The Weekly Muse

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To Casnewydd (Newport, Wales)

From Colchester and back again

By Super Apex on the rails

Across the lumpy counterpane

Of half-familiar western hills

Takes longer than perhaps it might.

At Reading Town the carriage fills

As more embark but none alight.

Among this crowd of "customers"

An Indie reader and his wife.

She limps, walks with a stick, insists

The journey isn't worth the strife,

Suggesting that they both get off.

The train is over-full, replete,

But luckily some dodgy poet

Stands up to volunteer his seat.

Now Mr Prescott, when you do

Decide to spank the railway boys,

Don't simply fine them 50p

And hint you'll take away their toys,

But hit the bandits good and hard.

They're architects of misery

And quite apart from all of this

They drain our productivity.

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz,

And scientists say the problem is

The season's earlier than it was

Some 30 years ago, because

The world pumps out more CO2

Than prudent planets ought to do.

So why won't we forsake the car?

(See previous verses etc, blah...)

"Jogging makes the brain grow bigger":

Gives the hippocampi vigour,

Guards against the inner dunce...

Maybe scribes should try it once.

Better, though, to keep on writing -

Makes you vain but more exciting,

Witness Julie Burchill's quill.

Loved her then. I love her still.

I've asked her to the running track.

Alas, she hasn't called me back.

"Good afternoon, Sir Smashem Uppe*,

We're having tea, do take a cup.

Your neighbour claims the charges are

You've damaged his Mercedes car.

As Purley's police we've had to bring 'em

In the name of Bernard Ingham.

Pray don't apologise, old chap.

A very trivial mishap.

Good job it's this late in the day,

Or what might Mrs Thatcher say?"

* With apologies to EV Rieu.