Uncle Brian’s midnight crisis came as such a curse.
Mum said is it likely?
Dad said no it’s much much worse.
My Aunty Beryl held one hand as my mother held the other.
The four foot sike eye a trist could only feel his way through as the fuse went.
In the morning as I was eating my toast I saw a fireman dabbing at my Uncle Brian’s brow.
I asked him about his thoughts and the fireman said that a short sike eye a trist man had had a small but reasonable word with him.
I thought he was taking the piss!
But from that day to this.
I swear down.
My Uncle Brian as Given up his chip pan fire ways.
And as my Aunty Beryl made a pot of tea, we all smiled.
But that’s how it was In them days!