Tummy tantrums

I'd like some eggs for breakfast but

My tummy's gone on strike.

"You can't have that to eat," she says,

"It will not be all right."

"I'm hungry," I complain but then

I get a little twinge,

Anticipating agony,

It truly makes me cringe.

I saw the doctor yesterday,

She gave me tests to do.

"But wait two weeks to clear your gut,

Of antacids right through."

So I am left with such stark choice,

To eat just what I choose,

Or listen to my stomach's voice,

For fourteen nights to prove

To eat the things I like a lot

Would surely satisfy,

But leave me with a painful knot,

And yet, I may well try.

Sometimes I eat without a qualm,

The things that tempt me so.

My stomach she will stay quite calm,

Digest and let it go.

Others, merest morsel will

Cause endless aches and pains.

For next few hours, at least, I shall,

Consumption, just refrain.

And when it comes to boozing, well,

I really find it rough.

Abstention, it’s just not my thing,

For me it is quite tough.

Yet, looking on the brighter side,

I'm starting to lose weight.

With years of hopeless dieting,

The scales have seen the light.

So if you see me in the pub,

And hear my stomach rumble,

And ask me if I’m well, I'll say:

"Oh, well, I mustn't grumble."

I hope readers will forgive the grumpy old man moaning about his health, but at least it helped take my mind off my lack of breakfast, this morning, Aug 4th.

Readers will be pleased to know I managed to prepare and consume a frugal meal while waiting for Vocal to get over its latest cyber attack… and take a trip to London… spend a couple of hours there… come home…

Error… error… cannot compute…

Six hours later…

Oh, sorry, am I being a grumpy old git agin?

Thanks for reading