There’s a little town I visit
I go from time to time
Every time I go there
I come home feeling fine.
I arrive and I’m ever so happy
Get off the London train
I see the sign on the platform
Swindon is its name.
A pulsing rhythm drumbeat
Where nothing gets you down
You can shove Paris up your arse
Swindon is a proper town.
It’s got a lovely coffee shop
Somewhere in the middle.
And according to a friend of mine
It’s got a kick ass Lidl.
The tower blocks they built here
Look like their balanced on stilts here
No one ever wilts here
In this jewel of Wiltshire.
Going into Swindon
Always makes me hyper
Knowing it was the birthplace
Of Billee Piper.
No other place compares to it
None can barely complete
It’s like a night of hot hot sex
In Brutalist concrete.
The Edge from U2 almost bought
A pair of trousers here
The man in the pub has got no arms
He plays the piano by ear.
I’ll give my heart to Swindon
That’s my solemn vow
It’s got more canals than Guildford
It’s got more soul than Slough.
My friend Jeff gets an orgasm
Every time he sees the place
Unfortunately he lives there
He keeps his curtains closed just in case
He gets a glimpse of Swindon
You can hear it when he does
Every time I visit the place
I get a real good buzz ( so does Jeff).
It’s a place of lust and urges
And a sense of unbridled passion
I’m starting to think that this whole town
Will start to come back into fashion.
(This is a rewrite of a poem which I wrote originally during the interval at the Swindon Poetry Slam about five years ago. Amazingly I got to the final and just missed out on winning the damn thing.)
Robert Garnham 