So. Farewell
Then, Bargain Booze.
You were red and white,
Stocked with shite,
For those with nothing to lose.
You were our own little ice box
From Siberia,
Where even the Arctic feared to tread.
Where every customer who entered,
Contributed to their one day being dead.
No more Pickled Onion
Space Invaders,
For just 10p a pack.
They’ve finally run right out of them,
And there’s still “nothing in the back”.
The random crisps
Will shatter no more
Inside your flimsy plastic “bags”.
And no more meter top ups
For those pesky poor old hags.
Now we mourn your passing,
Like the setting of the sun.
But not as much as
A tab ’til end of the month,
And a cheery “You okay, hun?”
Because now you’re just an Evri,
Parcels inside a room.
An Aladdin’s cave
If you like
For people desperate to lift the gloom.
We’ll miss
That annoying buzzer,
And the icicles dripping from our nose.
But this is Hoylake after all,
And this is how it goes.
At least there’s still
The furniture restorers,
Just across the street.
Even if the pigeons
Don’t exactly keep it neat.
There’s always
The closed chippy one way,
Or the shuttered takeaway next door.
But don’t dare ask about the cinema
As they’ll brand you a repetitive bore.
So now we can’t have a beach
Or even watch a film.
No slap-up, sit-down feasts in
A dining experience bar none,
With no answers to those questions t’whether it’s all really just a con.
But if you wouldn’t all mind shutting up
As you’ll find HVL are on to a winner.
Not for them those buckets and spades
Or family time,
Or even a fancy sit down dinner.
The usual suspects will carry on,
Though only if we let ’em.
“Close it all down and shut it off, keep Hoylake for the righteous:
“The Mad, the T-shirts, the Swampies,
“The oh-so-perfectly pious.”
- With apologies to ER Thribb.
#❤️Hoylake 