Adrian Delia has made a habit of bursting into song every time conversation runs dry. His poems (pronounced poy-eems) are largely of a uniform theme: a Saint Sebastian rolling his eyes in ecstatic fervour grateful for the arrows puncturing his supple body releasing his hot martyr’s blood to demonstrate his status of the victim. When all is said and done, his stained loincloth will be the holy relic preserved for posterity.

These verses are inescapably replete with grammatical errors, completely bereft of subtlety, insipid and as literal as a grocery shopping list.

Whatever claim the lines make to literary merit will likely go unnoticed in the annals of English verse. They look like verse because his prose is stunted and his punctuation random.

And through it all (not true it all) all he ends up saying is ‘Do I look like a give a toss what anyone thinks?’

If this was a TV soap, it would not get a slot in the dead lunch hour. But if loudly sung, and in a foreign tongue, it would make the perfect opera.

This is less inspiring than a nursery rhyme. And it doesn’t rhyme.