Cheese Apprentice

Arriving home from work, Mr E was shocked

To find the house dark and the front door locked

Inside there was a note to say –

‘I’m off for a week on holiday’.

He was alone for one week only,

but he was too busy to feel lonely!

This mystery tale of what went on

When he was here and we were gone,

I’ve tried to tell as he told me,

and recount his movements loyally.

He could cook supper for some pals,

Have secret dates with pretty gals,

Put he didn’t have much energy,

no one he called said they were free

(and he had the films for company)

The fridge was full - he was not deprived,

And this is how Mr E survived.

HEAT. Turn up the gas and oil the pan,

(He needs no recipe or plan)

Out of the fridge - on to the heat,

It works (he claims) with veg or meat.

(and if it needs a kick, he says,

serve with some mayonnaise)

At work he tried his best to please

The customers who came for cheese,

And asked him what they ought to buy

To which he’d answer with a lie

‘The Stinking Bishop’s rather good.

Have you tried it?

            Here, you should’

He’d cut a piece for them to taste

Knowing it was not a waste

A little try (he was sure)

Would trick them into buying more.

His manager was amused to see

The techniques of his young employee:

I know you’re young and rather charming,

And your foolish smile’s disarming,

I think it would not be untrue,

To say, my boy, you haven’t a clue…

You’re lacking skill

Behind the till

But I’ve the perfect job for you.

There are deliveries to be done

They’re a little late. I suggest you run.

Mr E was sent forth from the shop,

with a map to mark where he should stop.

Bags of cheeses in each hand,

To the finest kitchens in the land.

wrapped in paper and tied with strings,

ready for cheeseboards or to put in things,

cheese in wheels, cheese in wedges

cheese with mould growing round its edges

To restaurants that were in need,

For they had hungry mouths to feed.

So Mr E, a fit young man

Took them all and off he ran

A red-faced chef whose dish of the day

Was meant to be a fine cheese soufflé,

was waiting - whilst his whipped eggs sunk -

for his required cheddar chunk.

He opened his mouth to rage once more,

Then Mr E knocked on his door,

Spoons stood still and no knife stirred,

And no one dared to say a word.

The only noise was sizzling butter,

‘Til a brave waiter dared to mutter

the cheese man’s here, and the chef sighed…

and looked as though he might have cried.

The chef, still stressed,

Stood up tall, puffed out his chest

if you ‘ad bin one minute more

I wud ‘av knocked you to ze floor

My guests he said, and his eyes bulged,

come ‘ere to eat and feel indulged

guess ‘ow much zey would pay

for fromage cooked in ze Franche way…

As he spoke he showered spit,

and Mr E thought RIGHT. That’s it.

And he took out a Vacherin

And put it in the chef’s left hand,

And said (feeling quite defiant)

This cheese is richer than your clients!

He left the cheese and left that place,

At quite a cowardly pace

Up the backdoor kitchen stairs

Taking them in threes or pairs.

When all the orders were complete

He finally slowly down on the street.

His day finished as it had begun,

Behind the counter, behind an apron,

His manager said – you alright?

You look as though you’ve had a fright.

Mr E smiled and shook his head,

Oh no, I’m fine was all he said.

When we got back we found him snoozing,

Auntie, assuming that he’d been boozing.

Asked – How’s work? as he woke blinking,

That cheese you’ve bought’s left my fridge stinking!