The bus to BOTHWAYS

Country pub, left in a daze

(Well, it was my holidays)

I see a bus stop in the distance

And ask a local for assistance.

“How long until the bus to Bothways?

I don’t mind if I go the longways,

But please don’t point me wrongways.

And does the bus return on Sundays?”

The farmer looked me up and down

As if I were a circus clown.

“I wouldn’t journey there on Sundays,

(Unless you want to come back Mondays)

You’re facing backwards, anyways

The bus goes southerly to Bothways.

And more, you can’t go dressed like that

In fancy spats and silk cravat.

And if you see a Bothways cat

Be sure to doff your trilby hat.”

I scratched my chin in some confusion

(It may have been the beer infusion)

Looked up and down the leafy lane

And climbed aboard when green bus came.

I fell into a summer slumber

Until…  a hand upon my shoulder.

“Tickets please! What destination?”

I felt for change with hesitation.

“Return to…  Bothways, if you be kind.

That damned place so hard to find

Has placed a cloud upon my mind

And made my brow with furrow lined.”

The clippie looked me up and down

As if I was a circus clown.

“I’m sorry, no return on Sundays

(Unless you want to come back Mondays)

You’re heading wrongways, anyways.

Southerly runs the route to Bothways.

But when you go, don’t dress like that

In silver spats and cream cravat.

And for God’s sake, if you see a cat,

Please don’t forget to doff your hat.”

This piece of nonsense has been going around my mind for years since passing a bus stop labelled 'BOTHWAYS'. Perhaps there was a small space between 'both' and 'ways', but I didn't see it.