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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."


Just A Little Bowl by derrymacash
(To the tune of "Boulavogue")

In Mitcham Town, as the sun was setting
On another day of weary toil
My mother's hand set the gas ring blazing
As she put a pot of fresh stew to boil
And brother Scott, he gave the signal
And we both slipped out for a crafty beer
When we returned, there was consternation
That drew the neighbours from far and near

My mother in distress was wailing
"Ochone, ochone! We are undone."
A grave misfortune, it has befallen
"We've been the victims of hit and run"
And lo! No pot on the stove was bubbling
A naked flame wavered in the breeze
God help my mother, with anguish crippled
She beat her breast and sank to her knees

"Kind neighbours all, I crave assistance"
"This crime has struck at my mother's heart"
"And the time has come. We must seek our vengeance"
"And every neighbour must play his part"
With a rousing cry we were set in motion
And I took my place at the company's head
In search of justice, none would deter us
We'd bring him in, be he 'live or dead.

On Streatham Hill, me boul' man was captured
And brought in chains and flung at me feet
Spuds and carrots spilt down his jumper
And in his beard, tell-tale chunks of meat
I drew me fist, prepared to smite him
To teach a lesson he'd not forget
But I stayed my hand and my voice was measured
As I asked your man if he had regrets

With that he fell prostrate before me
"I beg forgiveness, kind sir" he cried
"But I am one of the poor and homeless"
"I'm low in income, but high in pride"
"And wouldn't beg and couldn't labour"
"But hunger gnawed at my very soul"
"And I couldn't help but take advantage"
"I thought I'd have just a little bowl"

He hung his head, he had said his piece
And he waited meekly to take my blow
But I took his hand and I helped him upwards
And warm embraces I did bestow
"My brother man, I am pleased to call you"
"My mother makes a most generous stew"
"It feeds herself and young Scott, my brother"
"With enough for me and enough for you"

"You need not steal and you need not plunder"
"Come back with me, for another bite"
"Ah for Jaysus' sake, why stop at feeding"
"Won't you come on home and stay the night."
My neighbours gazed in fond amazement
"What a nice young fellow" they softly said
But then I laughed "Ha! I'm only joking!"
And I kicked his ass till his nostrils bled!

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