Lyr Req: The Charabanc Trip (Ivor Biggun)

Subject: Trip to Sutton on Sea
From: bill\sables
Date: 19 Jul 01 - 07:13 PM

I was just reminded from the Back of Bus Songs thread about a monalogue I heard a while back about a bus trip to Sutton on Sea from Worksop. It was recited in Whitby by that Giant of a man who I think is called Andy who comes from somwhere in Lincolnshire. Does anyone have the words.
Cheers Bill

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Trip to Sutton on Sea
From: Long Firm Freddie
Date: 20 Jul 01 - 04:06 AM

I think this might be "The Charabanc Trip" originally by Ivor Biggun, the disgusting alter-ego of Doc Cox, erstwhile reader of amusing newspaper misprints on That's Life".

Haven't got the words in print, and I'd need to check if they are indeed suitable for such a genteel place as The Mudcat!

Watch this space!

LFF

Subject: Lyr Add: THE CHARABANC TRIP (Ivor Biggun)
From: Long Firm Freddie
Date: 20 Jul 01 - 04:42 AM

Found it on this website!

Biggun

THE CHARABANC TRIP by Ivor Biggun
Accompanied by Robin Langridge, aged 14, at the pianoforte.
Music maestro please!

On the map of North Notts you'll find Worksop,
Where I lived when I was a lad,
In a house with me Mam,
Two sisters and Gran,
One brother, a budgie, and Dad.

At the end of our street was a boozer,
Black as stout, uninviting and glum,
A den of depravity.
It stank like a lavat'ry
Where me Dad went to hide from me Mum.

At the end of the bar in a bottle
Every week half a dollar he'd slip
For the annual treat
When the kids in the street
Went to coast on a charabanc trip.

We'd set off in t'morning from Worksop
En route for Sutton-on-Sea
With the Holiday Club,
Them as paid up their sub,
Half the street and my brother and me.

There was old Mrs. Brough from the tripe shop,
Big soft Doris, her two little lasses,
And her sister Helen
With a bust like two melons
And a face like an arse'ole with glasses.

There was Perfumed Gordon the hairdresser
And nobody did make it clear
Why a rude boy called Tailor
Cried out 'Hello, sailor'
And something about ginger beer.

There was Desperate Derek,
His brother Big Eric,
And Basher and Masher and Butch,
And Lil who was willing
For only a shilling,
Which was still about tenpence too much.

There was Mavis who wouldn't
'Cos her mum said she shouldn't,
There was Neville who wished that he could,
And then there was Heather
Who said that she'd never,
But looked like she probably would!

Well my Dad took a crate of ale with him
Intending to travel in style.
Charabanc did 25 miles to the gallon.
My Dad did half pint to the mile!

Rain were chucking it down leaving Worksop.
Through North Notts it did not desist.
There were cows with bronchitis
And wet sheep to invite us
When Lincolnshire loomed up through t'mist.

Rain slacked off soon to a medium monsoon
And the day didn't look such a black 'un,
When the driver called Reg
Pulled up by a hedge
And we all made a dash for the bracken.

Dad rushed to a tree and he said 'Excuse me'
And right there one penny he spent it.
He said, 'Ain't it queer?
One thing about beer:
You don't really buy it, you rent it!'

Well this idyllic scene
'Mid the nettles and steam
Was soon torn by my brother's plaintive cries.
The poor little nipper
Caught his dong in his zipper.
He was dancing with tears in his eyes.

Then back on t'coach off to Sutton.
We got there. Ee! Weather was grand!
And we gazed on the sea,
Cold, the colour of tea
And smelt candy floss, dodgems and sand.

There were shops full of rock.
There were hats with rude slogans.
There was music and cries of hilarity.
There were games on the sands.
There were jellied-eel stands,
And souvenir shops packed with vulgarity.

My brother ran down to the ocean,
His intention the water to reach,
For his foot he just thrust in
Something disgusting
A donkey had left on the beach.

The sea was as cold as a polar bear's dick.
We watched Punch kill the crocodile dead,
And after throwing some sand
At t'Salvation Army band,
We went off to the funfair instead.

There was a ride called a comet
Made you scream, faint and vomit.
Half deafening you, hung upside down,
And the last bit, a spinner,
Brought up t'rest of yer dinner.
Not bad, you know, for just half a crown!

There were post cards with fat women,
Nudists and Scotsmen,
Honeymooners and dirty weekenders,
And in a machine
'What the Butler Had Seen'
Dimly flickered about in suspenders.

We ate cockles and whelks and big winkles,
Soggy chips, toffee apples like glue.
The hot dogs were funions
Like something rude wrapped in onions,
But we ate them and pease pudding too.

Then we went on to dodgems and waltzer,
And Big Dipper that rises and falls.
It was on this machine
That my brother turned green
And his eyes stood out like bulldog's balls.

The poor little chap,
He was sick in his cap.
It was his best 'un, he started to cry,
So not wishing to spoil it,
We swilled it in t'toilet
And he wore it until it was dry!

Then t'driver found us
And said 'Back to the bus'.
Through the dark we ran back the whole way,
Candy floss in our hair,
But we didn't care.
Ee! we'd had such a wonderful day.

And with charabanc firing on several cylinders,
We set off for Worksop and home,
Rattling down the highway,
Singing songs of Max Bygraves,
Accompanied on paper and comb.

In the dim orange glow
Of the coach light, so low
Courting couples were billing and cooin',
Hoping perhaps
That the coats in their laps
Would conceal the rude things they were doin'!

We pulled up in our street about half past eleven
There was Mam; there was Granny and all,
They gazed in admiration
At the plaster Alsatian
We'd won for 'em at t'coconut stall.

I drank up my cocoa, I ate up my sandwich
And soon up in bed I was curled.
I was dreaming a dream
I was leading the team
On first charabanc trip around t'world.

Ee! those things that I did
When I was a kid!
Although they were simple and small,
Now I've grown up I find
I look back in my mind
I'm sure they were best times of all.

'Cos I've been to Majorca,
And b'y, that's a corker!
I've been to Pompeii and Herico-Unalium,
The French Riviera,
Were the ladies are barer.
I've even paddled in Meditteranium.

I've drunk various vinos
In Torremolinos
But of all these I'll tell you for free:
There's none can compete
With that Charabanc treat
With me brother to Sutton-on-Sea!!


[This computerised version entered onto hard disk by Peter Notley, 23 April 1996, from a type-written script (unearthed during a house clearance in London in Nov. '95) by same writer of approx 20 years previous. This latter script was itself derived from a tape-recording of an LP called ' The Winker's Album (Misprint)', by Ivor Biggun and the Red-nosed Burglars, a renegade group dismissed by the BBC in the late '70s for broadcasting this overly risqué material.]

LFF

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Trip to Sutton on Sea
From: bill\sables
Date: 20 Jul 01 - 05:02 AM

Thanks LFF, I wasm't sure where it came from but that is the one.
Cheers Bill