The challenge last night - a poem about chewing gum, incorporating:
Trades Union Congress
The only thing I added this morning is the title.
When Gum Goes Wrong
I work in a modernised factory
Confectionery songs we all hum
For we make boiled sweets and dark chocolate,
Mints, candies and great chewing gum.
But it isn't all sweetness I tell you
We down tools if we find a mess
And we strike without warning especially
In the week of Trades Union Congress.
For the rest of the plant is a factory
Where other foodstuffs are the biz;
What gum possibly aids concentration
If the flavour is of sausages?
So we strike if the contamination
Changes the raw stuff they've brought us.
For a mouse or a rat, a spider or bat,
A hedgehog a snail or a tortoise
Will spoil any chance of a profit
And make reputations turn poor.
We will have to crawl back to our families;
Go live with our mothers-in-law.
Perhaps there's a culprit insider
Committing a series of sly cons?
Putting weeds in the chocolate hopper;
'Stead of cocoa we get dandelions.
Or maybe a demon is present
With mischief, confusion and blame?
If the problem has spiritual backing,
We'll never get rid of the same.
So how do we exorcise flavour?
Who can give us industrial hope?
Shall I call in the Priest or the Bishop?
No. I'll go to the top. Get the Pope.