For the first hour or so it's always the same,
as Nick and I argue and glare at the rain.
Then he gets all car sick and feels a bit queasy,
as I stare from the window and take it quite easy.

Mum fiddles with maps, Dad fumes at the weather,
and the minutes are lifetimes that are lasting forever.
But then that last little mile steals in like a thief
and quite strangely the journey seems ever so brief.

'Cause Hunstanton is brilliant, the greatest of trips.
I just love all the bright lights, the fish and the chips.
The walks on the seafront, the penny machines,
the joke shop filled up with it's cascade of dreams.

And I love the hotel that looks out to the sea,
where my brother and I take turns making tea..
The bar where my Dad lets me sip on his beer,
then tells us bad jokes and calls Mum his dear.

But Sunday soon comes, and we slump in the car,
off back to our home, which seems ever so far.
And as images lock and our memories re-play,
dull reality beckons and whisks us away.

Then the long journey home flies by like a plane,
as my brother and I long to turn back again.
For the magic and joy of that weekend of bliss
will be always and ever the thing I shall miss.

'Cause Hunstanton is really where I long to be.
On the sands of it's beach; by the tumble of sea.
With the waves breaking high at the set of the sun,
and the four of always; forever as one.