Calais to La Rochelle, August 1987.
O Captain! my Captain! are we nearly there yet?
This old Morris Ital has given all it can, we must be close; Is that us backfiring?
Is that La Rochelle? Peep the horn. Us lot in the back are cheering (we could do with the loo).
Put your foot down, it's getting a bit grim back here.
O my days! my days! my days!
O just pull over,
You said we were close. My Captain lies.
We're not even past Rouen!
O Captain! my Captain! are we nearly there yet?
Get us there soon and there's a croissant in it for you.
I'll even throw in a slab of brie and a bottle of Cuvée Des Jonquilles
Come on, can't you hear our pleas, drive faster we're eager to get there. (We could do with the loo again).
Hey Captain! Dear father!
Both hands on the wheel!
I'll rest my head a little
And dream a faster journey in a Ferrari.
Wake me up at Le Mans.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pursed and still;
My father pulls up, tired, beat, he has no pulse nor will;
The Ital got here safe and sound, well it's a little overheated.
A fearful trip, I didn't think we'd get through Angers;
But exult, look at that harbour, and, ring the bells, a loo!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the quay with my Captain,
I owe the old duffer a stiff drink.