It’s a cold, wet July day.
Deckchairs are lined up
At the end of the pier.
From behind their umbrellas
And transparent plastic macs,
At a bevy of beauties in bathing suits
With carefully coiffured hair,
On mottled arms and legs.
The resident comic and compère
Steps up to the makeshift stage,
Takes the microphone and clears his throat,
To announce the beauty queen for the day.
Image found on www.dailypost.co.uk