In 2010, whilst visiting Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis, the largest town (about 8,000 people) in the Outer Hebrides, I came across McNeill’s Bar, or, as it chose to describe itself at the time, ‘McNeill’s Husband Creche’.

I composed the following verse in recognition of the establishment’s attempt to provide succour and support for its wedded male population in their hours of need.

Just leave your husband here, my dear.

You know he’s feeling rather queer.

Yes, park him in a cosy pub

While you go off and buy the grub.

He’s a babe if truth be told,

He will be as good as gold.

So shoot off while the coast is clear,

You know he’d dearly love a beer.

As long as he has got his drinks

Let him have his 40 winks.

While you for those bargains search

He’ll be happy in his crèche.

And when you have no more to spend

He’ll let you take him home to tend

To his desires, his every need,

Wash his clothes, provide his feed,

Tend his pains, caress his ego.

Lassitude is now his credo,

For as he’s just retired you know

You now must reap what you did sow.

In 2010, whilst visiting Stornoway on the Isle of Lewis, the largest town (about 8,000 people) in the Outer Hebrides, I came across McNeill’s Bar, or, as it chose to describe itself at the time, ‘McNeill’s Husband Creche’.

I composed the following verse in recognition of the establishment’s attempt to provide succour and support for its wedded male population in their hours of need.