Wardrobes full of dancing frocks

Creaking doors and rusted locks

“Make yourself a cuppa dear”

(Note, the milk expired last year)

Godly books beside the bed

Tattered drapes and dusty spread

Taps fall off, the water’s mean

Coronations snaps of Queen

Share the walls with safety drills

And living on the window sills

Are china dogs and upright plates

And magazines with heirloom dates.

Waiting for your praise, the host

Says “what time for your eggs on toast?”

Most politely you retort

“House is charming, when was bought?

Really? Carpets lasted well,

Fifty years, it’s hard to tell!

No, no, no, why have you fussed

We neither mind a little dust

From what we’ve seen when looking round

You’re reasonable at Thirty Pound

No, we live largely clutter-free

For when our forebears went to sea

They’re couldn’t take their antique clocks

As convicts, from Southampton docks

Its not just bed and lodge we seek

But chance to have a stickybeak.

We like it most, we do, because

It shows us Britain as she was

Your enterprise of course we praise

Why, saving stuff for rainy days

And only since the Tudor kings?

Wow, just how many useful things 

Must dwell within those bulging drawers

Last used sometime between the Wars?”

(I ponder if Titanic sunk

From overload of grandma’s junk) 

“Ah, sorry Cat, is that YOUR chair

I didn’t mean to squash you there.

And yes, I can believe its true

You havent moved since ’62!”

Pudsey, England 1996

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