George strolled from a Menorcan track
To a secluded beach
With golden sand and azure sea.
Sun worshipers were each . . .

. . . nude man and woman there George found
On strand and on the rocks –
None clearly came from England’s shores:
No chap still wore his socks!

It soon was clear why they had come
Where prying eyes can’t see
For very nearly all of them
Had a deformity.

At each George stole a furtive glance
While trying not to stare.
By some cruel stroke of nature’s plan
Most all lacked pubic hair.

But soon George lost all interest;
Composure he regained.
His powerful binoculars
Within his bag remained.

Their birth dates for his preference
Were very long ago,
And most possessed the random shapes
That cakes and chocs bestow.

Perhaps he’d been unfortunate
When passing by this way.
There could, perchance, be more to see
Upon another day.

Some days Jennifer Aniston
Might supplement the views
Or she who reads the weather on
The TV Breakfast News.

‘Why not strip off and join us all?’
One Spaniard called to he.
George answered that true Englishmen
Shun public nudity.

‘Is it the size,’ the Spaniard joked,
Of certain parts below?’
‘Brits share a secret,’ George replied,
‘That foreigners don’t know.

On condoms’ ends, that little pouch
D’you know what it is for?’
‘No,’ was replied, ‘I’ve often thought
About that fact before.’

‘When taking off the rubber sheath,’
Said George, explaining more,
‘The English put a foot on that
To hold it to the floor.’

The man backed off in shock and awe –
He clearly was impressed.
He rushed to where his clothes were piled
And very quickly dressed.

He then rushed on to tell each man
The fact he had discovered.
They all looked down with anxious glance
And rapidly up-covered.

The ladies who were with them, though
Had grasped what had been said
And stared at George with wistful eyes
That pleaded: ‘Come to bed.’

Then each stood up and made a dash
Towards the spot George lay.
He judged that it was time to go
And swiftly ran away.

With no escape route up the beach
George leapt into the sea
An unknown toll of Spanish wives
Then promptly followed he.

When George had swum one hundred yards,
He hid within a cave
And watched as those señoras passed
In wave on wave on wave.

I gather now that on that beach
A plaque is there to see
That tells of the ‘pied plonker’ who
Led lassies out to sea.

It warns that if events occur
Of similarity
And Englishmen should pass that way
Don’t talk of nudity.