SONG CHALLENGE WINNER!

What A Fella Will Do For A Good Irish Stew! . . . A house burglar in South London ignored a video recorder, mobile phones and other valuables – but stole a pan of Irish stew.  Clare Wilson, from Mitcham, made the dish for the next day's dinner, then left it on her oven and went to bed.  The next morning it had vanished, but nothing else had been taken.  Ms. Wilson, a mum of four, told The Sun: "I know my cooking is good but this is ridiculous.  It's unbelievable someone would just take a stew when all that stuff was lying about the place.  I'm considering putting out reward posters asking people if they've seen my stew pot.  I've been making stew for over 20 years in that pot, and I'm a bit annoyed.  I've got several others, but it was my favourite.  It's just the right size for all the family.  The thief must have tasted the food first because I found dollops of it around the top of the stove."  Ms. Wilson's sons, Brian, 20, and Scott, 19, swear they did not eat the stew after getting in from the pub – they had a kebab on the way home.  The back door had been forced open, so Ms. Wilson reported the crime to Mitcham police.  She said: "The thief should have just knocked on the door.  I'd have invited them along for dinner.  There would have been enough for everyone."


I'll See My Pot No More by Gusty
(This theme lends itself nicely to "Tis The Last Rose of Summer")

Gusty's Comments:  Here's my first stab at a Song Challenge.

'Twas left o'er night to simmer; my lovely Irish stew.
I got up next morning for to check it, rising early as the dew.
But to my consternation, my pot of stew, it was gone!
Not another thing was missing, all my valuables left alone.

I was puzzled and befuddled, nearly to my poor wit's end.
Why would a thief steal the stew only? This, I could not comprehend.
Now, I know my cooking is a legend, but I never dreamed I'd see the day
When a burglar broke into my kitchen just to steal my stew away.

I suspected, first, that my two sons had come home late from the pub,
And had set upon my stew pot, looking for some late night grub.
But they swore they both ate kebabs, and had then gone straight to their bed.
Then I saw the back door was forced open, and I knew I'd been robbed instead.

Now, of all the pots I use for cooking, that pot was my favourite one.
For twenty years I have used it, and now my pot is gone!
'Twas of just the right dimensions to hold stew for my whole family.
I'd reward the person handsome, who can bring it back to me.

Oh, the thief, they must have been right hungry, for to go to such extent.
They had even sampled my concoction; left a mess before they went.
Of my stew, I had made plenty. Had they only knocked upon my door,
I'd have gladly given them some dinner. Now, my stew pot I'll see no more.

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