The Road to Belford
The sun starts the day with a dazzle
As Tim takes us up to the castle
With prices like this
We give it a miss
And sort out Pete’s tyre-rim hassle
We pedal away in good humour
Rain clouds are naught but a rumour
You can usually smell
A silent “L”
And we reach the coast at Boulmer
That sounding’s decidedly queer
‘Cos it actually comes from Bull’s Mere
For those afloat
They’ve their own life-boat
And smugglers were famous round here
A treacherous route from the master
On this surface we can’t go any faster
But I always want more
Of this beautiful shore
And soon it’s coffee & crab in Craster
To Low Newton we’re put through our paces
We’re surrounded by familiar places
Embleton’s grand
Seahouses is bland
But Beadnell is lacking in graces
We’re in Bamburgh before too long
From A.D. 420 to William Armstrong
The castle is monstrous
A viewing preposterous
A great ride we can no longer prolong.
