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. ...
