We’ve loved the life in Edinburgh, there’s so much to see and do,
Take a tour around the Old Town, take in the spectacular view,
My wife knows I’m no romantic but as our Christmas here passes
I’m seeing less through frozen specs than rose-tinted glasses.
We’ve Tiki-toured to near and far, from Loch Ness to Stockbridge,
Based in a quaint olde cottage free of all mod cons- like a fridge;
Promenaded past the Balmoral, trekked up ‘n’ down the Royal Mile,
Even the theatrics of a Spooky Spirits Tour invoked the ghost of a smile.
Yet- and yet- there is one unsavory thing I have found,
In both the New and Old Towns, on high or lower ground,
A presence lurks in the shadows, pervasive, omnipresent,
A fact of life in bonny Edinburgh I find, frankly unpleasant.
They seem to to haunt every corner, their entreaties oh so sweet,
Boldly advertising their dark seductive pleasures, pictures of deceit,
The wafting scent, the open invitation of a treat to make your day complete;
Don’t succumb, all you get is highway robbery, and tossed out into the street.
…No no no NO NO, I must explain, I don’t mean the ladies of the night;
There’s little wrong with consensual transactions, when the price is right,
No NO, I’ve never sought the dubious charms of a bargain basement tryst,
Nor the comfort and release of a half-price half-interested flip of the wrist.
Understand, if propositioned, this gentleman will decline,
The story essayed above did happen- to a ‘friend’ of mine…
The travesty I’m talking of is insidious, a blight and a scourge,
See, there’s the door, walk in if you’ve the nerve or the urge,
But beware, the broken man speaking to you strode in like a hero-
There’s nothing to suck the joy from life than supping a Caffe Nero.
The ill-practiced baristas lassitude was just the first of my concerns-
Its true that at Nero’s you’le see someone faffing about as the milk burns-
No, I didn’t leave no tip, I offered no thanks, because scarce a sip I drank,
I rate Caffe Nero bottom of the barrel, a stone-cold zero in taste- and rank.