A Jaunty Sunday Poem.

Last night I was compared to Pam ‘bloody’ Ayres by people I considered my friends…so here’s a little poem what I wrote about being a parent.

It used to be in days of yore that Sunday was a day of rest.

Then children were spawned and required attention

Which put Sunday’s rest to the test.

No more lie-in’s whether asleep or getting jiggy

Perusing the papers with coffee

No more lazy days in front of the fire with a slab of Thornton’s toffee

Now Sunday’s are seen as another working day

Up with the lark and the kids

Messy breakfasts and spillages with spray

Hair pulling and whinging the order of the day

The newspaper’s been shredded your coffee is cold

All the fruit in the bowl is covered in mould

You’ll quickly learn not to bother with a roast

Just biscuits and a trip to McDonalds

I mean since their birth you’ve survived on toast

Until caffeine and carbs became your poison

Along with alcohol, chocolate and cake of course

And knowing all the songs from ‘Frozen’

You may not be fully in control anymore

But no matter just look; they’re so cute

So your supping lager from the mug of life

Instead of champagne from a crystal flute

Things will change, ease up in time

And your freedom will eventually return

Then you’ll yearn for the messy Sunday’s of yore

From the mantle inside your urn.

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