The writers group went out to lunch
On turkey and trimmings to munch
As they chewed roast potato
They talked about Plato
Oh! What an erudite bunch!

When the writers group went out to dine
There was plenty of whisky and wine
As they went home, quite late
With an unsteady gait
They said: ‘we’re (hic) feeling jusht fine!’

The writers group went to the boozer
And, though I’d be the last to accuse her,
One member, while tipsy,
Propositioned a gipsy
Who was much too polite to refuse her.

When the writers group went on a bender
One of them wrote verses tender
To someone called Ella
Who was really a fella
He was always confused about gender.

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Dinah Kennedy