Sunday, August 19, 2007


The boat was plunging up and down,
The sea was pretty choppy.
I never thought we’d get there
In this bockety jalopy.

Everyone on board was sick,
‘Twas pitiful to see.
They did not heed my sound advice
To stand beneath a tree.

Eventually we tethered to
The harbour wall in Sark,
Mightily relieved as we
Queued up to disembark.

“Is this the way?” I asked a man,
A-standing on the quay.
“Not at all,” he countered,
“That there road goes out to sea.”

I stopped another local. “’Scuse me,
Where’s the village, please?”
“No village here,” the man replied,
“We all live in the trees.”

“When does this boat leave again?”
I asked one of the crew.
“In six years time,” he answered me,
And my suspicions grew.

“I’ve had enough of this,” said I,
“I’m tired of this malarkey.
Its plain to see that everyone
Revels in being sarky.”

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