This was an epic!
Worthy of a Saga!
So:
Here it is....
The Saga of the Lost Bobble Plate
A fact that ev?ry mum should know
Is what to do when ? what a blow!
You drop behind your boxed-in loo
A plate that?s very dear to you.
You must, of course, your laptop get,
And log on to the great Mumsnet.
Where you will find a goodly host,
Of eager mums, all keen to post,
To help you in your time of need.
No gallant knight on milk-white steed,
Could beat these ladies with their mice,
Who rush to share their good advice.
And so ahundredtimes did go,
To tell us all her tale of woe,
?What can I do?? she sadly cried,
Suggestions came from far and wide,
Of things that stick and things that suck,
She tried them all but had no luck,
The plate remained behind the loo,
What was a Mumsnetter to do?
Meanwhile, in homes across the land,
The mothers left their housework and,
Their poor neglected children roamed,
Their teeth unbrushed, their hair uncombed,
And husbands came from day-long toil,
To find no soup upon the boil.
Then, searching for their errant spouse,
They hear the ever-clicking mouse,
They watch their loved one, tense and pale,
Refresh the page to no avail.
?I?m sorry, love, I?m on a vigil,
What you can gather from the fridge?ll,
Have to be your supper, mate,
I?m here until they save the plate?.
But back now to our stricken mum,
Who?s keen to prove she?s not so dumb,
So many things she?s tried and tested,
But now a bag has been suggested.
Her husband (who is on the phone)
Implores her not to try alone,
But no, she?s too keyed-up to wait,
She shoves it down beside the plate.
But there it sticks, she gives a yelp,
Her hubby says ?That didn?t help,
Now you can leave it all to me
Just go and get a cup of tea!?
Some tricky work with seaside spade,
With which the children once had played,
And on the bag now rests the platter,
But will this really save the latter?
There seems no way to raise it up
Without a slip ?twixt lip and cup?
As mumsnetters with bated breath,
Wait there for news of life or death,
They light a candle for the plate,
And all prepare to mourn its fate,
But grappling with the wooden spade,
Our hero comes to hundred?s aid,
Inch by inch, the platter comes,
As breathless wait the watching mums,
The groping fingers touch the rim
He teeters on the cistern?s brim?
A cry of triumph rends the air!
Success will come to those who dare!
Tired, but happy, there he stands,
The plate clutched safely in his hands,
He sees his ever-loyal mate
Rush lovingly to hug?
?the plate.