The Enjoyment Of Kicking A Man When He’s Down

Do you know Frank Haggard?  I do!

And, by Gad, I’ll warrant he knows me!  You

May see him hobbling in anguish along the Strand,

Holding his testicles with his only good hand.

You may see him wincing in Villiers Street

As he gingerly shuffles on his trembling feet.

I shouldn’t be surprised if you spot him retching on the                           Embankment

With Thames ague – at least I think that’s what Hank meant

By mal-de-rivière

But, to be honest, I don’t really care.

I met Haggard in Les Tulipes du Nord,

A very swanky eaterie that shuts its doors firmly against the                 poor –

Expect to pay at least a hundred and fifty euros for a pan-fried           dover sole

And a king’s ransom – I assure ye – for a rum-soaked Swiss roll.

I was sitting at the next table, he was with a stunningly beautiful         blonde

Of whom I became suddenly and insanely fond.

I walked over to their table, grinned and emptied the plate

Of aubergine stuffed with vieux ceps all over his pate

And challenged him to stand up and defend her virtue:

“Do it,” I rasped masterfully, “or else I’ll be forced to hurt you.”

I was pleased to note the look of grudging admiration in her eye

- Ladies love a man who’s masterful and spry.

Haggard was desperately trying to disentangle the aubergine               from his hair

When I picked up a chair

And brought it down with – I don’t mind saying – astonishing              force

On his head.  Of course,

He fell to the floor – chaps like that always do –

And I was encouraged by the girl, who mouthed: “I love you”

As I stamped on his face and trod on his groin

While she continued to tuck into her loin

Of pork, served with red cabbage and mint:

I could see I was dealing with a most uncommonly debonair bint.

He groaned as I kicked him; I kicked him some more

And he writhed in agony, clawing the floor,

I waited until he started to rise

And kicked him again, right between the thighs.

I jumped on his chest as soon as he was supine

And drove my boot into his face as she poured herself another            glass of wine

Which she drank a little saucily, letting some of it drip

On to her cleavage – as the whole restaurant heard the sickening         rip

Of teeth from gum.

The fellow was looking decidely glum.

By this time the girl had undone a few more buttons of her dress

And asked me to take her away from this mess

That was writhing and contorting under my boot

And I happily escorted her towards the door, brushing the                     aubergine from my suit.

We slipped into a taxi, I told the chap to drive to my hotel and get       cracking,

And when we arrived at Le Splendide I dropped her off and sent       her packing.

She never became Mrs Frank Haggard,

Thanks to the timely intervention of a resourceful blackguard.