[A so-called seasonal poem from J-P Sertin:]
There’s a daft bar called Bohemia,
I never entered, but I know:
Daftness hangs ’round all the bars that called themselves Boho.
So there he said, and I agreed
So off we duly went –
And in Boho a super-daft old afternoon we spent.
At the very least this explains why Sertin hasn’t been seen around The Crippled Bee for a few weeks now.