Articles

04 July 2008

Hard Facts

If you scorn all that's glossy and novel And treat fashion with lofty disdain; If your house is a half-timbered hovel And you like going out in the rain; If your money's pre-decimal mintage And you only read mouldy old tracts - Then your Bentley is probably vintage And your head's full of Technical Facts.

If you scorn all that's glossy and novel And treat fashion with lofty disdain; If your house is a half-timbered hovel And you like going out in the rain; If your money's pre-decimal mintage And you only read mouldy old tracts - Then your Bentley is probably vintage And your head's full of Technical Facts. If you've finished some complex repairing And returned all the tools to their case, And (although you're now almost past caring) Every one's in its pre-assigned place, When your rev-counter starts to unravel You must unpack the tools you've just packed, But it's pointless to quibble and cavil Because it's a Technical Fact. If you're missing an ML magneto And the engine sounds ragged and rough, You may try to remain incognito But your camouflage won't be enough; For some other accursed Bentley driver Will exclaim: "You deserve to be sacked! Such a fault is the sign of a skiver - And that is a Technical Fact!" If an inner-tube suffers deflation Far from home - just like other poor fools, You'll remember, with deep consternation, That you've parted your car from its tools; And no matter how mighty your labours The front axle will still be unjacked, For the jack's in a shed at your neighbour's - And that is a Technical Fact. If the gearbox causes you trouble And you noisily grind all the cogs (Though you always de-clutch at the double), And your timing has gone to the dogs - Then the girl who is seated beside you (A blonde not renowned for her tact) Will complain of the row - woe betide you! And that is a Technical Fact. If you keep driving harder and harder, Disregarding her pleas to slow down (Which have only ignited your ardour), As you race through some terrified town; And your preoccupation with passion Makes you fearfully slow to react… The collision will turn her face ashen - And that is a Technical Fact. If you go for a drive in the summer And there isn't a cloud in the sky, And you think blondes don't come any dumber But she glares as you fondle her thigh; When she finally runs out of patience I'm afraid that your face will be smacked. You ought not to succumb to temptations - And that is a Technical Fact. If you're planning a weekend in Brighton And the Bentley refuses to start, You will notice her smile slowly tighten As your sex-laden scheme falls apart; She'll return to her flat unmolested, With her good reputation intact, But her humour (and yours) sorely tested - And that is a Technical Fact. If you've both had a jolly-good-fun day And her legs are within easy reach, And she's licking a large chocolate sundae That she should have consumed at the beach; As you stamp on the brakes, Genevieve-wise, Her ice-cream (we must be exact) Will end up all over her Levis - And that is a Technical Fact. If you tell her your pace mustn't slacken Though the forecast is not very good, And the clouds overhead start to blacken And there's some talk of raising the hood; Should you chide her for being a girlie (Knowing opposites always attract), Her reaction is sure to be surly - And that is a Technical Fact. If she hints that it seems to be raining, As the water cascades down her front, And you say this is excellent training In case she falls out of a punt; And she's bound to get very much wetter Since she's neither sou'westered nor macked - Do you think it would make her feel better To hear it's a Technical Fact? But if you surmount these reverses And the blonde's sense of humour survives (Notwithstanding occasional curses), And your thoughts turn to husbands and wives; If she loves you, and also your Bentley, Though the odds once seemed hopelessly stacked, You must marry this girl, evidently - And that is a Technical Fact.