"CARAVANING BLISS" by Bob Magor.
There was movement at the station' so wrote down a famous man
But how did Banjo know this? p'raps he towed a caravan.
Maybe Banjo had been woken in a van park from his sleep.
Some two hours before sunrise by strange noises from the deep.
All the 'Erk, erk, erk' of van legs, being wound up in the dark
As the first nocturnal trav'ler starts to wake the sleeping park.
Then just like a feral mating call, some others answer back
With their 'Erk, erk' flaming chorus, as the first start off down the track.
Ev'rything they pack's metallic, and it clatters, bangs and dongs
As they bark out loud instructions, amid the hollow clacks of thongs.
Now it's best to warm your motor, if you're leaving in the dark
Especially if it's diesel, and jackhammers all the park.
Because now it's time to hook on and you hear the circus start
"more left-- not right-- I said this way you pig-headed old fart!"
And "how dare you call me brainless, you ungrateful senile drone
If you don't want my directions, do it on your own!"
And by now the doors are slamming, just to finish off the show
"Are you sure you turned the gas off?" you yell out--"Just bloody go"
Because now it's almost daylight, and the camp picks up the pace
as these geriatrics gypsies all begin the morning tea race.
For the next park is their target, where like metal ants they flock
the first in gets the best shade and a close ablution block.
But for us still vainly sleeping, we just toss and kick and turn
Who said holidays are restful? beauty sleep is what we yearn.
But there's miles of zippers zinging, as the tents all fold to go
and there's campervan doors agrinding, as they whizz bang to and fro.
And there's neighbours out there yelling, "Looks another nice day,"Fred"
And you think "It would be far better, if you mob were still in bed!"
You can't beat 'em, so you join 'em, in this hyperactive spree
For the Laundry"s now in full swing, throbbing like a DC3.
To the bathroom men are walking, holding buckets with a lid
Whilst discussing ageing prostates, and comparing what they did
Then a rotten kid starts whinging, and will not do what he's told
"Bring back the lash", you yell out, "It worked fine in days of old!"
All this action makes you thirsty, so you start to lift a lid
Then he comes out of nowhere---the eternal Outback Kid.
He's a clone of Harry Butler, Malcolm Douglas rolled into one
He has fished and climed and driven, ev'ry track under the sun.
And he brags about his conquests, twice round the bush and back
Though you half-suspect his tinny has been welded on his rack.
For this man is a fanatic, he has travelled ev'rywhere
After half an hour's earbashing, you sure wish he was still there.
'Cause now in the park it's showtime, magic moments all can share
You prepare for the entertainment, as you grab a beer and a chair.
For here come the new arrivals, with the wives all looking terse.
You thought leaving was a hassle--well arriving's ten times worse.
"Cause hand-waving female logic, with male thinking won't compute
So a jack-knife on the van site, soon erupts into hot dispute.
It's as good as any circus, wife and husband on attack
as spectators in their deckchairs, watch the rigs shunt up and back.
For there's trees and shrubs to back through, and a water tap of course
Then the happy couple unhook, mostly ending in divorce.
Then in come the tourist buses,with their worn out frazzled crew,
and they bail out almost running for they all have jobs to do.
Then a canvas city rises, built with hammers echoed clacks
from the old girls driving tent pegs,like the're laying railway tracks.
Then it,s 8pm, cheap phone calls ,there's a rush to all get through ,
There"s three phones for ninety people ,and your the last one in the queue!
With the callers always yelling ,'cause their homes are far away ,
Forcing half the park to eavesdrop on each word they have to say .
Telling all about the weather and adventures they've been through,
then they swap and start repeating from the others' point of view .
Then the lights dim on the campground and a gentle hush then falls ,
'cept the drone of rasping snoring through each caravan's thin walls .
And you drift in gentle slumber as sweet dreams flit through your brain,
Till at 5am there's "Erk.erk,erk" .Hell, here we go again !!!
