The BBC reported panic,
When giant crabs invaded Alnwick.

At last the giant Super-Tanker,
In sixty fathoms, lay at anchor,
A massive structure painted grey.
Lay brooding over, Whitley Bay.

Three shifts of Fitters, toiled like slaves,
As this great monster rode the waves,
Completing in one busy year,
The engines, and, the steering gear.

The happy day arrived at last,
When, pennants flying from the mast,
The giant ship got under way,
And left the shore, off Whitley Bay.

But trouble, seemed to dog this ship,
For early on, her maiden trip,
She turned to Port, just off Penzance,
And dislocated half of France.

Chirac, who seemed, a trifle vexed,
To Blair, he said, "Whatever next?"
"Your ship has caused great complications,
I'm off to tell, the United Nations".
  A block vote by the Bamboo Curtain,
And the Tankers fate, was sealed for certain,
In spite of Tony Blair's vain pleas,
They banned her from the seven seas.

Mid scenes of grief, and deep emotion,
They anchored her in, the Arctic Ocean,
And there, in that far Northern clime,
She's doing penance for her crime.

Though Politicians fought her case,
They couldn't save the tankers face.
In spite of all their flowery words,
She's now a sanctuary for the birds.

Out there, beneath the Arctic skies,
A part of France's Coastline lies,
And traces too, you can be sure,
Of Biggs's Main and Shiremoor.

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