The bloody limit

This Bloody land’s a Bloody cuss,

Might as well go by Bloody ‘bus.

No-one cares for Bloody us,

Poor Bloody Drivers!

Bloody Fraser’s Bloody done it,

Given us a Bloody limit.

Makes you want to Bloody spit.

Poor Bloody Drivers!

Bloody Police State here at last;

Mustn’t drive too Bloody fast.

That’s the Bloody judgement passed.

Poor Bloody Drivers!

Might as well sell the Bloody car.

Go and prop up the Bloody bar;

Shan’t be going too Bloody far

Poor Bloody Drivers!

Seventy Bloody miles an hour,

What waste of Bloody power;

Makes me feel Bloody sour.

Poor Bloody Drivers!

(With apologies to the author of ‘The Bloody Orkneys.)

J B ; CROWBOROUGH

(As the operative word of this despairing poem is heard almost every night on TV programmes these days, I have no compunction about publishing it, as once I might have done! —Ed)