Can anyone help me find a humerous poem published in ME in the 1950’s please? The subject of the poem was a draughtsman deliberately designing a component that couldn’t be made.
First he put a hole where it couldn’t be drilled then placed a web to prevent a flange being machined, you get the picture. The only lines I can remember are the last ones;
“Then he cried,” Success at last. Now the bloody thing can’t even be cast!”
I’m sure we would all enjoy it if it can be found.
Thanks, John Sawle