September in Brittany with Lincolnshire Austins
A POEM. ANNON
Two days to get to Portsmouth was the plan,
With plenty of spares and oil in a can.
Austins three ‘7’ ‘10’ and ‘Ruby’
Who turned out to be a bit of a ‘booby.’
Pit stops abounded for coughs and splutters
Not to mention a dynamo that developed flutters.
Lunch stop near Lutterworth, only 72 miles,
With further administering and rather forced smiles.
Another four miles and a service stop again,
How relieved some were to be in a ‘10’
We limped into Brinklow as the ‘Ruby’ gasped,
Her dreams of Brittany not to last.
Diagnoses abounded as male bottoms three
Disappeared under the bonnet but couldn’t agree.
The A.A. man solved it and put her on a loader
With Diane trying hard not to cry on Ed’s shoulder.
As they joined us next day resplendent in a Volvo
‘Be positive’ we said ‘we can bring back more Vino!
As a support vehicle it will be supreme
And as for radio, heating and comfort the rest of us can only dream.’
In Portsmouth the ‘7’ had her battery removed
And plugged in at ‘Reception’ the charge to be improved.
A Port official was ruffled ‘think of noxious gases.’
‘Our men are good at that’ retorted the lasses.
At last in Brittany we tootle in convoy
On mission from Lincolnshire as Austin envoys.
At Josselin we arrive as if on cue
A day before the film crew is due.
‘Do you need grumpy old men?’ ask the ladies in glee
‘As funnily enough we can provide three.’
Our hopes are dashed, fame is not for us.
It’s a BBC documentary about men touring in a bus.
We climb towers, visit the chateau and Vannes by the sea.
Have hourly coffee stops and a patisserie.
Florentines (Ed’s favourite) not to be missed
And Lobster for dinner he rapturously insists.
We move southwest to places quaint
To inspire our artist to sketch and paint.
Lunch in Pont Aven, to Benodet and on
To the ‘Manoir’ where only those stay with a certain ‘ton.’
A river trip, walking, sea bathing for some,
Our Austins admired,behaving second to none.
This trip is nearly over, our waistbands enlarged
My duties as navigator nearly discharged.
Who could have predicted the tail end of a hurricane
With heat and winds from lands American.
For those in the support car fully laden with ‘booze’
No problem, with ‘air con’ in comfort they cruise.
The frustration of ‘Deviation’ encountered times three.
Travel directly in September is not meant to be.
Our Austins battled bravely to Cherbourg they had to go,
With a change from the ferry company from St Malo.
Relaxing on board gave us time to reflect
As in sunshine we strolled up on the deck.
A success was declared as we all had our say,
Where shall we go next? What about Norway?
Just some scribblings for the Brittany gang (not magazine material!) with apologies to real poets and a total disregard for spelling, punctuation, grammar etc.