Poetic licence
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Along the can-strewn motorway which leads from Alicante

She came to conquer Beniddorm and up her party's ante

Embracing burly engineers, she charmed the Costa Blanca

"What are they saying?" she asked an aide

"It sounded quite like, 'Thank her'."

She wandered round this Sangria-La across the lager bellies

The star of Triple Echo, minus overcoat and wellies

Observed a Geordie scaffolder emerginf from the foam:

"Me? Ah've bin converted pet. So can I take ya herm?"

And so successful was she in this latest PR post

The Labour Party sent her out to work the British coast

And thus the Shadow Minister began her rail campaign

Ignoring shouts of, "Will there be a nude scene on the train?"

So should you be on hoiliday in Cromer or in Skeg

And find her rubbing yoghourt on the sunburn on your leg

Tap her on the shoulder with an Indie Section Two

Saying, "You are Glenda Jackson and I'd like to join your crew. Or: "I've seen you as Gudrun Lee. Y're first-rate you."