Welcome to the asylum otherwise known as Maitland Towers Where chaos reigns. And I’ve been searching simply hours To find the kettle ’cos I’m parched and would love a cup of tea But can I find it? No. We’ve got the builders in, you see And everything has been moved out and shoved in different places And now we’ve just got piles of stuff where once we had nice spaces Where we could sit and chat, or eat, or simply read a book But now there’s not a single corner left unstuffed, not a single nook. The bathroom’s cluttered up with pans and tins for baking biscuit And wide lipped bowls for batter and the thing you use to whisk it. Our food is in a cardboard box shoved underneath the bed Hemmed in by tottering heaps of books. It really makes my head Ache with stress, but who knows where the medicine box may be? Oh lord, the plumber’s in the bathroom and I’m aching for a pee. We’ve got damp-proof men in one room, decorator in another And a bloke rerouting phone wires (I think he’s the plumber’s brother) And crates stacked up in the hall holding bits of our new kitchen. If they hadn’t all turned up at once then I’m sure I’d not be bitchin'. What’s this I’ve found? Bank statements; Hell, I suppose that I should file ’em. And will—just as soon as peace returns to the asylum.
Post by Richard Maitland on Feb 19, 2018 9:56:42 GMT
Ooh, what a very nice Monday morning surprise! Thank you very much indeed (and super gif, Polly---although my interior design taste is much lower-tech. Shabby chic without too much chic, usually covers it).
And congratulations to Leelah, Baccus, and that Australian woman who keeps lopping bits off her name.