Roving Otter knew where
to get a decent narrowboat.
He found one at a lock
by the local pub.
The pigeons did their job,
dive bombing punters
sitting at the outside table.
We took no time in boarding.
I assumed command,
Father Vole was the lookout,
Smoking Gose was our engineer,
and Otter drove the boat.
The badgers, foxes, ducks,
geese, moorhens, rabbits,
even Spencer Swan booked
a reservation on the prow.
But our favourite friend
was Manic Owl.
He brought the instruments,
drums, guitars, and saxophones.
The man arrived in time
to see us waving from the stern.
Turns out cruising's all
a narrowboat's good for.
We set up our instruments.
Otter had his bass,
Vole was on the drums,
and Goose had a piano.
Manic Owl had a saxophone,
faded gold and battered,
but it produced sweeter notes
than anything on the water.
I had my old guitar,
an archtop with a red finish.
It was the lead in a jam
with a most ear-raising tune.
Our party went on into the night,
rhythm after rhythm buzzing
off the boat and across the water
to disturb slumbering cows.
Ducks danced with rabbits,
badgers danced with geese.
Spencer Swan demonstrated
the arm-breaker swing
for a group of astonished teal,
while Owl blistered solos
on his saxophone, and we
kept the beat of our hootenanny.
