Yes, I remember Banbury
The name, because one long forgotten date
Of rain, the overdue express drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late.
The coffee machine dribbled. Someone coughed and spat.
And no one left or came
On that bare platform. What I saw
Was Banbury – only the sign
And puddles, leaking drains, and mud,
Graffitti’d walls, and smell of fry
No whit less wet and mis’rable
Than the drab cloudlets in the sky
And for eternity a reveller sang,
Nearby, and round him noisier yet,
Far off and fainter, all the drunks
Of noble Banburyshire.
(This is by the rather wonderful Cherwell Bard, but who is it?)
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