UFO's, not the type ex-Man United footy player, Chris Smalling, observed landing in his teapot, but in the Mad Hatter's, also frequent the balding head of infamous spoofer, Jaggedone.
Mysteries of the poet's minds are sometimes unraveled there, and Dylan Thomas once visited his 'pea' and left another plentiful 'poetical pea' called; Under Pillock Wood!
Here is a shortened version because the original just rambles on and on, just like whisky running down Richard Burton's hunky Welsh throat:
Under Pillock Wood
To begin at the beginning (Where else?):
It is Spring, moonless night in the small town
starless and bible-black, as a hunch-back
hunts rabbits' for a slice of Welsh Rarebit
Cheese on toast, Holy Ghost
Crows, black, chase moles in their hole
While Captain Cat bears his wicked soul
A pump near the old town clock
which strikes Hickery-Dickery-Dock
As Jerry, a mouse in mourning
stands there yawning,
bored to tears says, "Where's Tom?"
While all the people of the lulled
and dumbfound town are sleeping now
Allowing the local Pillock to take a bow
Hush, the babies are sleeping,
farmers, the fishers, window cleaners are peeping
Tom's cobblers are seeping
a schoolmistress blows her postman
the undertaker and his fancy woman
dressed in black, a drunkard, cross-dressed dressmaker
paedo preacher, policeman
and web-footed cockle-women
tickle the husbands of tidy wives.
Young girls lie bedded covered in creams
softly, a dildo accompanies their dreams,
Wedding bells, bridesmaids,
organ-playing choir boys
dreaming, stiff wicked-wet schemes
of bucking boobies and ladies of the night
As the village Pillock, hunched-back
Slithers from pillow to pillow
under a weeping willow
In a Welsh town called;
Under Pillock Wood
Listen closely, he is never faraway from your 'pea'
A Welsh Rarebit from Dylan and me!
Shame old Richard Burton popped his Welsh clogs!