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)