Tyne Bridge's Trip To Broadstairs

(With apologies to Fiddler's Dram.  

An approximately true account of Tyne Bridge's sojourn at Broadstairs Folk Week)

Didn't we have a lovely time

The week we went to Broadstairs

The kit was too hot and we forgot

To take along a crate of plasters.

Two days of sun then thunder begun

And most of us were camping

Having to try to keep our all kit dry

As the rain came down

Don't you recall the first night of all - 

We'd not even started dancing - 

Pauline's upset tum - with delerium -

She had to be taken away you know

And don't even think of blaming the drink 

She hadn't been on the cider

A virus some berk had passed on at work

Had brought her down

We did the parade then somebody made

An arson attempt on the garlands

Janet went to attack, but Sue held her back

Preventing a nasty scene you know.

Then oh what a thump - it made us all jump

When Thug dropped his bouzouki

It came off its strap and fell off his lap

And thundered down

And who can forget the night it was wet

We were having a pizza party

Up at the camp - at first it was damp

And then the heavens simply opened

The team and their kin were soaked to the skin

And the field was just a quagmire -

It takes a big drain for a whole inch of rain

To run on down

Next day the sun shone and now we were on

To do some street collecting

We did some busking but a team from the Ring

Wouldn't dance with us so we moved on.

We busked alone got soaked to the bone

With our own perspiration

'Cos when we're booked to dance there isn't a chance

We'll let you down

Oh wasn't it grand to do the Bandstand

And hang around for ages

Through an act that was twee - and then the MC

Told us curtly that our set was too long

His arrogant pose got up Janet's nose

So she took him aside and spoke sternly

Said "Listen to me - we do this for free"

And he backed down

Then on Saturday we drifted away

And the campsite it got empty

Except for Pam's tent whose zip had got bent

And Pat's caravan which was there 'til teatime

And every day that we were away

We sent a card home to the Bagman

Who made up this song getting everything wrong

And wrote it down

©Brenda M Boyd


© D W Bennett 2018