The Parish Visitor

It's no use hiding from him in the wardrobe or the loo

For he seems to know by instinct when you're in.

He never gives you warning, otherwise you could pop out 

You may as well give up, you just can't win

It's not that he might hurt you, or try to steal your things

He's not coming for your vote or any money.

But still you dread those visits wishing he would go elsewhere

You always feel on edge, and that's not funny.

You tried to put him off last month by saying you had mumps

But he said that he had had ‘em years ago.           

So then you said the drains were blocked and smelt like rotten eggs

But he said, "I'll fetch a plumber that I know."

Each September you may spot him at the horticulture show 

He'll be stalking the refreshments as a rule.

He turned up at your wedding and you couldn't keep him out

He creeps into assemblies at the school.

Your neighbour, Mrs Fawcett, says she saw him yesterday

He was down in the allotments with the barrow

She saw him kneeling down so she thought he was at prayer,

'til he asked her if she'd like to see his marrow!

His visits make you nervous and last month he made you swear

You must admit you muttered, "Ruddy hell.”

What's that? You can hear footsteps, he's approaching down the path

Any moment now he'll knock or ring the bell.

"How are you Mrs Scarbro', what a lovely day it is

I was passing so I thought I'd look you up."

"Oh it's very nice to see you, I'm about to make some tea

Now then vicar, shall I pour us both a cup?