Ode to Smokey Mose’s Spud Shack In Bournemouth by the sea so grand, Where waves kiss shore and golden sand, There lies a shack, a humble spot, Where spuds are served, piping hot. Oh, Smokey Mose, your spuds delight, With butter golden, pure and bright, A mountain of cheese, so rich and fine, And beans that taste like summer’s wine. The spud mam saved to buy, you see, A treat for us, by the rolling sea, We queued with joy, our hearts alight, For Mose’s spuds, a perfect bite. The seagulls...