As the hart panted for the water so I longed for a cup of tea.
And so I went unto the fridge to get a drop of milk.
For the tea is not Earl Grey, which is palatable without a drop of cow-juice.
Indeed it is a Value Brand which was purchased when we ran out
and we had to get to a shop that was open.
And now what do I find?
In the space where the milk bottle was
is just an empty space
like in the Phil Collins song "Against All Odds"
like unto the plains of Gilyead
where the fat cows of Bashan roam
and yet it is a land only of honey and no milk
and putting the honey in cheap tea
is like unto putting a golden ring in a bull's nose
though very tasteful to sweeten a nice Lapsang Souchong.
And so my wrath will burn fierce
against the one who stole the last of the milk.
In misery shall I put some powdered milk in the tea
which was bought in 1996 when I thought it might be handy.
May the one who pinched the last of the milk find it goes sour in their mouth.
May they develop a previously unsuspected lactose intolerance.
May they go around for the rest of the day with the taste of cottage cheese in their mouth.
And may the sugar they no doubt put into the tea turn out to be salt.
May the caffeine of their cheap tea bags keep them awake all night
and may their dreams be of Jimmy Carr and Brentford Nylons ads from the 1970s.
Oh hang on a minute.
No, I used the last of the milk myself an hour ago, when I made that milky coffee.
Forget I said anything.