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Our digs are three miles from the town
Monday’s rush hour gets us down
But we’re soon carefree
As we ride next the sea
By the “Jewel of Thanet’s Crown”
On the white cliffs great wealth for a while
Then in Margate we breakfast in style
But by Westgate Bay
You can smell the decay
Not been busy a very long while
Offshore a massive wind farm
Overhead chinooks start to swarm
Hunting desperate migrants
Taking a chance
While the channel is perfectly calm
We rattle along right by the sea
On concrete that’s older than me
Every ten yards
There’s a joint that jars
Which is tough on the butt and the knees
At Graveney I’m reminded of Tom
A man who played spin with aplomb
Hutton thought him too rash
He scored runs in a flash
Hit 100 tons like a bomb
For Faversham we take to a track
Once on it there’s no going back
Ancient dyke for a mile
Then stopped by a stile
Till the local shows us a hack.
Another great day in the sun and the saddle.
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