Spectator competition: Running on full

Comp. 3353 invited poems about ‘dining and dashing’ – thanks to Paul Freeman for the suggestion. There was a very large postbag/inbox full of delicious offerings and I am especially sorry not to have had room for W.J. Webster condemning the crime for its name alone: ‘it isn’t just pedantic/ To say its source is transatlantic’. Josephine Boyle deserves a mention for her payoff: ‘But all deceptions have a price:/I can’t eat anywhere good twice.’ The winners get £25 (a paid-for pub lunch for one?) each.

On honeymoon, in a greasy spoon

Where we contrived to fetch up,

The tea was sweet, but our feet were fleet –

We left only a smudge of ketchup –

When they bring the menu, that is when you

Plan in which course to exit:

We’re the Bonnie and Clyde of The Good Pub Guide

When the waiter least expects it.

A thorough trough, and we’re up and off

With our credit cards still intacta

We’re adrenaline junkies who love a bunk –

Though the moolah’s an added factor.

At The Fat Duck, Bray, we got clean away –

Well, Heston doesn’t need the dosh –

With the money saved, we’ll get what we’ve craved:

Posh nosh at Le Gavroche.

Bill Greenwell

In days when Vikings plagued our shores

With longship, fire and sword,

They’d celebrate their victories

And feast as their reward.

They’d dine for free on choicest meat,

And have their fill of ale,

Then satisfied with spoils and food

They’d leave, and northwards sail.

In imitation of such deeds

Some folk go out to dine

And they select the dearest food

And drink the finest wine;

Like hordes of Vikings they are pleased

To eat, then dash away,

For like the raiders of the past

They see no need to pay.

Frank McDonald

We swank in via the maitre d’

Our pockets clean of cash,

Then gorge ourselves outrageously

And bolt out past the trash.

Proprietors think us obscene

For having had our fill

Of lobster bisque or lamb tagine

But not footing the bill.