Twelfth Night

Thou'rt a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink.


Sir Toby Belch


The last of the Christmas pudding and a glass to wish the festive season well;  
'twas worthy of the best, not least in all its idleness
Alas my labours now are long
Today was a sore trial, but I'll not prolong
This blog with woeful tales of meetings and mismanagement.
Nor shall I speak of cold, and credit cards sore overstretched
Of long winter days that make us all feel wretched.
I shall stay silent on the matter of my spilling girth
And the still distant payday and its renewed mirth.
This is the month when we go early to our bed
And pray for Saint Valentine and Easter eggs in warmer days ahead ...