COMPETITION

Song of a road-hog

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2039 you were asked for a poem entitled 'Song of a Road- hog'. Once, as old Lord Gorbals motored

Round his moors near John o' Groats, He collided with a goatherd And a herd of forty goats. By the time his car got through They were all defunct but two.

Roughly he addressed the goatherd: `Dash my whiskers and my corns! Can't you teach your goats, you dotard,

That they ought to sound their horns? Look, my AA badge is bent! I've a mind to raise your rent!'

I can't resist surrendering space to Harry (Ruthless Rhymes) Graham's Toad of the Highlands. Now to the prize-giving. The winners, printed below, take £25 each, and the bonus bottle of The Macallan The Malt Scotch whisky goes to Philip A. Nicholson. I'm a motoring freak with a lethal streak, Mad Max in a souped-up Jag, an Overtake me and you're likely to be Removed in a plastic bag.

If you dawdle in front I'll give you a shunt To help you along the way,

Too bad if that biff tips you over a cliff,

But how the big boys play. and my Highway Code I'm the king of the road Has nothing to do with the rules — ri slows, and all those

They are for wrinklies, slow

Who dither and bumble like fools.

I'm well hooked on speed, a drug that I need, It makes me a devil on wheels,

But I know very well that I'm driving to hell With the Angel of Death at my heels. (Philip A. Nicholson) With my hooter blaring constantly 'poop-poop' like Mr Toad I surge past opposition on the Continental road; Straight as a shaft of sunlight the autobahn lay west That day I drove to Avignon by way of Budapest. My tourer's sort of British — I'm a patriotic guy — And the Citroens and Mercedes have to watch me screaming by; I caused a lovely pile-up between Fiats and a tanker

That time I made St Petersburg by way of Salamanca.

There's Britain, and there's Europe, and they each have different factors: There's whizzing round the British roads and needling the tractors, And there's burning up the autostradas — much the better bargain When you're heading off to Malaga by way of Copenhagen.

I love the autobahnen, autoroutes and

autostradas: They give a chap a chance to show the nature of his ardours.

I soon get bored with Sussex lanes, for what's their blooming use When I'm keen to drive to Hanover by way of Syracuse? (Paul Griffin)

I start up the car with a thundering jar As the engine awakens and roars; Then I tear up the road in a dominant mode, With a digital, macho up-yours.

The testosterone thrill, on a difficult hill, Of passing a Swedish saloon At a frightening speed is a buzz that I need: It sends me right over the moon. At red lights I sit in a half-suppressed fit With my feet on the clutch and the brake, Sworn to zoom away first in a high-octane burst While the rest disappear in my wake.

Ah, the joy that I feel as I handle the wheel

While my cellphone caresses my ear!

What a glorious state of delight! I can't wait Till I get back my licence next year. (Basil Ransome-Davies) got me foot through the floor an to ell wif the law aint nobody fasten) me i ram anyone doin under the ton in me soupedup magenta capri i clock all the totty dont care if its grotty an v the sad bastards in mercs an them losers in ladas an gits in granadas annacourse volvo drivers theyre berks i cruise on me own wif me ead in me phone im important got bizness to do so sod evry learner im on a big earner get outa me way this means you (Mike Morrison) I must go down to the motorway, to the tarmac sea and lead sky, And all I ask is a Rolls-Royce with power to steer her by, And the wheels' whirr, and the tyres' screech, and the white car shaking, And a grey mist on the windscreen, and a high- speed braking.

I must go down to the motorway, for the call of the engine's purr

Is a wild call and a clear call, and I cannot demur; And all I ask is a rainy day with the sprayed grit flying,

And the flung mud and the blown trash and the sirens crying.

I must go down to the motorway, to life in the outside lane, To the fast skid on a hard lid, when the wind's like a whipping cane; And all I ask is a thrilling race with a fellow Roller owner, And leather seats and a speed trip for this