Fred Russell recently sent several limericks to the magazine, so many in fact that the editor suggested that he might like to get out more; here’s his severely tongue-in-cheek reply.
I feel I must respond to the suggestion made by the editor of the Wychwood that I should get out more. I am now in my early eighties so I thought during the early weeks of the lockdown I should obey the order from the Prime Minister. During this time, I shut myself away but was well looked after by many kind neighbours. A special thank you goes to a friend who, for the last seven months, has brought me my Sunday lunch. At the beginning, we had trouble passing the food through the door. The letter box on my front door has got a very strong spring so when my friend tried to pass meat, two veg. and gravy through the letter box, the flap would spring back squashing my lunch, sending bits of potatoes and meat against the door on both sides. The gravy stains remain to this day. In the following weeks this was soon overcome. At 12.30pm on a Sunday, I sit with a plastic straw in my mouth near the front door waiting for three loud knocks on the door. I then pass one end of the straw through the letter box; my friend holds up a jug of soup which I then suck through the letter box with the straw. Unfortunately, plastic straws are being phased out and real straws are not as flexible. My favourite soup is chicken – a pinch more salt next time please.
I should like to challenge the editor on another matter. I have no intention of trying to be a poet. I tried this in my younger days and was interviewed by the police on a number of occasions.