Late for dinner, once again, the dish is in the dog! I thought my wife did the right thing, it looked an unappetising grey bog!

I missed my sons birthday, by just one day. My wife let me know she wasn't happy in her own unique way.

I was late for our Wedding, only by an hour. My Wifes Father had a face on him, really rather sour.

I'll be late for my own funeral, i'm feeling rather certain. I will miss the note, when it is finally pinned to the back of that damn curtain.

I'm always running late and usually the wrong direction. Always going against the flow, sometimes in a completely different section.

My Wife has acquired skills of personal detection Over the years she has unearthed some embarrassing things And therefore I find my name is put forth for Mayoral Election Two weeks to go now  before i get my wings.

I predict my lateness to the ceremony to swear me in. I guess i will just have to invest some public money in copious amounts of Gin.

Thank you for reading, please do not feel sorry. I have to go I'm running late, this time down the pub for a curry. —------------------------------------------

A bit of fun, having just finished reading some John Betjeman poems, found myself writing this. Hope you enjoy.