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I take my brekkie in the town of Buckie
Then prettily cross the Spey
Heading for coffee by the Lossie
It’s all a struggle today
There’s a blustery breeze designed not to please
But I’m glad that it’s dry and it’s mild
There’ll be no medal the way I pedal
With the strength of a 5-year-old child
The Lossie economy is hardly a mystery
The RAF provide every meal
They’re out on display, jets at play
Lord help us, if we need them for real
I stop at Hopeman wishing for dope man
If only I’d brought E.P.O.
I could do with a fix, or Lance Armstrong’s mix
To get through this desperate low
The headwind turns brutal, my response is to tootle
Something’s gone terribly wrong
Should’ve taken in my stride, this short flat ride
Lonely suffering for far too long
My cares are gone at pretty Findhorn
I’m staying in the Crown & Anchor
Built by the shoreline in 1739
Their beer will cure any rancour.
A day when the miles, or maybe last night’s curry, caught up with me. At least it was dry.
Just a hop and a skip tomorrow, but maybe more of the same.
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