World in my Words

Bloody Orkney

A poem I found on a postcard in a shop at John o’ Groats, Scotland.

For some reason, this poem seemed funny, complaining and warm at the same time. Just the way you talk about someone who is so close, who is a family, whom you can call home.

So, here it goes:

“This bloody town’s a bloody cuss

No bloody trains, no bloody bus 

And no one cares for bloody us

In bloody Orkney.

The bloody roads are bloody bad 

The bloody folks are bloody mad

They’d make the brightest bloody sad

In bloody Orkney.

Oh bloody clouds, and bloody rains

 No bloody kerbs, no bloody drains

The Council’s got no bloody brains

In bloody Orkney.

Everything’s so bloody dear

A bloody bob, for a bloody beer 

And is it good? no bloody fear 

In bloody Orkney.

No bloody sport, no bloody games 

No bloody fun, the bloody dames 

Won’t even give their bloody names

In bloody Orkney.

Best bloody place is bloody bed 

With bloody ice on bloody head

You might as well be bloody dead

In Bloody Orkney.”

Anonymous