Fred Bunting, TV gardener, retired,

Confessed to the world that he had sired

Three sons and a daughter, handsomely aged,

With Mavis Malarky, alluring, unwaged.

 

Fred ran a farm shop while still on our screens,

Where Mavis would pop by each day for greens.

They say Fred was smitten the first time they met,

And soon their encounters were steamy and wet.

 

Friends noticed Fred was turning out smart:

‘He’s probably picked up some little tart’.

Mavis, however, was the real McCoy

And gave him the drive of a teenaged boy.

 

The children arrived like clockwork each year;

Mavis assured him there was nothing to fear,

But one day their progeny was exposed

And the pair’s long liaison duly closed.

 

She said ‘it’ll cost you’ and Fred paid up,

And spluttered his guilt in a plastic cup.

Soon Mavis was writing in the papers;

Dishing the dirt on Fred’s night time capers.

 

Fred’s wife expressed shock but she sympathised:

‘I’ve always known that his ego’s outsized;

Though I was amazed to hear about this –

The most he could manage with me was a kiss.’