It is the lull before Christmas, and all through the house not a sodding thing stirs not even a mouse ( carpet cleaner ) I'm so depressed that I've gone to my bed, bills on the doorstep all coloured red.
The customers book then cancel in batch, I wonder sometimes what other plans they will hatch, going to the dentist, car broken down all sorts of excuses enough to make you frown, but of course on the phone we are very polite, never mind madame that's all right, instead of stake, it will be beef broth tonight.
Then all of a sudden the phone it will ring, you fall over yourself to get to the thing, only to find its a complaint from last week, the carpet you cleaned is still wet and it reeks
From the pen of the Poet-Laureate of Essex
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