The Road to John O'Groats

The girls make a raid on the products displayed 

In the landlady’s front room store

She’s already agreed to provide the stuff free

But still they cackle and roar.

We’re used to guffaws that come from the jaws  

Of the ladies that pick us up after 

A joke that’s a turkey, an incident quirky 

And they succumb to hysterical laughter.

I start with a puff on a course that is tough

For which we’ll be getting no cup

It reminds me of Nefyn and that time in Devon

Just up down up down up.

As we enter Caithness, the previous county’s a guess 

And I really haven’t a clue

So Den gives a shiver, and his lips start to quiver 

“Sutherland brother”, he says right on cue.

Then Den clears his throat and asks “What’s a groat”

The answer’s just got to be found

Four old pence, that doesn’t make sense

Just .017 of a pound.

Now John’s claim to fame was the ferry boat game 

What he charged gave him his name 

Now I know that inflation has oft gripped our nation

But still he puts Calmac to shame.

At John O’Groats, a hollow boast

We’ve come from there to here

But unlike most, we went round the coast

Which is why it took us six years…

Golspie