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| On The A1, Feeling Anything But... "Turn the thing around," She said, an old bag wanting more... The driver had to listen, the bag was 104. Apparently we'd turned off the strip When there were three more illuminations to see: Cannon and Ball, Sandy Powell And, of course, such a crime: Dustin Gee. 50 minutes later we were Right back at the start; An arc full of screaming kids Waiting for a sea of scrubbers to part. My bladder was the bulging pond right after the monsoon flood - And there was a moaning adolescent sat in front of me With a bulging pond sized hood. All of a sudden at walking-frame speed, We ground to a heart-stopping halt. The congestion on this 'geriatric mile' Was said to be of fault. I seized the initiative and within a flash I was slashing on the sand, To the sound of the waves, the crashing sea, And the 'Ultimate Blues Brothers Band'. I reboarded and immediately Tripped o'r some old biddy's cane. I apologised and said to myself, "Neither of us Will see again, This place of bulbs and lasers, But at least that's 'cos it's shite And not because I'm 'going gently into that dark night.'" After what seemed like six tours of 'Nam, We were finally released from the 'lights'. I was planning a 'claim' against the old bags, Regarding my constitutional rights. But, hey, 'One day we'll all be old', And in the end I just didn't bother 'em So I closed my eyes and sucked my hip-flask, Next stop everyone: 'Rotherham'. Gaunt 2005 |
| Inspired by my last visit to Blackpool, circa 1999...... |