As I rode
out one summer evening,
Beer and supper on my mind,
With cousin Peter came to Bathgate,
For what victuals we could find.
We did not
find a common alehouse,
But dined at Kaim Park hotel,
And I thought how life had favoured,
Me that I could eat so well.
Supped
that night on fine poached salmon,
Eighty shilling ale with this,
Even fine ale fills the bladder,
So I went to take a piss...
And as I
pointed at fine porcelain,
A printed sign there caught my eye :
"If you wish to be more private,
The public bar's the place to try"
And in the
corner was a khasi,
In full view of any stare,
Any casual pisser would see,
Defecation grunting there.
Once long
ago, in Alpine commune,
Lived with hippies, young and poor,
No waste of landing space &endash; the khasi,
Bold as brass without a door...
But I
thought I'd moved beyond that
Old bohemian carry-on,
Working now in corporations,
All that dodgy stuff long-gone.
But
Marketing is full of hippies,
Old jeans, T-shirts; such array,
And Kaim Park's prestigious toilets,
Put the crapper on display.
As we left
that place and mounted,
Jumping on our rusty steeds,
Where was, I asked, my promised Jaguar,
Reward for all life's work and deeds?
Everything
goes round in circles,
What goes up one day comes down,
Privilege must not be bashful,
When it dines in Bathgate town.
Andy
Morley 15/9/07