Tyne Tour 2006 (Ode)
Wednesday, 23 May 2007 01:14 | Written by Jon Hoyle | 
Ode to Pendle Paddlers
'Twas not long ago a group of friends I did meet,
All of them pong, but their company's a treat.
They call themselves 'paddlers', this in-word you must
use from the start, or no rivers will you meet.
Half of them coaches, their patience is sturdy,
We owe them a lot, for they dress very nerdy.
The head of the show on the North Tyne was Tony
He farts in his sack but he tried hard at ceilidh.
Then there is Lewis, his last but not least,
He paddles with skill, his potential's a beast.
He never complains when we're holding him back,
He needs a new boat as his legs won't retract.
Niall's a nice lad, his mum should be proud,
But to pack up the tents I had to shout loud.
His walkman he moves with wherever he goes
How he's not deaf I'm sure God only knows.
Chris I just met, but Colin I know longer,
A big boat he paddles, he must be much stronger.
Awards he came home with, he must be so proud,
We all love his chuckle, it's friendly and loud.
Jonny and Peter or Little and Large,
of my coaching quite lately Mr Stobbs is in charge.
Jonny stays back in the young paddling troop;
with Lewis and Niall, or the Old Women Group
Martin and David, in the sissy bus they slept
While the rest of us froze, all deathly and pale
They're mental on water and still stay all night
in the club, in the pub or wherever there's ale.
Andy's a bugger, in the morning he hollers
But chicken and chips he readily swallows
He don't like no indian, but grade 4 he tries.
Though descending the fall, do we think that was wise?!
Steven and Adam, another father and son
Adam's a pro, against his dad he'd have won
But we all thank Steve for his spectacular turn,
Without the odd fault, ne'er would we learn!
Terri's a trooper, her progress has shooted
Such a shame that her shoulder the next day kept her rooted.
I thought she might scare when she saw the big gorge
But down it she paddled, right behind George.
Neil's all jovial in his stumpy squat boat,
To paddle the distance, twice the strokes he must float
On Sunday he retreated to the trouble and strife,
After three days it was time to go see children and wife.
George we can recognise with his big red post van,
With the side door ajar, no underpants will he don,
We've asked him to quit his enjoyment, his lark,
But he loves it so much, especially in't middle of t'bloody park.
Molly from Fence, she's on speed I'm convinced,
'Cause the exercise she does really makes me wince.
She's funny and chatty, and I spy is her game,
leaving Dean with the kids, she's lucky she came.
'Twas the Deli in Silsden that kept Sam so long from us,
Though she claims just one cold night was her little bonus.
Ironic then on Sunday, that she ended up freezing,
and for the last flipping time, "I DO NOT PLEASE WANT FEEDING".
Ian and his dry suit I won't tolerate if I'm swimming,
But this weekend I think we both came out grinning,
Of his Hafners sausages I'm jealous, he won't share a bite
But with brews he so generous, nick his Trangia I might.
Such a fun sport, a wet one, how my bathroom does stink,
With these nice friendly people we can all share a drink,
With this poem to draft, of tea I've had three cups,
it would be a lot bloody quicker if you hadn't all turned up!
by Jon Hoyle
(2* Lancashire-based paddler, just a bit better than Ian Buchanan)
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Last Updated (Wednesday, 11 July 2007 22:28)
