every day is out of season

there’s time and there’s tide
and there’s no man waiting
the little darlings have gone
the scots girls don’t come down any more

and every day is out of season
the hotels and b&bs are boarded up
the amusements and joy rides are cordoned off
there’s no money going round
and the shops are shut

even the rubbish waxwork dummies in Louis Tussaud’s
have left town
they’ve been seduced by the bright lights and the fleshpots
of Norwich and of Lowestoft

and it’s all the fault of the eastern europeans