Now at least we can say we’ve been
although we only had sufficient cash
for a leaf and bit of fish, nouvelle cuisine;
piddling portions, biggest bill I’ve seen,
not a lot to show for all that dosh.
But we can go home now, say we’ve been,
show off to friends and neighbours, sound so keen,
when at the time we didn’t feel so flash,
stomachs rumbling with nouvelle cuisine.
Conceited maître d', all pomp and preen,
expecting reverence — such pretentious tosh.
No need to go again, now that we’ve been.
The neighbours needn’t know that we weren’t keen,
we’ll boast of our adventure with posh nosh,
forget the let-down of such mean cuisine.
Next time we’ll go somewhere less pristine,
somewhere serving sausages and mash
in hearty helpings, so we’ll know we’ve been,
pie and chips — not nouvelle cuisine.