The patron saint of holidays

I’ve shivered in the snow and ice in Vilnius,
I’ve braved the traffic madness of Trieste,
I’ve flown without much hassle
To the walls of Edinburg castle
And Pula left me very much impressed.

I’ve strolled the Jewish quarter in Girona,
In Wroclaw I have dined on wild boar.
In Frankfurt I’ve drunk beer
In the Christmas market cheer
And ambled by the clear Slovenian shore.

Oh I’ve seen so many wondrous sights ‘cross Europe,
Tripping like a trav’ler here and there.
And it will make people weep
To learn I’ve done it on the cheap,
Oh God bless all the folks in Ryanair.

The Pyrrenees

Walking o’er the Franco-Spanish border,
I spied a hiker striding forth with ease.
His thighs appeared in perfect working order,
But oh, he had a wondrous pyrrenees.

Carcassonne

Oh dans le very south of France,
If you need to lie down, perchance,
Les benches there sont secs et bons
To rest your weary carcass on.

The Unkindest Cut

Two weeks of sun and cooling beer
Upon sweet Tenerife,
Sitting by the water clear
‘Neath knotted handkerchief.
The cooling breeze upon the pier
Afforded some relief
From all that humid atmosphere
That draped the isle’s massif.

But time, like some cheap souvenir,
Was stolen by a thief.
Two weeks just seemed to disappear –
Alas! ‘Twas far too brief.
We flew back home with little cheer,
Holed fast upon a reef,
And learned about the heatwave here,
Which maximised our grief.

The Holiday Wasp

As hibiscus plants and olive trees
Swayed lightly in the gentle breeze,
And children splashed about the pool
In valiant efforts to keep cool,
Out of the blue and cloudless sky,
A liitle wasp came buzzing by.
From whence he came remains unknown,
But soon his fear-inducing drone
Caused consternation to the host
Of people burning up like toast.
They looked up from their books and mags,
Put down their colas and their fags
And flapped around like windmill sails
Tormented by impromptu gales.
He flitted thus from bed to bed.
“Hello to one and all,” he said,
But sadly, fickle humankind
Could not translate the waspish mind.
And so they threatened fatal blows
Whene’er he skirted round their toes.
He so tormented one poor chap
Who swatted with his baseball cap
That in the end, this silly fool
In terror dived into the pool,
An action divers do not tend
To do while in the shallow end.
The little wasp just floated on
Beneath the sun that brightly shone
And people, leaping upwards, gave
A version of the Mexican wave,
And struck at him with well-thumbed books,
And gave this insect dirty looks,
Until, at last, his fun complete,
He disappeared into the heat.

Fly Food

A table laid out for a feast
With succulent forearms and thighs,
Lightly but thoroughly greased
To attract all the ravenous flies.
No neon signs needed down here,
The smell of the food will suffice,
And soon all the diners appear
To sample the free merchandise.
And when they have loosened their belts,
And buzzed away home to their brood,
I look at my red, blotchy welts
And thank God I can still provide food.

Bosoms Bared

Bosoms bared beside the pool
Don’t invoke apoplexy.
They’re big and flabby as a rule
And anything but sexy.
They flop around like punctured balls,
Distract you when you’re swimmin’,
And if that verily appals,
You ought to see the women.