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Albert goes East

Now Albert were fed up wi’ Blackpool
with its candy floss, daft hats an’ t’ Mile,
an’ ’e planned this year’s vacation
to spend t’ brass on summat worthwhile.

He’d visited Blackpool quite reg’lar,
practically every year,
but this time ’e thought: “Summat different;
a place that weren’t quite so dear.”

Albert raided all Thomas Cook agents
tekking brochures for ’olidays by t’sea
but ’e ignored them that were next door to Blackpool;
’e fancied somewhere excitin’ yer see.

So at last ’e settled on Scarborough,
over there on t’ East Yorkshire coast,
for ’e’d ’eard that in t’ better guest ’ouses
they served tasty drippin’ on toast.

Albert clambered on to t’excursion,
which were soon chuffing, painfully slow,
to eventually arrive weary at Scarborough –
where it were freezin’ wi’ a wind full o’ snow.

It siled down in Scarborough all t’ week,
even t’ seagulls were brassed off an’ sad.
Albert traipsed back an’ forth up the sea front;
it were t’ worst ’oliday ’e’d ever ’ad.

It were no use mutterin’ or complainin’
for ’is wallet ’ad taken a whack
’cos ’e’d ’ad to buy a sou’ester,
some wellies, an’ a transparent mac.

’E’d no money to spare for t’ amusements
Nowt over to listen to t’ band.
So Albert’s thoughts about Scarborough,
were it were miserablest place i’ the land.

'E couldn’t afford to ride t’ speedboat,
nor ’ave a cream ’orn for ’is tea.
“Stuff Scarborough,” said Albert, on t’ Friday,
“Next year, it’s back to Blackpool for me.”

Mike Wilson © 2005

Mike Wilson