And so, Kent – like many other parts of the country – falls into Tier 3. The strictest and tightest of them all.

To celebrate, I’m having a party. Sadly, you are not invited.

Nobody is.

I hope you can understand the position,
behind your unfortunate omission,
from a guestlist made up just of me…
But only one can attend the “Tier 3 Partee”.

It’s Bring Your Own Booze,
which means I get to choose,
from what’s already here,
wine and gin, but no beer.

But – hip hip hooray!
Faversham’s new Aldi opened today.
I can now stock up on snacks
and a dozen kayaks!

BUT OH NO!

They only sell two seaters,
between them less than two metres,
so I’ll just have to leave them ’til Spring,
along with pretty much everything!

At my Tier 3 party there’ll be a cake,
because in lockdown we’ve all learnt to bake,
but hundreds-and-thousands are banned
so it’ll taste a bit bland…

The cake will have several tiers
so it will last a couple of years,
because I can’t eat cake that quickly.
Indeed, I find too much quite sickly.

I will also be hosting some games,
but please don’t shoot me down in flames
just because I’ll always win.
The opposition is just a bit thin.

But the very best thing about this event?
Is that I won’t even realise I went,
‘Cos when the games are done and it’s time to head,
I’ll just roll down the hall to my very own bed.

No need to R.S.V.P

Love,

The Tier 3 Party