Rhyming nursery style

Just the other day we encountered a surprise visit from the eldest child , who had become bored with his offspring and had decided it would be best to bring them over to our retreat to gorge their way through my personal stash of sweets and cheese, yes, cheese. The smaller one of the two can sniff out a chocolate eclair at twenty paces, and I can assure you, dear reader, that once that treasure trove of confectionary has been sniffed out there’s no getting a look in, a plague of locusts are less hungry.
Now, to stop the little Herberts from going in search and probably discovering the stash of cherries in the bread bin, I attempted to distract the little darlings by reaching down nannie’s old book of nursery rhymes in the vain hope that some nonsense ditties from yesteryear might help them forget about their stomachs for five minutes.
What could be more harmless and cheering than a book of nursery rhymes you may well assume, as did I, that was until I was coerced into revisiting them by the two munchkins. Here’s what I learnt: two children allowed out on their own before a reasonable age are taught that the best place to find water is at a higher altitude than surrounding geography. The clumsy devils proceed to have an accident and consider the best treatment under the circumstance is to run home, go to their bedrooms and apply a solution of Acetic Acid with a sheet of Craft paper. Yes, we’re teaching our children to search for water up a hill and then to administer first aid thought up by an utter loon.
There’s young Tom, who I assume to be the son of a local plumber; well this little chap thought he’d ignore all the X-Boxes and mobile phone shops and go straight to the local live farmyard animal purveyor so he could snaffle a pig. What he was going to do with this particular member of the Suidae family I have no idea, but steal it he did and then attempted to flee the scene on foot. Of course, young Tom had no chance of escape and was soon caught up with, however, this resulted in no prosecution but instead domestic violence ensued and the pig killed and eaten – and this is what I sang to two under sixes. Little Tommy Tittlemouse (which caused much hilarity) stole from other people’s fishing lakes without remorse and a ‘Little Old Woman’ considered the best accommodation to bring up an inordinate amount of children in (whoever these children were, as the lady was clearly post menopausal) was a large shoe like structure. The woman clearly struggled with her life as an unpaid mother to so many children as she never fed them a nutritious diet and regularly physically assaulted them. Charges were never brought.
The oldest munchkin was soon bored with such rot and eyed me with a look of boredom and wry amusement, as if to say “what are you saying you silly old duffer”, and frankly she had a point, these rhymes seemed such fun when I was a nipper, suffice it to say, just like me, they haven’t aged well. Perhaps its time for some more up to date nursery rhymes involving ‘Chantelles’ who manage to get into a frightful pickle after spending all their cash on an online betting shop

Chantelle and Will,
Went on William Hill,
and both became terrible debtors.
Chantelle, no job,
Will – quite a slob,
Had ignored all the letters.
A loan was sought,
and online bought,
To pay for all their token.
Now they have to pay,
almost twice a day,
to stop they legs being broken

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