When Brothers Hitch-hike - a poem of sibling rivalry

When Brothers Hitch-Hike

When brothers hitchhike there must be A friendly kind of rivalry Who makes it home in time for tea Who's stuck in Leeds till February I've a good thumb, and a smile quite striking He'd scare his own mum, and resembles a Viking So when we crossed the Emerald Isle And had to stand and wait a while Or walk for many a weary mile He used to blame my striking smile And, so as not to sound ungrateful, I'd tell him that his face was hateful
The next year, for a change of scenes And hampered by our meagre means We buckled on our road-worn jeans And sallied forth - in different teams The argument at last we'd settle Bound South and North we'd test our mettle Colin and I were Scotland-bound We'd head due North - our plan was sound Or so we thought, until we found Full 6 hours later, standing 'round With home an easy walk away It looked like here we'd have to stay Meanwhile my brother, rising late, Had crossed to France and joined a mate They met online and picked a date He's Belgian, but they got on great They started well, at a cracking pace While I muttered feebly, "It's not a race!"
We finally hit the motorway And at the end of a tiring day Searched in vain for a place to stay No bed - no tent - we hit the clay and fell asleep all wreathed in smiles We'd covered nearly fifty miles!
Awoken by a text that said, "A lucky ride - we're at the Med" Laid by a motorway, half-dead, with stony pillows for my head, My brother rides 600k Not bad work for half a day
Though not as soon as we desired The Liver building we admired And though our thumbs - and feet - were tired The thought of nearby friends inspired We were reclothed and washed and fed Then slept outside, behind the shed
My brother, tiring of the ocean, And running short on sun-tan lotion Once more envied the cars in motion And so concieved an Alpine notion To Austria he turned his face And so began another race
He found a Bed-and-Breakfast cheap Drank beer and sat and counted sheep Meanwhile beneath a bush I creep And miserably try to sleep But British roads aren't quiet and still Unlike a snow-capped Alpine hill
Refreshed and back upon the road Some grub now added to our load "Cheer up, at least it hasn't snowed!" In fact, the sun around us glowed. Conquering heroes? Not exactly. It took four hours to leave Fazackerley
Upon the rest I will not dwell The six-hour walks, the heat, the smell Of getting lost I will not tell I planned to give my mum a bell When finally Scotland we espied As I heard the news, I could have cried:
"Your brother called - he's supping beer The best he's had, and not too dear" The Swiss farm-girls around him cheer: "Your brother says "wish you were here!" I'm sure it can't be that much fun By glacial rivers, in the sun.
Still, now we feel ready to drop, At last we've reached our final stop It's - honestly - a bit of a flop We finally found a fish-and-chip shop And went to order Haggis, but That late at night, the place was shut.
What worsens this pathetic sight Is the fact that, if I heard him right, My brother wangled a free flight, While as we settled for the night, In a bus shelter behind the station A Scotsman chased us from his nation
Now ever since I've thought it dumb To fight one's battles with one's thumb I even said as much to Mum - She said "Now, quit your whining, son. It's just that most prefer a Viking To your big smile, however striking"