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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."


The Night That The Stew Pot Was Snatched by Clifton53
(Don't need to tell the Irishmen/women which tune this is, but fer the rest of yez, 'tis "The Night Before Larry Was Stretched")

The night that the stewpot was snatched
'Ol Clair she did whittle and parboil
Sweet lamb in the vessel was catched
'Twas just lightly browned in some veg oil
The carrots they tumbled in fast
And taties she strew round about them
A dish from someplace in her past
From Limerick, Cork or from Mitcham
( She did not know, nor did she care)

She finished the dish fine as wine
And then off to bed lest she tarry
"Sure on the young morrow we'll dine,"
"It'll suit any Tom, Dick or Harry"
The boys, they come tumblin' home
All aglow with the feel of sweet whisky
"Just grab some and she'll never know"
"Oh to hell I'm not feelin' that frisky"
(And young Brian and Sean, declined the invite)

In the mornin' she gamboled downstairs
And with coffee and smoke came to decent
"Good Lord but I be unawares"
"But it's plain that me pot 'tis absent"
Then she let out a hooligan cry
And the boys they come runnin' in quickly
"Ah lads there is something awry"
"And to truth I am feelin' quite sickly"
("They stole me stew", she said in pain)

The coppers come crowdin' in fast
And they spoke them so clean and so civil
One looked like a troll from her past
And one looked like 'Ol Ish Kabibble
And they stood up so tall and so grand
Then one of them asked, "Please don't sob"
"Can it be that 'yer stew has been taken"?
Claire fetched him jab on his gob
"What the hell do 'ye think that I'm fakin'"?
(Just look at the stove, ye bloody big ass!)

Well never the story's been told
Except 'round these parts so I'm proven
What more than a thief just so bold
Than to grab me stewpot off me oven
And history tells us today
Not all of God's beasts are can be holden
Than to come in 'yer house plain as day
And to grab 'yer lamb stew cooked just golden
(And they sent her to peal and repent)

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