Oh Vicar.... Do carry on
The vicar strolled down the laneWith all the subtlety of a man
Trying very hard
Not to look excited
His cassock billowed behind him
Like a theatre curtain
That had spotted its cue
And was determined
To steal the scene
He wasn’t off to save souls
Oh no, nothing so noble
He was heading straight
For the corner shop
Where she stood behind the counter
Smiling sweetly
And causing more trouble
Then a well worn sermon
“Morning, Vicar!” she beamed
And instantly his cassock
Developed a banana shaped feature
So prominent
It could have been added
To the Ordnance Survey map
He tried to hide it
By grabbing the nearest object
Outside, the villagers watched
With the enthusiasm of people
Who lived for gossip.
Mrs Pritchard whispered
“Look at him
He’s got more lift in that cassock
Than the village hall curtains”
Mr Jenkins snorted
“Lift? It’s practically
Trying to take off”
Inside, the vicar attempted
A suave lean on the counter
But his cassock
Sensing mischief
Swung round like a rogue sail
And knocked over a tower of Jaffa Cakes
He lunged to catch them
Tripped over his own hem
And ended up in a position
That made Mrs Pritchard
Drop her shopping outside
With a gasp of
“Ooh, matron!”
He scrambled upright
Face redder than the altar cloth
Cassock flapping like a tent
In a gale
She asked gently
“Are you sure you’re alright Vicar?”
“Oh yes,” he squeaked
“Just… feeling the spirit”
Kenneth Williams himself
Would have been proud
Of the eyebrow she raised
The villagers, of course
Had already decided
He was up to something
Rumours spread faster
Than free wine at communion
“Did you see the vicar?”
“Oh yes
His cassock was doing the hokey‑cokey”
“Looked like he had a whole maypole
Going on under there”
Still, every morning he returned
Cassock trembling with anticipation
Villagers peering from behind curtains
And the corner‑shop lady smiling
With the patience of a saint
And the amusement of someone
Who knew exactly
What was going on
A wasted life?
Perhaps
But in this village
It was the finest entertainment
Since the bell‑ringer got stuck
In the belfry rope
And had to be lowered down
Like a sack of potatoes
Carry on Vicar
Carry on indeed
Poetry by JohnJohn
Written on 2026-03-23 at 06:28
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