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Poem

But somehow they have done it and you can't help but admire, 
the pluck of these boot scootin' folk ... they never seem to tire. 
This year the faithful came again though couldn't help but doubt, 
no matter how they wanted to their run of luck was out. 

The M.C. kept on calling out, "All register now please. 
If we don't keep the record folks it could go overseas." 
The comment cut just like a knife.  I thought, “you man or mouse?” 
'Cause, what if they were just one short?   You'd really feel a louse.  
 
The more the M.C. made his plea the more it gnawed at me, 
until I cracked and ran on up and paid the flamin' fee. 
I stuck my ticket on my shirt and joined the middle row 
and wished they'd kick the music off and get on with the show. 
 
My biggest fear was if my mates were watching in the crowd. 
They'd never let me live it down.  The M.C. cried out loud. 
"It's time folks," and the music played.  I thought I'd take a punt 
and pranced along by following the tall chick there in front. 
 
Then when the music stopped at last I made a quick retreat, 
relieved that I had not been seen boot scootin' in the street. 
We broke the record once again and felt real good deep down, 
but please don't tell me poet mates -  they'd run me out of town! 
 
 
Each year as I've sat in front of Grace Bros. Store at the Tamworth Country Music 
Festival, performing our show and selling our product, I have observed the ritual of 
bootscooters gathering in Peel Street to break the record for the largest number of 
bootscooters gathered in one place. A record they have broken annually for some years now 
in the Guinness Book of Records.  Each year I have grappled with the thought - what if 
they were short by one? - so I had to tell the story.

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