(A true tale of a party just before Christmas ..... {British})
'Twas the night before Christmas and all through the diner, Came the tinkle of glasses and the clatter of china, We ordered at leisure, we weren't in a hurry, We were just working up to a gut-smouldering curry.
The Pappadoms went down with raita with ease, The crispy fried Puris were simply a breeze, And, yes, the Parathas were certainly nice, Till we cranked up the heat and went heavy on spice -
We ordered the Bhajis with onion, for starts, Tomorrow we'd stifle the house with our farts, The strong went for a Phal, for the weak - Vindaloo, 'Don't skimp on the chillis, we'll have Lime Pickle too!'
We were seeking a curry that smoulders and scorches, Like eating raw chillis as hot as blow-torches, So I ordered a Phal and I said with a wink, 'This will set light to my poor anal sphincter!'
Bob said with a grin 'I'll have Chicken Chilli Madras - Tonight a sore gullet, tomorrow sore ass!' The Phal arrived quickly, we ate it real slow, It was like chewing cinders on a bed of hot coals.
As the meal went on, the hot dishes grew harder, To eat so we eased them down with pints of cold lager - The Bhajis, the Bhunas, the Prawn Vindaloo, And the twelve pints of Cobra made a gut-churning brew.
Paul leapt from the table, his face pouring with sweat, His nose red and gleaming, his cheeks ruddy and wet, As he dashed to the men's room, feet pounding like thunder, To upchuck, to heave, technicolour yawn, chunder.
He'd eaten Madras, then Phal, in a moment of rashness, And now the route that he took was all pebbledashed. 'He can't take his curry,' said Dave with disdain, Then slid under the table and fell in a cold faint.
'More Madras! More Bhuna! More Phal and more beer!' We ordered but by then our insides felt queer, Our mouths were like tinder, our stomachs were burning, Our nostrils were steaming, our innards were churning.
We debated the merits of calling a taxi, With most of us drunk and Paul stuck in the jacksy, Dave under the table and Chris ready to heave, It was nigh on midnight and past time to leave.
We paid up in haste and left Paul in the can, Hurried into the street and there to a man, We fell on hands and knees and we started to sputter, Till Cobra and curry smeared the paving and gutter.
A waiter stepped out and he smiled at our plight, Merry Christmas dear chaps and good riddance this night!
