A cunning plan’s afoot methinks
To keep us here at home
Car firmly parked in garage
With no wheel-Right to Roam.
For when we turn the engine on
To progress up our hill
We know not where to point its nose
To get that driving thrill
Of swinging down an A road
To reach our destination.
We aim for north, then switch to south
‘Midst mounting consternation.
Everywhere we think we’ll go
Is posted with diversions
That quadruple our mileages
Through undesired excursions.
With roadworks here and roadworks there
And roadworks round the bend
We feel we’re doomed, indeed marooned
Whatever we intend.
Let’s try to get to anywhere
Though closer might be best
Ignoring tempting coastal joys
Of places further west.
But, hey, what’s this? We’re stymied
As, heading for town centre
We look to left, then look to right
Yet spot no route to enter.
Now we’ve made our way here
By – somehow – the right track
We’re really in a pickle
We can’t find our way back
Despite the fact we’re locals
Who should know how to exit.
No doubt, this mess is Highways’ fault
But blame it all on Brexit!