Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Fronton, white-washed front, 

beach ironed nightly. 

The town refused a take-away fish and chip shop 

for fear of unruly queues and greasy fingers, 

drew up a petition demanding resistance, 

no donkey rides, penny arcades, crazy golf or bingo, 

those were for the likes of us  

perilously close in Walton 

with our bumper cars, rock salmon,  

massed ranks of self-catering 

and siren sound of the Wurlitzer. 

Then, with a tide, came news of meritocracy. 

We drew up a counter-petition, 

delivered in person to the good people of Frinton, 

bearing gifts of freshly made batter 

and no napkins.