Alan Brown of the Wokingham Library Poetry Group has written a poem about his recent attempt to drive through the town.
How we got the news through Wokingham
(with apologies to Robert Browning)
He jumped in the Volvo with Maurice and me.
I buckled my seat-belt, we buckled all three,
then fired up the engine, demisted the screen,
and wiped the dashboard, where my coffee had been.
With road works denying its chance to deduce,
we knew that the Satnav would be of no use.
Arborfield, Coppid Beech and Twyford Road, too,
are building sites now, with new housing in view,
while old Denmark Street, which had long been one-way,
was just “No-Way, Jose”, for many a day.
The rat-run was tailed back on Evendons Lane,
with Blagrove Lane closed, just to add to the pain.
So which way to go to avoid the great jam
choking the traffic around Wokingham?
With the damned threeway lights on Finchampstead Road
confounding our progress, our journey was slowed.
For the first half an hour we moved at a crawl.
The next fifteen minutes we moved not at all.
As we sat in the queue we found with dismay
it gets even worse on Veolia day.
At last we agreed, with sad resignation,
we could yet be hours from our destination
and as we’d set out without toothbrush or comb,
we turned round our motor and headed back home.
Tired and defeated, we pulled into my drive
and mugs of tea later, began to revive.
The news that we carried must now arrive late.
Those eager to hear it would ponder our fate.
So as that harsh journey our spirits had vexed,
we played Grand Theft Auto and sent them a text.