Saturday, our arrival, hissed with rain.
Sunday didn't do likewise again,
'twere much too hot
and our caravan squat
is a squeeze havin' six to contain.
The walls are thin, the roof's a-leak.
our lop-sided bed has a fathomless squeak.
we've no bloody heater,
a gluttonous meter
and I don't think the money will last us the week.
still, never mind.....ample lager & lime.
if the cashflow gets too low
we'll resort then to crime.
with love from Harriet,
Quentin and the creatures,
havin' a whale of a time stranded
on Yarmouth's oiled beaches.
P.S.- Quentin has sunstroke
and a severe blistered back
and the oilslick has passed
-now there's masses of wrack.
Ephraim Crud