Gravy Man

Another one of my strange poems. Radio 4, some ladies talking about cookery.. “Oh my husband’s definitely a gravy man”

I’m married to a gravy man

I’m married to a gravy man

I’m married to a crazy man

Who insists that I make him gravy

I’m married to a gravy man

I’m married to a gravy fan

Married is very much what I am

To a man who cannot get enough gravy.

I’m married to a gravy man

He’s the man with the gravy plan

Wrote the granule manual, got his own pan

That he only ever uses for gravy.

He’s on the gravy train with gravy on the brain

And I think as his missus I’ve a right to complain

I cook my finest dishes but his wishes are plain

Just gravy again and again and again.

I’m married to a gravy man

I’m married to a savoury man

I’m taking stock and doing all that I can

For a man who cannot get enough gravy.

He’s a passionate man, if not a rational man

He’s got Bisto machismo and he doesn’t give a damn

About mayonnaise, lyonaise, Tabasco or chilli or

Red sauce or bread sauce or Heinz piccalilli.

All you other ladies

Proffering your offerings,

Maybe you gravy

Means I should not be bothering?

Gonna put up my feet and maybe take a little nap

When your ladles curdle he’ll come runnin’ straight back.

It’s always the same, again and again

Pain quotiedien — the man’s a pain.

He’s got gravy brain, he’s not entirely sane,

So I’ll let him get his gravy from Katy or Elaine,

Anna had a pan with enormous handles

Holly had a place set at every table.

Haley’s gravy “delighted him daily”

Mary barely held on to her ladle

Maisey’s gravy used to “drive him crazy”,

Which he also said about the gravy of Daisy.

Stacey’s lately been making his gravy,

But she makes gravy for the whole damn navy.

Amy’s gravy, he said, was “amazing”.

Six months later, he was re-appraising.

Casey’s gravy was “simply great”

She never knew that he was licking Lacey’s plate.

It’s not made with love, it’s made with lard.

My gravy always brings the boy back to the yard.

Wish I’d married a mustard man.

Wish I’d married a custard man.

I wish I’d dusted my muffins with buttery crumbs.

Wish I’d whipped up a dish of sticky cinnamon buns.

There’ll be a time in your life when the moment comes,

He’s gonna’ beat your batter, gonna’ plunder your plums.

When questions pop, you’d better make him STOP.

He’ll have his hand in your pantry if you offer him a drop,

And when he drops to one knee, very quickly, you’ll see

That the man is the kind with one thing on his mind.

It’s your groovy gravy baby! listen lady;

Not noodles, not kneidls, just a ladle of gravy

Only loves you for your oven gloves — just one of those things

But you know he’ll never ever cut MY apron strings.

Do you want to spend a lifetime frowning at browning?

I’m throwing you a lifeline — cook enough to drown him!

’Cause he’s a gravy man. And a ladies man.

Who says Le Creusset’s “not a proper pan?”

Yes he likes a copper bottom, well I am what I am.

Here is the volcanic and cast iron truth:


Gravy, for anyone who doesn’t know is a kind of brown fluid used ubiquitously in British cookery as a kind of liquid substitute for actually being able to cook. This song isn’t really about gravy though.