By the state of their motorway service station.
The Swiss, of course have got it sussed,
And a stop off there, is quite a must,
Their cleanliness is just first class,
And outside there's a lake and grass,
Where one can rest and lounge around,
And puzzle how a single pound,
Can buy so little - nothing is cheap;
So be prepared to dig quite deep,
Into your pocket, if you need a feed;
Swiss Francs are lost here fast indeed!
The French have tried hard to keep up,
With the standards set next door;
But still insist, you relieve yourself,
By squatting on the floor.
Outside you'll find a picnic bench and shade to keep you cool,
And usually an area, for a game or two of boule.
Inside, at the cashier desk, don't be surprised to see,
In amongst the sweets and gum, a nudie DVD.
The coffee makes it worth a stop on an Italian motorway,
But otherwise I'd pass right by and carry on your way.
Firstly, parking is quite a test,
And the layout inside's not the best;
With just one door for outs and ins,
And overflowing rubbish bins.
Italian's, they don't seem to mind, the chaos that ensues,
As men and women pile on in, to use the grubby loos.
As borders cross, you'll see a change,
Witness a sight, or something strange.
Each country contains, it's own traits,
And usually high diesel rates.
So pull in, pee, and grab a brew,
There's much to see, but less to do,
These Euro drivers and the staff,
Can give us cause, to stare and laugh.
So pay the toll and take your place,
In the multi-national drivers race;
And play the game of guess the nation,
Next time you're at a service station!
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