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The Grampound Times
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Edition 45

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Here is a fun poem I came across recently - I know who wrote it - and I am confident that if you read it you will know to - providing you are old enough! It’s entitled:

The Annual Holiday

Well, I’m off on my holidays,
It’s all within my reach,
I’ve got myself in trim,
For carting deckchairs round the beach,
With me flask of tea and cup,
I shall be pouring out the dregs,
With wasps all round me orange,
And with tar all round me legs.
All bundled up with cardigans,
(The weather’s on the change)
I won’t have slept the night before,
(The beds were all so strange)
I’ll lay out on the beach,
Oh so remote and deeply tanned,
With me sandwiches, me knickers,
And me ears full up with sand.
At night, as we’re on holiday,
It’s on the town we’ll go,
With sausage, chips and marrowfats,
At a couple of quid a throw,
And when we’ve spent our cash,
We’ll wander home as best we can,
All along the mini-golf,
To the smell of the hot dog man.
Or seeing as it’s raining,
We’ll pop out for a jar,
When we’ve fought the other tourists,
For a second at the bar,
We’ll ignore those folks who’ve just come in,
Whose shoulders are so sore,
‘Cause last week was so hot,
They couldn’t step outside the door.
And then we’ll travel home,
All sat religiously apart,
So we don’t touch each others legs,
And make the sunburn smart,
With suitcasefulls of rock,
So everybody gets a stick,
And our hearts down in our flip flops,
See you next year. Kiss me quick!