Going a bit parochial on the blog today, in celebration of my first go on the Weymouth Relief Road, the single greatest thing to have happened to the town since Mad King George decided to go for a bit of a paddle; or the day poor, murdered Archie Mitchell out of EastEnders decided to move out of the town, taking Peggy Mitchell out of EastEnders with him back to the London Borough of Walford, where he would become poor and murdered.
As brand new roads carved through chalk down, woodland and housing estate go, it's BLOODY BRILLIANT. Up yours, tree-huggers!
So brilliant, I done wrote a brilliant poem.
Ode to the Weymouth Relief Road by S.Duck, People's Poet
Why nobody's asked me to be the Poet Laureate yet, I just do not know.
Oh, three-mile stretch of heavenly tarmac!
That only took six decades to build!
From top of hill
Where Vikings found their grizzly end
For we still don't like outsiders all that much
To that roundabout next door to Morrisons which used to have the helicopter made out of flowers until they ripped it out
Opened in the nick of time
To save me five minutes on journey home
Which was lucky, to be honest
Because I was busting for a dump
For I didn't want do it in my car
And make a liar out of Gary Numan.