My grandad used to tell a tale of Christmases when Grandma would
Go shopping for her festive fare, the makings of her Christmas pud.
She strolled, he said, into a street, and saw a shop lit bright and grand,
That bore a shiny, gaudy sign: “The Tastiest Puddings In The Land!”
She wandered on along the pavement, browsing, then came to a stop,
For there she saw a second sign outside an even bigger shop.
A silken banner, red and gold, fluttered in the breeze unfurled,
And printed on it large and proud: “THE TASTIEST PUDDINGS IN THE WORLD!!”
And then she saw the other shop. Tiny, humble scrubbed and neat,
Its quiet, faded sign declared: “the tastiest puddings in this street.”
