It is reported that Cranfield University’s Department of Defence and Security has been investigating sculduggery at village fetes.

The venerable village fete,
Gets people into such a state,
That they of their senses take leave,
As they try harder to achieve,
That long pea pod or pumpkin fat,
Which can lead to a dreadful spat.

They plant their seeds and watch them grow,
Keep weeds at bay with fork and hoe,
And as they swell before their eyes,
They start to covet that first prize.

But there beyond the garden gate,
A neighbour might decide their fate,
He’s growing pumpkins by the score,
And he has won first prize before.

The time goes on, the things grow large,
It might be time for sabotage,
So dirty deeds take place at night,
Which sometimes end up in a fight.

The police are called, the crime is great,
MidSomer Murders has to wait,
But after a forensic check,
The pumpkins do all seem in spec.

Eventually the day arrives,
Folk show their beans in fours and fives,
The judge says, “This one’s pushed his luck,
He has these two together stuck.

It really is so very rude,
That vegetables have been glued,
Such things as this I can’t abide,
So he is now disqualified.”

So now you’ve read this you all know,
If you go to the village show,
It really won’t be time we’ll-spent,
If all your cucumbers are bent!

Image – Wikimedia commons

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