When the wind is in the west and the string is in me vest,
I sit on the sand by the sea.
When the sun beats down, on me head so brown,
everything stops for tea.
When the seagull has landed I smack it left handed,
from me picnic that it's stabbing with it's beak.
When the damn thing squawks and does funny walks,
I chuck it some pie with leek.
When the tide goes out with a whoop and a shout,
the kids fly kites so high.
When the ice-cream melts, over shirts and belts,
and a train goes whistling by.
When the waves hit me feet, it feels such a treat,
to be paddling there once more.
When too long in the sun leaves me nose well-done,
and me forehead red and sore.
When the sunset falls and the chip shop calls,
with a promise of vinegar and salt.
When I sip brown ale, it's blowing a gale,
time to get out me bottle of malt.
When the caravan groans and the west wind moans,
I snuggle with me missus in the awning.
When with bucket and spade and me picnic made,
we'll do all again in the mornin'.
This is hilarious. It reminds me of our holidays at Skegness in the 60s (except that would be the East wind and you'd lose the alliteration!)
ReplyDeleteWell blow me down with a west wind! I had Skeggy in mind when I wrote it. We used to go to Chapel St Leonards just up the road nearly every year when I was very young. We might have sat next to each other on the same beach...small world!
ReplyDeleteWell double blow me down. We had a caravan at Ingoldmels and often walked to Chapel St Leonards. Small world, isn't it!
ReplyDeleteI've been to Skegness but I'm afraid it was Butins when the kids were young. I loved this poem describes a day at the seaside perfectly.
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