Six Limericks for Paul Burrell
What service he offered to her!
No storage quite like it, they’re sure:
Not only the jewels
And the letters from fools
But a matchless CD (Chris De Burgh).
He read from her personal psalter,
And knelt at her rail, at her altar -
How British the stock
Of her very own Rock!
(Could we not do a trade for Gibraltar?)
Blinded! And soft in the head!
A liar! Disloyal! Ill-bred!
It didn’t feel fun
When Paul stared at the sun,
So he looked in the mirror instead.
“His is the ship we must scuttle!”
Cried Philip, as ever unsubtle.
“Be quiet,” said Liz;
“And think of our biz:
One taught him oneself how to butle.”
“Book him, and read him his rights,”
Said the CID copper in tights:
“I’m as hard as he’s soft.
Go up to his loft?
Forget it, I’m frightened of heights.”
Dark forces - Queen Bess meets her Porgy.
(That’s Paulie, Di’s Deputy Dawg. He
Had three-hour chin-wags
About all his bin-bags.
Till she sang “How much is that corgi?”)