My favourite hysterical figure, would be Mike Spilligan, that famous typing error. His genius was in his madness, and his madness was in his genius. So follows one of mine in the style of said genius. There is a sequel I will publish soon.

The Sock

I usually take my socks off, to stop that awful scent,

But this particular night I was achy, so in the bath I went.

I picked my things up for the wash, but one sock wasn’t there,

I looked for that sock, where could it be, couldn’t find it anywhere.

Oh where, Oh where was that little sock, how did it go astray,

It wasn’t in the bathroom, in the sink, nor the shower tray.

Was it in my trousers? I took them off to check,

I checked my shirt also, maybe it’s been around my neck.

I know what you’re thinking, it was lurking neath the bed,

I think that socks gone for good, this must just be said

If there’s socks in heaven, I hope it’s found another mate,

Or maybe one day it will reappear with my dinner, on a plate.

Meadowhead Bard.