Hi, nice to meet you, what do you do?
But what do you do?
But what do you do?
Overarching work streams,
Underpinning work themes,
Motivating work teams.
But what do you do?
Lots of busy bustling,
Urgent paper rustling,
Networking and hustling.
But what do you do?
By causing a commotion
(I’m all hell and no notion)
I seem to get promotion.
Ah!…….. that’s what you do!
Ever tried to leave your Gym?
Although you joined it on a whim
They seem to think you’re theirs for life
And that they own you, man and wife.
You have to plan months in advance.
The notice period’s (frankly) pants.
They ask for proof of why you’re leaving,
Are you redundant and/or grieving?
They treat you like a petty crook,
And sometimes give you such a look.
They think, although they know you can go,
That shower gel that smells of mango,
And access to a personal trainer,
Makes staying on a real no-brainer.
They seem to find it very strange
That you would want to go free-range,
When they can coop you in a shed
With lots of other folks instead.
But just stand firm and raise your sights.
Run free and exercise your rights!
He thinks he’s such a charmer
When he’s had a few drinks.
A proper smoothy smalmer
When he drops a few winks;
But he doesn’t seem to realise
That everybody thinks
He’s a leaky, creaky cruiser,
A slurpy, burpy boozer,
A bleary, leery loser
And his bad breath stinks.
She’s a sotto voce spider, silky and sidling.
Behind-the-hand mouth-hider, gossiping and idling.
In tone that’s confidential, whispering and huddling,
with dangerous potential for meddling and muddling,
She’ll try to implicate you, fact-bendering, agendering,
But she will surely hate you if you find a way of rendering
her harmless and deprived of her bubbling witches cup,
by saying very loudly “I can’t hear you, please speak up!”
No-one wants to have a hug
When you have a winter bug
Your head is full, you just can’t think
But if you seek relief in drink
You’ll find that there’s an obvious hitch.
Bad cold? Hangover? Which is which?
It’s hard to know just what to do.
Go sick and they all shout “man flu”
But if to work you dare to venture
You bet your life that they’ll prevent yer
From doing it on friendly terms
Whilst you assault them with your germs.
They cry “don’t come here trying to nuke us
With your pestilential mucus!”
So having left your little present
(a virus isn’t very pleasant)
You take yourself back home to bed,
With hacking cough and splitting head
Although to them it’s just “man-flu”
It feels like life and death to you.
They’ll feel so bad they called you “faker”
When you need an undertaker.
Now we’re finally retired
We’ve found that we are both inspired
To see the things we never saw.
We’ve got to cram them in before
Advancing age can take its toll
And whilst we’re both still on a roll.
We drive our little camper van,
Exploring every lane we can.
Now we have a bit of dough
We can simply up and go.
The open road is where you’ll find us
With a traffic jam behind us.
Dear Boss, you’re new and young and keen,
There’s little sign that in between
Those deaf young ears there dwells an ounce
Of knowledge that experience counts.
And, though our skins may be quite wrinkly,
Inside our heads our brains are twinkly.
Your “Mission Statement” (what a fuss)
Would seem to be that “Change ’R’ Us”
You fix what’s broke, we’ve no complaint,
But still you fix it if it ain’t.
Our carthorse of an operation
Becomes the butt of your frustration.
Small and loud and sharp and cocky
You ride like a demented jockey
And crack the whip like, in your head,
You’re on some sort of thoroughbred.
We are not Arkle, we are Dobbin.
We’re knackered and our hooves are throbbin’
So slow down Son, hold hard, and “WHOA!”
It’s not that we don’t want to go.
The way you keep on interfering
Is like Genetic Engineering.
It just ain’t nat’ral, it’s a crime,
And evolution takes some time.
But if you keep your current course
You’ll end up flogging one dead horse.
This letter will be sent by me……..
the day I win the Lottery.
They’re super pets, are cats.
They’ll drive your neighbours bats.
You put them out at night.
You know you’ll be alright,
‘Cos when they do their doin’s,
It ain’t your patch they ruins.
To dump their faecal store,
They always go next door,
And kill a bird or two,
(A little gift for you).
Though cats may be in fashion,
Some folks don’t share your passion,
Just think, when keeping kitties,
How antisocial it is.
Materialism makes me spit!
The conflict caused because of it.
The burden on the average man
Not to be an “also ran”.
In ancient times beyond recall
He was quite glad to run at all.
Ancient Man, he had it right,
He didn’t lie awake at night
Afraid the curtains might not match,
He had his family’s food to catch.
His children didn’t fill their bellies
With junk food , watching plasma tellies,
They tucked in to a Mammoth feast,
Grateful he had killed the beast.
He never had to shop for jewellery,
flowers, perfume, that tomfoolery,
His mate adored him just as well,
If all he did was grunt and smell.
You wouldn’t see a cave man’s lass
Telling him to cut the grass,
Destroy his dinner’s habitat?
He wouldn’t reckon much to that!
His windows were just holes for smoke.
Alright, perhaps he’d sometimes choke,
But he would never have to deal
With pushy reps from Weatherseal.
And holidays?–well his perspective
Would be slightly more objective.
The only time he’d leave his village,
was if there was a chance of pillage.
Men–don’t despair! Who gives a toss
If there’s fluff stuck to the gloss,
If the gutter overflows,
And the Wife needs more new clothes.
If other husbands in your street
Are always perfect, why compete?
I’m off to form a Cave Man’s Club.
Come and join me, down the pub.
Can you believe some ruthless thug,
has gone and nicked my favourite mug?
It was a precious thing to me,
held just the right amount of tea,
and stuck with me for many years
through joy and sadness, smiles and tears.
And now it’s gone without a trace.
There are some thieves around this place.
I am so mad I have to say
If it goes past on someone’s tray
I will not hesitate to jump ‘em.
In fact I’m quite prepared to thump ‘em.
I’m almost at the “tell the boss” stage
‘Cos someone’s taken “Muggy” hostage.
Hanging isn’t good enough
For anyone who’ll do such stuff.
I now intend to………………
Hang on a minute.
Just found it in the dishwasher!