Life on the costa is harder than you think-
plenty to eat and far too much to drink
takes fortitude. Fortitude and guts.
Away from falling pounds, NHS cuts
party politics, doom and gloom, austerity
it’s tough. But I can say with all sincerity
‘As long as I have my Marmite and my PG Tips, I’m OK.’

When we first came out here, every day
was one big party, perma-holiday.
Folk from home became our instant friends
relaxed, stress-free, just as nature intends.
The locals talk foreign – that’s a disappointment
burnt bald heads a surprise fly in our ointment
But as long as I have my Marmite,
my PG Tips
and my HP sauce, I’m OK.

We joined an online forum for expats,
where we discuss stray dogs and feral cats
and air our views and put the world to rights
and post our drunken diatribes at night
and sell off all the stuff we thought we’d need
like raincoats, wellies, mowers and grass seed
and as long as I have my Marmite,
my PG Tips
my HP sauce
and proper Marks and Spencer’s underwear, I’m OK.

We have gained a fair command of local lingo
and learned the shortest route to get to Bingo.
Ordering beer’s a doddle, ditto wine.
The rest, you just shout slowly – that does fine.
We’ve taught Paco to microwave baked beans
roast dinners, baltis, good British cuisine
and as long as I have my Marmite,
my PG Tips
my HP sauce,
proper Marks and Spencers underwear,
Eastenders on my internet TV,
haddock and chips and mushy peas, I’m OK.

As I sit here, by the pool, don’t pity me
with my half-pint G and just a splash of T.
I love the lifestyle, I adore the weather,
my skin is tanned like finest Spanish leather.
My liver’s well preserved, my brain is suet
It’s hell on earth, but someone’s got to do it
and as long as I have my Marmite,
my PG Tips
my HP sauce,
proper Marks and Spencers underwear,
Eastenders on my internet TV,
haddock and chips and mushy peas,
regular Skyping with the grandkids,
a yearly UK trip to stock the larder,
and not too much flamenco, fireworks and officialdom I’m OK.