Battenberg, and other sugary joys.

When captaining a pirate ship

Whether skipper or first mate,

By four o’clock your sugars dip,

And we ask Cook for a plate.

It’s also thus when waging war,

Or at the least a quibble,

‘twix Barbie and her Skeletor,

We’ll treaty for a nibble.

And if we’re slumped before TV,

Our appetites won’t dwindle,

Our engine’s always on you see,

Our hunger will still kindle.

If mother plans the thing quite right,

Then just as things get ugly,

A snack arrives to quell the fight,

She’ll sip her tea quite smugly.

A cupcake, squat in silver foil,

Topped thick with sickly icing,

Or liquorice wound in a coil,

Its central sweet enticing.

Perhaps a yoghurt in a pot,

“French set”, as smooth as custard.

A Wagon Wheel would hit the spot,

Ice lollies have us mustered.

But Battenberg’s the master plan,

Those squares of pink and yellow,

Within a frame of marzipan,

For that we grow quite mellow.

Until, of course, the sugar hits,

And sends us hyperactive,

Excites our minds and dulls our wits,

With colours psychoactive!