Roamed over the meadow and lea."

"So the folk hereabouts knitted these,
And used them for lures, if you please,
For those great herds of squid.
Whereupon the men hid,
And launched their attack from the trees.

"When fried they made meals of distinction,
But were hunted, alas, to extinction."
Her words was sincere
and her voice was so clear,
I accepted the tale with conviction.

I completed my purchase; She rose,
Said "They mostly would hunt with no clothes,
For that octopus ink,
Really made such a stink,
And such cleaning problems did pose."

So that's how that copper found me,
A-sitting up high in the tree,
Stark naked, near Poole,
With a green ball of wool,
And binoculars, so I could see...



Those squid on their migrating path,
As they travel from Eastbourne to Bath
I was not to know
that my kit was on show,
To that woman who sat by her hearth.

So your honour I make this submission,
Which I do with the deepest contrition:
My conscience is clear,
I, as you did hear,
Was upholding an ancient tradition.



Tiddy Ogg.

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Last updated: Sun, 12 Sep 1999.