The Licensing Court has had cause to censure many country hotel-keepers for their failure to cater properly for tourists.
Look at 'em! Toffs with their big cigars, Drivin' along in their motor cars. Nothin' at all like the olden days When the blokes came by in their bullock drays, When a cut o' the joint and a hunk o' bread Was a meal for a king; an' a man was fed. But beer! Why, man, they could lap a lot. There was thousands made on this very spot; Forchins taken behind this bar An' never the sight of a motor car, Or a dolled-up mug with 'is bag o' tricks Lookin' for tucker at 'arf past six! Struth! I ain't running no resterong With food on the table the 'ole day long. This is a pub -- or it used to be, An' the bar-room takin's is wot suits me. But "the food ain't 'ot!" and "the rooms ain't clean!" An' they spen's on likker -- not one brass bean. A bed an' a blanket was good enough When thirsts was 'earty an' men was tough. But the 'ole darn country has gone to pot With their Licensin' Court an' all that rot! A ladies' boardin' 'ouse, that's their lurk. Aw, I'm goin' to chuck it an' look for work.
|Copyright © Perry Middlemiss 2003|