Sometimes in the evening I'm seized by a craving

So strong and insistent it's almost enslaving.

No matter the date and no matter the mood

I have to go out for some Indian food.

It's almost as if inside me there's a Beast

Which clamours and calls for his statutory feast.

I fight and I struggle but there's no respite

From the Beast of the Curry demanding his bite.

So I pick up the telephone, punch the speed dial

And hear  ''Evening, Red Rose.  We won't keep you a while.''

So I order Madras, pilau rice, poppadums...

They say ''Half an hour's wait.''  and I'm biting my thumbs…

And then comes the moment to claim this great treasure.

I get into the car nearly dizzy with pleasure

And anticipation, mouth watering now

And drive to the restaurant to pick up my chow.

The plate's in the oven, the cutlery ready,

The beer's in the fridge so I'm feeling quite heady.

I lift up the lids and inhale all that spice

Then I dish up the food and before I think twice...

I devour all the curry and drink all the beer,

Never mind that next day I'll be feeling quite queer

For now I have sated the Beast of the Curry,

I await his next call - but for that there's no hurry.

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