Life in the UK for those of us who are convinced Brexit is up there with cheesecloth shirts and thousand island dressing as the worst things to come out of these shores, are trying to remain sanguine, since that’s about the only thing we can ‘remain’ now. Thus, in my process of rewriting the Nations favourite poems, I have reached Robert Browning’s ‘Home Thoughts, From Abroad’ (this was number 42, as voted by the British public and right now, might as well represent the meaning of Life, The Universe and Everything). This, I dedicate to all those who consider Brexit to be a reason to cool your beers in a bidet and over-boil your pasta. Enjoy….
Oh to be in England
Rather than ‘abroad’
To say travel broadens the mind
Is really quite absurd.
It’s dusty here, and full of smells
Against which the most robust rebels
And, God, the din the locals make
And don’t get me on what they boil and bake.
I’ll gift a kidney if you’ll just allow
Me back to England, Now!
The birds they have hereabouts
Have beady eyes and beaks of steel
And I really must confess my doubts
Surely these beasts cannot be real?
Back home in dear old Blighty
Our fluff balls are cute and flighty
And fill my soul with careless rapture.
Causing hearts to sing and not to rupture.
I’ve got my ticket, I’m on my way
Back to England’s green gold shores
I’m done with ‘foreign’, outlasted my stay
Take me home, to rain, moaning pub bores
To potholed roads and warm flat beer
Just promise me please: get me outta here!
This also fits neatly with Esther’s latest challenge, on the subject of Travel, here. Feel free to join in
TanGental 
Fun. Well done!
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Another great poem, as always His Geoffleship!
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I’m really enjoying ruining great poetry in the name of ego….
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We’re enjoying your ruins too!
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Delicious! ♥
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I see we were taking the same pills yesterday, Geoff, given our tandem thoughts today. Did you see flying Borises too?
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I’m hoping that’s a sign the Borises are flying south for this Winter of Our Discontinent – somewhere like Saturn perhaps
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I don’t know anything else, but I know that Winter of our Discontinent is splendid and needs to start trending yesterday. I’ll get my hashtag minions on it.
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oh, a hashtag! That’s like a top lip tattoo for royals, isn’t it? or is that a hagtash?
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No, when royals are involved, that’s a shag hat. A hagtash is what you see on pension day.
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Ah good glad we cleared that up
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Much fun. We rebels don’t mind when the Brits tire of us. As we say, “tis time.”
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And we do tire so easily these days… as if!!
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Quite.
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Super fun, Geoff!
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Oh that it didn’t have to be said…!!
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Ha! I love this, and hope I can make it back.
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Quite. It’s only safe away from abroad…
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Nearly every time you do,this I realize that I had to memorize the original. I had no idea how many poems I had to learn to recite. I actually used to challenge myself to have it memorized by the time it got around the class to my turn. Very short, I was in the front and they started in the back.
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I wish I had been made to, but my school didn’t whereas both my father and brother (who went to the same school) seemed to have learned loads. A very useful skill Elizabeth.
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Well good to recite when insomnia hits.
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Brilliant, Geoff, although I’m not sure about your denigration of cheesecloth shirts.
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