In the morn my wife is going ‘Up North,’
To visit friends you see,
That leaves me stranded here in Kent,
With scope to be wild and free?
Of course she offered me the chance,
To accompany her up there,
Yet perplexed, and at my wits end,
I could only look at her and stare!
“‘Up North’ my girl you know very well,
The place is frozen June to May,
That is when it isn’t raining,
Which is every other day.
And furthermore you are aware,
That last time I ventured there,
I managed a grave nose bleed,
Was in a state of disrepair,
A little north of Highgate,
For that’s ‘North’ enough for one,
Who treasures not satanic mills,
In the dark or in the sun.
One who has never lusted,
For black pudding or the saying Ecky Thump,
Has no desire, on moorland,
To find a sheep to rump.
No I’ll stay by the seaside,
Here in the South East,
Maybe look out young Svetlana,
Ask her to tame the beast!”*
- SINCERE APOLOGIES TO ANY AND ALL LIVING NORTH OF ST ALBANS – COULDN’T HELP MYSELF WHEN THE WIFE WAS IN RAPTURES ABOUT THE PLACE!