Ripyard Cuddling
(Jack Davitt)

Just off the coast at Seaton Sluice
A drilling rig struck orange juice
And all the locals clapped their hands
And queued with bottles on the sands.

An expert from the USA
Took samples of the juice away
And after scrutiny and test
Declared it was the very best.

From miles around reporters came,
The North-East coast was tasting fame,
They said ten million barrels lay
Between the "Sluice" and Whitley Bay.

A group of local leading lights,
Well versed in verbal brawls and fights,
Decided that the time had come
To pluck this unexpected plum.

They reasoned that, with Geordie backing,
Support for them would not be lacking;
They'd keep the juice and then demand
Home rule at once for Geordieland.

But, though their banner fluttered proud
And Geordie voices clamoured loud,
The government was not amused
And Geordie claims were all refused.

A million Geordies homeward trailed,
Their spirits low, their mission failed,
No traces of their former glee;
Home rule alas was not to be.

Defeated in their final fight,
And just when things had looked so bright
Their show of strength had been no use;
They had to share the orange juice.

But Geordie don't abandon hope;
You mustn't sit around and mope,
For better things may come to pass;
They're drilling now for North Sea Bass.
The end