Basil, Mabel and British Rail
With apologies to John Betjeman

Running swiftly to the station,
Stopping deftly at the gate,
Basil shakes and checks his watch
And wonders if it's half-past eight.

Mabel's train approaches soon.
It stops to let another pass.
Mabel stumbles at the judder
Grabs a handle by First Class;

The handle turns as Mabel falls.
Alas, it's on an outer door!
The door swings open, Mable tumbles,
Clutches stoutly at the floor.

As the train picks up momentum,
Screams have frozen on her lips.
Then all at once her hockey stick
Has fallen at her fingertips!

(That jolly trusty childhood friend,
And saviour in her schoolday hours
When the bullies tried to smack
Her bare behind in sporty showers.)

She grabs the stick, but oh my word:
All those teatime chips and pies
Have added to her growing bulk -
As well as to her hips and thighs.

Flailing legs and arms akimbo
Rocking gently in and out
Mabel's life hangs in the balance
No commuters hear her shout.

As the the train swings round a corner,
Her stick snaps with an awful crack.
Centrifugal forces pull
And drop her on the other track.

Basil buys a buttered bun
And bites it with his well-brushed teeth.
The five-fifteen from Paddington
Then crushes Mabel underneath.

Mabel's train stops at the platform,
One door open (no surprise)
Basil slyly takes a glance
At mini-skirted ladies' thighs.

Misses Mabel at the barrier
Waits in vain for her to come.
After half an hour of waiting,
Tiring of his chewing gum,

He takes a taxi back to Harrow,
Cursing Mabel all the way.
Vows to dump that chubby filly
Moans about his wasted day.

Takes Suzannah to the pictures,
Flatters her with cheap red wine.
Meanwhile, Mabel lies in pieces,
Scattered on the Circle Line.