Juggling our liquids we shuffle in the queue,
tickets close to, for seats on Ryan Air or Jet 2.
When the gate is called there’ll be a sudden rush,
got to find a toilet before we get into that crush.
Struggle to our places, strap ourselves in,
(hope you’re sitting next to somebody who’s thin).
Whip out your Kindle, turn off your phone,
in with the earplugs to drown the engine drone.
The plane’s an oven-ready turkey, all set for flight
with the sage and onion stuffed in tight
and we’re pale and pasty with flabby pimply thighs,
podgy and stodgy after far too many pies.
In a couple of weeks we should be nice and brown,
fit now to return to work in village, city, town.
So, have a restful holiday, though on a beaten track,
because you’ll be stressing out again on the journey back.