Daddy John at eighty springs, Moustache like Magnum PI twirls and sings. Bert, the eight-stone daft retriever, Guarding stories, tall yet feverous. In Portugal’s sun, he bares it all, While rugby dreams and Springsteen call, And GB News in rapt attention, In captivating, earnest retention. His garden blooms, a thriving jewel, Garage laden with every tool. He wakes us once, heart full of delight, For Northern Lights, a fiery plight. Through smoky tales, with Jansey jiving, On dance floors once, their spirits thriving. True or not, his stories glide, In Daddy John’s world, we take our stride.