If you fancy reading all about our evening way back when, you can do so here.
Apparently she had considered a different poem altogether (a rather famous one by Philip Larkin), but decided against in case the company couldn't cope with Larkin's darker thoughts. Or something.
Pudding arrived; yet more yumminess, this time in the form of rhubarb and ginger crumble with some not-at-all calorific double cream custard. Huzzah!
Puds was rapidly dispatched, and Mrs The Millbrooker sang us a great rendition of Black Sir Harry.
Cheese arrived, along with a couple of bottles of jolly decent port, and my turn to take the stage was upon us.
I was going to do Sir John Betjeman's Slough, but I realised, just in the nick of, that I'd done that two years before. So I did some rapid thumbing through some poetry volumes and decided to do two short pieces. I began with Betjeman's Dilton Marsh Halt (Mrs The Millbrooker and I have used the Halt on more than one occasion), and followed it with the short John Hegley poem Pickering to Grosmont (a personal favourite). Hmm - a railway theme, I've been doing the same job for too long.
At something approaching midnight after another beer and a cup of strong black coffee and also after much ceremonial failing to make sense in conversation, Mrs The Millbrooker decided it was time to take me home before there was undue danger of Sunday wipe-out due to excessive intake of delicious toxins.
Huge thanks, of course, to The Sump and La Sumpetta for hosting us and keeping the libations and yummy feastings coming thick and fast; we had a whale of a time.