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Don Brian (Part Three)
by Bella Milbanke
 It's been a little while since Bella Milbanke came over all Byronic, but she's been inspired by recent events to add another canto to her masterpiece in the Fantasy Archers topic of .
We left Don Brian in a state of fear
That Jennifer might never cease to shout
And, what with perfume whistling by his ear,
And Village Worthies poised to find him out,
He'd settled down to cry into his beer
And carry mawkish photographs about.
He almost seemed to find his spirit cowed
But those who knew him, knew that he was proud.
'Cos Brian is that splendid sort of man
Who deeply feels his duty to his wife:
He'll take a pretty lover where he can,
But when she leaves, it don't destroy his life.
He sees it as his loyal task to span
The dark ravines where pleasures all run rife,
And plant each foot on solid, banked contentment
(Which causes poor old Jenny some resentment).
And daughter Debbie, with the flashing eyes,
Came trotting back across the freezing Channel.
I must admit it caused me some surprise
To hear her tease and laugh, lap up his flannel,
And jump up on her combine. I might advise
A visit by a psychiatric panel.
But though she is a strange, capricious madam
She doesn't stamp her foot like Strawberry Adam.
This moral tale were one of mended hurt
A little dull, it's true, but still a story
To tell to those whose liking for a skirt
May cover them in something less than glory,
Had Brian not looked up from his dessert
To see the beaming face of little Ruairi.
(In truth, the angel was a little quiet
But, oh, the German boyfriend was a riot.)
And now, I'm forced to say, the fuse is lit
And Brian broods above the sink again.
We're all intrigued to find the cunning, roguish ****
May actually be capable of pain.
As Alice mopes, and Adam whines, and Jenny flits,
Conjuring her soft, domestic scenes in vain,
I'm quite concerned this time the fox may flunk it,
And end out on his ear, like David Blunkett.
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