“Unaccustomed as I am” to handing Stan some Laurels
In scrapes aplenty we’ve endured, I have to cede he is a hoot
His end retort “well, that’s just swell” and added “humph” you hear him toot
Endears him to the world at large, exuding innocence and morals

“Excuse my friend” I often say, expressing quaint confusion
Arching fingers of his hand in tousled hair, an aching skit
Surprises with a down turned lip, when knowing he’s a true blue Brit
A trademark trait he’s made his own, which brings more chuckles in profusion

“My good friend Ollie’s” quite robust, in fact he is a Hardy soul
His gentle ways from spotlights glare, bear no obvious relation
To persona shown in larks well known when feigning indignation
Yet he likes pork pies with lots of fries, when filling out this meaty role

When I’m bawling like a child, in circumstance that’s just showbiz
He glances at the camera lens, with fingered tie and tapping shoe
Well here my friends I must confess, “another fine mess I’ve got him into”
Whilst he with nodded affectation, confirms the worst “It certainly is”