As scowling down the lane he goes
Thrashing hedges, stripping trees.
Until the land lies comatose
They look at me in disbelief
And ask me how I still survive
When conversation turns to cars
And people find I cannot drive.
I've never driven. Felt no urge
Am filed "not as other men"
Confronted with some shiny heap
I'll ask: "Is that a good one then?"
The puzzled looks I sometimes get
Awaiting buses in the rain
They ask me: "How d'you get about?"
I cycle, walk or take a train.
And if it's late, I stay the night
Or share a cab home from a bar
And still I find in my accounts
It's cheaper than to run a car.
So what is all the fuss about?
As Blair Takes On The Motorists
That people get emotional
Parp horns, make faces, brandish fists?
"I have to have a car for work."
The commonest excuse today.
Perhaps that's why the road is full
With shoppers going two miles away
All stony-faced in pseudo Jeeps
To supermarkets out of town
Because "the choice is greater there."
As all the local shops close down.
And we who do not worship cars
Are often labelled "quaint" somehow
But learn those bus-times, oil the bike.
It could be we're the future now.
Bored with going to Umbria?
Sick of seeing Spain?
Tired of trudging Cumbria
In the teeming rain?
What about a holiday
Orbiting the planet?
Beats a week at Alresford Creek
Or the Isle Of Thanet.
Could be science fiction.
Not so in this case.
There in Tuesday's Indie;
Holidays in space.
In a hundred-room hotel
Earth far down below
Planning for a honeymoon?
Ideal place to go
Granted, you'll be space-sick
One of the effects
But the selling point is clear;
Full-on weightless sex
Ibiza may be cheaper
- And easier but hey,
A Sixty-two Mile High Club?
Just think of the cachet.
Romantic nights and days so long
The wines, the pines, the Tuscan sun
Remember how they played our song?
Cherie Baby ... that's the one.Reuse content