Twas on a hot and sunny day upon the Cote d’Amour,
We joined the crowds of sweaty people massed upon the shore,
The burning sun was scorching every back and neck and limb,
And so we all decided that we’d go in for a ‘wim.
We stripped down to our swimming togs and ran down to the sea,
But then a band of seashells pulled us up in agony.
I’ve always been a fan of Shels, but these ones were the pits,
We cursed them with abandon, as they cut our feet to bits.
Eventually we got to where the seashore should have been,
But much to our amazement it was nowhere to be seen.
Miles and miles of flat, wet sand, it really was surprisin’.
Then Rachel said, “I think it’s over there on the horizon.”
The five of us then started out upon our mammoth trek,
In boiling sun, we dreamed of water lapping round our neck,
But after walking half an hour beneath the hazy skies,
We found the water level only came up to our thighs.
Instead of a refreshing swim, it was a tiring walk,
And Neil wondered loudly were we nearly in New York.
And then, far in the distance, a beacon came in sight,
“Lets head for that!” Annette remarked, and we replied, “Alright.”
Onward, onward, ever on, we trudged towards the west,
Until at last the water level reached up to our chest.
One by one, we took the plunge and braved the icy sea,
Except, of course, for Simon, who walked on quite happily.
Beneath the surface of the deep, we spied some giant squid,
And great white sharks and killer whales watched everything we did,
A shoal of killer anchovies became a buttock-clencher,
But did they cause us to turn back, or flinch from our adventure?
The Lost Lighthouse of Atlantis very slowly grew in size,
Surrounded by some dangerous reefs, and seagulls’ piercing cries.
“Ou est le centre de George Pompidou?” we asked a passing bird,
But he just turned his head away, as though he hadn’t heard.
The lighthouse was protected by some fearsome, hidden rocks,
‘Gainst which our sole protection was the thickness of our jocks.
We’d have to brave these jagged beasts, to touch the sacred shrine,
And risk a lacerated arse beneath the foaming brine.
One by one, we took the plunge to touch the sacred walls,
And no one can deny that every one of us had balls,
Never had a band of people showed such gallantry,
Except for Simon who was having a oiseau in the sea.
Our mission done, we turned around and once more headed east,
Happy in the knowledge we had tamed the savage beast.
The current tried to pull us back, but we still soldiered on,
Until at last it tried no more, and all the waves were gone.
Hours later, so it seemed, we solemnly shook hands,
And flopped down on our towels lying on the burning sands.
The mammoth trek was over and the memory swelled my chest,
Though John, Louise and Monica were clearly not impressed.
We joined the crowds of sweaty people massed upon the shore,
The burning sun was scorching every back and neck and limb,
And so we all decided that we’d go in for a ‘wim.
We stripped down to our swimming togs and ran down to the sea,
But then a band of seashells pulled us up in agony.
I’ve always been a fan of Shels, but these ones were the pits,
We cursed them with abandon, as they cut our feet to bits.
Eventually we got to where the seashore should have been,
But much to our amazement it was nowhere to be seen.
Miles and miles of flat, wet sand, it really was surprisin’.
Then Rachel said, “I think it’s over there on the horizon.”
The five of us then started out upon our mammoth trek,
In boiling sun, we dreamed of water lapping round our neck,
But after walking half an hour beneath the hazy skies,
We found the water level only came up to our thighs.
Instead of a refreshing swim, it was a tiring walk,
And Neil wondered loudly were we nearly in New York.
And then, far in the distance, a beacon came in sight,
“Lets head for that!” Annette remarked, and we replied, “Alright.”
Onward, onward, ever on, we trudged towards the west,
Until at last the water level reached up to our chest.
One by one, we took the plunge and braved the icy sea,
Except, of course, for Simon, who walked on quite happily.
Beneath the surface of the deep, we spied some giant squid,
And great white sharks and killer whales watched everything we did,
A shoal of killer anchovies became a buttock-clencher,
But did they cause us to turn back, or flinch from our adventure?
The Lost Lighthouse of Atlantis very slowly grew in size,
Surrounded by some dangerous reefs, and seagulls’ piercing cries.
“Ou est le centre de George Pompidou?” we asked a passing bird,
But he just turned his head away, as though he hadn’t heard.
The lighthouse was protected by some fearsome, hidden rocks,
‘Gainst which our sole protection was the thickness of our jocks.
We’d have to brave these jagged beasts, to touch the sacred shrine,
And risk a lacerated arse beneath the foaming brine.
One by one, we took the plunge to touch the sacred walls,
And no one can deny that every one of us had balls,
Never had a band of people showed such gallantry,
Except for Simon who was having a oiseau in the sea.
Our mission done, we turned around and once more headed east,
Happy in the knowledge we had tamed the savage beast.
The current tried to pull us back, but we still soldiered on,
Until at last it tried no more, and all the waves were gone.
Hours later, so it seemed, we solemnly shook hands,
And flopped down on our towels lying on the burning sands.
The mammoth trek was over and the memory swelled my chest,
Though John, Louise and Monica were clearly not impressed.
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