A thousand cities, towns and villages,
And yet so sad to say.
Nether Podmore never saw,
The Olympic torch relay.
It passed elsewhere and miles away,
They watched it on the telly.
Cornish clips and Viking ships,
Didier and Dame Kelly.
A meeting at the Allotments,
A brain-storming session.
Nether Podites, quite within their rights,
To hold their own procession.
Couldn’t afford an ‘official’ torch,
Too expensive on e-bay.
‘What’s wrong with a decorator’s one,
On low flame?’ Harry did say.
Mavis said, ‘And light it by the sun,
Its rays are sacred, you know.’
But what is sun? They looked upon,
The rain spots on the window.
So they used a sacred match,
One that wasn’t damp.
And quell that doubt of torch going out,
A back up, Charlie’s paraffin lamp.
What of the torch bearers?
They put it to a vote.
Reverend Alf was fond, start at the duck pond,
He’s ready in a rowing boat.
Hands over to Charlie Dongle,
One arm round his prize marrow.
Then Betty, sitting pretty, down the jitty,
In old Fred Tuckett’s wheelbarrow.
Then off down the High Street,
Arthur’s mobility scooter wobbles.
Shakes and bounces, Arthur trounces,
As it passes over cobbles.
Everyone is cheering loud,
Flags waving in the drizzly rain.
Arthur’s lost his brakes, accelerates,
Down a country lane.
But he’s a racing master,
At mobility scooter control.
No big deal, wheel squeal,
Swerves to dodge a pothole.
And back into the village,
Edna Tail takes the flame.
She’s no Rolls Royce, slow as a tortoise,
On her zimmer frame.
Then later on that evening,
The Dog and Duck pub.
Where finally it, lit the spit,
To roast the roast hog grub.
That was where it ended,
Saluted with a cheer.
Without a doubt, the flame went out,
But will it be back next year?
And you won’t find it listed,
On e-bay as ‘unofficial’ torch.
‘Cos Harry needs it, for a bit,
To finish off his porch.
