I do wish that you were still on the telly

Giving me giggles from brain to belly

Chastising Clive and being a b’stard

Making a mess of a French piperade

A glug for the pot and two slurps for me

On me, Clive, you arsehole, on me, on me!

The genre’s much shitter since you departed

The cooks all glossy and meringue-hearted

The televisual equivalent of MSG

Everything clean and safe and twee

Christ, you’re missed, you drunken wonder,

The cook who tore the world asunder

The cook who’d accept nothing less

Than 12 types of fish in his bouille-baisse

Who’d blithely knock back, as the cameras ran,

A ’99 Gevrey-Chambertin

You were much of madness and more of sin,

To you, Keith, I raise my glass, cin cin!

 

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