Friday, 25 September 2009

A Pony's Eye View of Brighton

In this high-tech world of e-mails, blogs and tweets we rarely get any post anymore and if we do it is usually just people trying to sell us stuff, but every now and then something lands in the in-tray which is a little out of the ordinary.

Recently we received a charming letter from a lady in Woodingdean who was inspired to write a poem about our city. We so enjoyed it that we thought we'd share it with you:

A Pony's Eye View of Brighton
by Bobby Dalby

I'm a Regimental Mascot, so frequently on tour,
Plumbed up and harnessed, on parade is what I'm for.
We came to Brighton, so a day to look around.
Some sights I won't forget as I stood upon "Duke's Mound".
'Sarge', he let the lads go on beach and in the sea,
Economy on kit? Too far! I blushed as they ran free.
Oh dear, oh dear, what sights! As everyone the same
I closed my lids, then hung my head in shame!

Ice cream cornets next, where's mine? I want one too,
Was told not good for me, as hay is what I chew.
I'll kick and stamp and show I'm a spoilt brat,
I don't care if 'Corp' says I'm now too fat.
A man in blue comes my way, on a mighty horse,
Don't look at me 'cos you're on a different force!
"Oi", you left a package in the road, something the army never do,
Where's your bag? It's a fine, so pick up that poo!

The pier I'm not allowed on, so view from afar,
Oh God, the lads don't care about me, as they find a bar.
I patiently wait, as they drink their fill,
'Sarge' upset as he's left to pay the bill!
Another pub that's military in its name,
Some battle! Pubs and bars, to me they're all the same.
Six burly lads do enter through that door,
Waiting arms in welcome, their style? That I'm not so sure!

Everyone admires me, as I trot along the prom,
No, not outer space, it's Shetlands where I'm from.
Heap of rusting metal, that floats upon the sea,
I think it's called West Pier, so sad, it frightens me.
Now Pavilion looks great, and the gardens too,
Dog snarls "Oi watch it, I'm quite as big as you".
The flowers are nice; I look around and pick Sarge a rose,
Yells of "creep" and "naughty boy" as I'm tapped upon the nose.

It's late I'm told, should be my box and bed.
Who said that, the Sarge? No! so go jump off Beachy Head!
Have we seen all the town, museums, Marina, churches, I think that's all?
My furry legs and hoofs are tired, so it's home before I fall!
As a tourist Brighton's nice to visit for a day
So I will go home, see my filly and then roll in hay.

Thanks again to Bobby Dalby for sending us this poem as it certainly raised a smile :)


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