(Inspired by a question my neice asked at a recent family barbecue, "What would be the hardest thing for you to give up if the doctor told you you had to?")

 

My dietary appointment’s making me a nervous wreck,

It follows consequentially a previous health check.

The nurse will give me diet sheets with foods she will proscribe,

The list will be exhaustive and with drinks I can’t imbibe.

The foods allowed will be designed to make my being well

And spoken with real cruelty to make my living hell.

 

I fear there will be broccoli and chicken every day

And salads, fucking salads, all with chicken I must weigh.

I’ll say “Goodbye” to Christmas puds

To carbohydrates like roast spuds

There will be nothing tasting good

But, Lord, I pray, oh please

Let not the list say “Cheese”.

 

Perhaps I’ll never taste a mutton vindaloo again

Or scoff my fish and chips at home while watching News at Ten.

Then grinning like a Cheshire cat

She’ll wave the list and then point at

The entry “Bread and Mucky Fat”

And “Bacon Fried in Grease”

But let it not say “Cheese”.

 

A lifetime spent without these things is purgatory enough

But living without beer will be so very, very tough

And beef and pork and minted lamb

And scones with clotted cream and jam

The list goes on ad nauseam

But hear me, Jesus, please

I’m begging on my knees

Let not the list say “Cheese”.

 

I’d do without my apple pie with custard and fresh cream

I’d do without best butter and instead take margarine

But shit! A thought’s come to my head

I’ve just remembered crusty bread

I think I’d sooner I was dead;

Pork pies and mushy peas

And sugar in my teas

But, Lord, I’m begging please

(You know I’m C of E)

Just let it not say “Cheese”.