His name was Nigel,
A quite sort of bloke...
A man of very few words,
He seldom ever spoke...
But this fella was a trooper,
He seemed quite sincere...
I’d reckon he was in the running,
For gentleman of the year...
He was a man of many talents,
Boasting a swag of jobs as well...
He even filled in for the chef,
Down at the local RSL...
No culinary expertise,
No documents were produced...
But somehow good old Nigel,
Had them all seduced...
His rewrote all the menus,
With his own gourmet delights...
A recipe for disaster,
Seemed clearly in his sights...
But once again he was blessed,
These simple dishes were a hit...
And Nigel bluffed them all,
More than he’d admit...
Certainly an overnight success,
How well could this bloke cook..
They told him that his menus,
Should be made into a book...
But they were his best kept secrets,
The one’s he would not reveal...
He wasn’t going to part with them,
He wasn’t going to squeal....
Something must of troubled Nigel,
I saw the look upon his face...
As he disappeared out the back,
He vanished without a trace...
And as to this day,
Nigel never did return...
And those fantastic flavours,
Is something that’s still yearned...
Some say it must have been wallaby,
Wombat or kangaroo...
It could have been even camel,
Or crocodile in that stew...
Many have tried to make it,
And all of them have failed...
Those secret recipes of Nigel's,
Will never be unveiled....
Was this a myth or legend,
Is there any truth in it at all..
Or am I just pulling your leg,
And this yarn is ten foot tall...
It is a known as simply folklore,
The truth is in what you will believe...
If I’ve you read the story this far,
I have done what I’ve achieved…