The Nightcap.

The fact

I’m going to have some scotch soon.
I’m going to have a lot.
I can’t stand whinny-ninny men who only have a tot.

They say it isn’t good for me.
They say it isn’t right.
To go into a different world, and every bloody night.

But whisky makes me giggle.
It lightens up my mind.
It makes the questions matter less, and that’s quite nice I find.

So half a dozen Bells, my lad
Are just what I require.
And when I’ve had enough I’ll stop, and then I will retire.

The reverie

To bed that is,
With leggy Liz,

Who knows she isn’t really there
And best of all, she doesn’t care.

She’s just a fair, mysterious lass
Who crawls out of the whisky glass

And says ‘Hello, I’m here again.’
And I say ‘Good. Ten out of ten.’

‘Whose face and body shall I be?’
She asks with just a hint of glee.

The answer cannot here be named.
You wouldn’t want to have me shamed.

The question

Would you, now?

The suggestion

Put it all down to eccentricity and the fact that I have no stories to write at the moment.