To the uninitiated the landscape of the Essex coast,
Is just as bland as a piece of toast.
There are no mountains, and even the cliffs are few,
Only swatchways and mud, but what is a sailor to do?

Some say the even bigger shame,
Is that Essex victuals are just as lame.
Even MG, who so loved this coast,
Described a tin of hot Spam as an Essex roast.

A few weeks past we cruised these waters,
From Ipswich to Maldon, like Viking marauders.
And at every port, when we sought a local dish,
They gave us a large dollop of kimchi, so be careful for what you wish.

Oh dear reader the revolution has come,
And this craze for fermented food has us on the run.
No more will we to the Backwaters retreat,
We’re going to the Med, to feel the heat