June 15: Sunday at home ...

Sunday morning, bright and shiny, bloody heck it’s cold

As I head out to the garden, pretending to be bold

If I was a brass monkey, I’d really be in strife

The outcome I might suffer could not happen to my wife

In earnest hope of sunshine, I wheel the Wing out from the shed

It the water hose is frozen it’ll be doing in my head

She needs a wash, that much is true, there are bugs and dirt all over

A wash, a polish and we’ll be off, like bees buzzing in clover

I grab the hose and turn it on, and the water comes with force

Soon suds and foam develop, and I spray the chooks of course

Well I would spray them if we had some, but it’s too cold to get some more

So I wash and dry and polish, and then close the garage Roll-a-door

Next on my list of chores is some mowing and some edging

But I really am quite bored by now so I think I’ll do some sledging

As I watch the Sunday footy, scream out and grab a beer

As Phil Gould cites his anthem, “They love their Sunday footy here”

A Sunday roast, she’s quite a gal, that woman that I wed

A leg of lamb, a few red wines, clean up then off to bed

The alarm it’s set for half past five, and my head to rest I lay

Then before I’m asleep I’m up again, and to work I’m on my way