Apparently, It’s considered impolite and unromantic to burp over the phone. So, in order to make amends I summoned up all of my GCSE D level English speaking ability, and wrote a poem…
‘Tiny, hairy, bag of bones
10,000 images of you, all on my phone.
Not one of them have I requested,
But all of which, I have detested.
My wife to be, seems to keep,
Taking them, while you sleep.
Your snoring in cupboards or chest of drawers,
Your legs wide open, like Eastern European whores.
I’ll see you soon, in 2 weeks to come
Please sit still, try not to run,
Or climb on me, when I’m tired and broody,
And in return, I’ll be less moody.’
I think it’s fair to say my literary career begins now.