A Wee Poem. The Saga McCann

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As always (in my case) trusting memory ain't the smartest thing to do.
Consequently I haven't a cue where I lifted this wee ditty from, all I know it was posted somewhere by IRONSIDE, and to you Sir a doff of the cap if not indeed a mighty flourish of the hat.



Back in May our Madeleine,
Vanished while we had a gin.
We never got to go for dinner,
Unless we put a dope pill in ‘er.
When Kate checked up – I had to make ‘er,
“They” had had the gall to take ‘er!
We all jumped up and had a search,
That brat had left us in the lurch.
Then Katie said, “Oh never mind ‘er.
Call Sky News and they can find ‘er.”
But still the case was not resolved
And so policemen got involved.
We printed lots of photos of ‘er,
But then we thought, “Why should we bother?”
If we set up a fund instead,
Others can find her – we’ll stay in bed.
So we dumped the twins inside a crèche,
And learned to live our lives afresh.
We went on shows, we went on telly,
Our lips a-quiver, like raspberry jelly,
We begged the crowds to give us cash,
And amassed a tidy little stash.
We practised looking devastated
Our lust for fame could not be sated.
Every day was filled with hope,
We even got to meet the Pope!
He said to Kate, “Bless you, my child”,
And Katie simpered, blushed and smiled.
Then gazed towards the camera crew,
With doeful eyes and woe anew.
Then at a press meet, some H*n git,
Went and asked us if we’d done it?
We said, “How dare you! What a farce!
Look at us – we’re middle class!”
Well, not quite that, but that’s the gist
And we crossed her off our Christmas list.
Then the police came round to call
And said they’d found blood on the wall,
Philomena, round and fat,
Said it could have been a gnat.
And, you know, it could be true,
Mosquitoes leave a death scent too.
How’s a dog supposed to tell,
If someone is alive and well?
But it’s OK – they don’t suspect us,
The Portuguese love and respect us.
And so does everyone, it seems!
We are the stuff of poor folks’ dreams.
We’re classy and so dignified,
We’ve never screamed or retched or cried.
We don’t attempt a dirty search,
Instead we sit inside the Church,
Kate folds the pages of her Bible,
And talks of Maddie’s unusual eyeball.
The press at home can’t get enough,
Of all this ‘wonderful parents’ stuff,
They rightly tell the common classes,
All our critics are jumped-up a*ses.
But the Portuguese are not so nice,
Their press are looking at us twice.
They ask why we left the kids alone,
But EVERYONE does this at home.
They’re dropping hints – the feeling is
We have something to do with this!
It’s hurtful, unhelpful and just not true,
(Well, it might be, but we’re not telling you.)
The evidence grows day-by-day,
It’s all a bunch of lies, we say.
They’ve found death scent inside our car,
And the mileage has gone up too far,
There’s bodily fluids where the wheel should be,
(Hey, that’s just where we told the twins to wee.)
They’re claiming they’ve found DNA,
But is it Madeleine’s – who can say?
They’ve found a great big clump of hair,
But we say that they put it there.
“We cannot trust these Keystone cops!”
Katie rants and raves and strops.
They take us in and say we did it
And ask us where on Earth we hid it.
We will not answer such accusations
We use our initial allegations,
“Maddie was taken by a bunch of paedos!”
But still they make us both arguidos
This is not good – this is quite bad,
And Kate is getting really mad.
We need to get her home, it’s clear
Or else the twins will disappear.
So off we went on EasyJet
But we weren’t beaten – no, not yet!
We got the most expensive brief
And the government’s worn-out P.R. chief
That chap Branson's agreed to pay,
A fool and his money, as they say.
We ridiculed the use of science,
A most discredited appliance,
Our friends and family spread the word,
That all these rumours are quite absurd.
They’re utterly ridiculous.
In fact, they’re downright ludicrous.
We know that Maddy is not dead,
She’s gone to a better place instead.
Wherever she is, whatever her fate,
She’s better off now than she would be with Kate