Potholed

Potholed

It’s been a long, hard Winter for sure,

The weather’s done damage that’s easy to see,

There’s potholes down both sides of our road,

And that they need fixing’s obvious to me.

So I phoned up the Council, as you do,

Who said they’d put the job onto their list,

That I was to await for developments,

But it’d be a while, if you’re getting the gist.

The weeks went by, and many a day,

And nothing happened, as you’d expect,

But the holes got much bigger and deeper,

And I was waiting for cars to be wrecked.

There were joltings and bangings and bumpings,

Suspensions damaged without any doubt:

I was worried we’d lose some-one one day,

That we’d never get the poor bugger back out.

Then one day, it seemed there was action of sorts,

When two men turned up in a marked van,

Who inspected the holes from a good distance -

They just sat there, believe this if you can.

They held some sort of a conference,

Whilst sitting there at obvious leisure,

Then reluctantly got out of the van,

And approached the holes with a tape measure.

There was some shaking of heads, if you please,

By The Council’s pothole-repairing guys,

As if they couldn’t quite figure the problem,

Nor grasp the depth of the holes or their size.

They walked away muttering sadly,

Then stood there having a cigarette break,

Looking at all of the pros and the cons,

Undecided what action they should take.

Finally it seemed as if they’d decided,

How they should restore smoothness to the lane,

But it must have been too complicated,

Cos they got in the van, and drove off again.

Obviously the problem was too great,

To be tackled by only these two men -

They’d probably gone for reinforcements,

And would return again who knew when?

  

The mystery resolved itself next day,

When a task-force invaded the by-way.

We were over-run by men in hard-hats,

Who’d come to restore our rural highway.

A full Risk Assessment was in progress:

With impatience my nerves had started to jangle,

But they wanted yet more measurements,

To view the holes from every possible angle.

After a tea-break they at last started -

It was one of Wiltshire’s terrific sights,

But the barriers made it single-file,

And there were two sets of traffic lights.

There were five vans, and at least twenty men,

Hazard warning lights and lots of tricks,

Then they unloaded from out of their vans,

Shovels and spades and couple of picks.

The poor holes were now fairly surrounded,

The repair problem was starting to crack,

But when they all stood back from the action,

They’d only dropped in a small lump of tarmac.

It wasn’t big enough or of the same size,

There were still several jagged edges.

The road was even more of a switchback,

As it snaked between the country hedges.

Then all further work was suspended,

As they beat a retreat hell for leather.

They said it was more than their jobs’-worth,

To go on working in bad weather.

And that’s how it remains to this day,

It’s weeks since they finally departed,

And now the road’s in much worse condition,

Than before they ever got started!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop