The Day of Rest

As read by the author.

It’s a peaceful Sunday morning,
But I’m soon awake and yawning,
As next doors Victa alarm clock
Says it’s time the lawn was mown.

And the sound of two Porsche engines,
Roars from Alan Bond’s invention*,
As it hangs like a vibrator
In the skies above my home

I lie staring at the ceiling,
And I get that sinking feeling,
As the kids rush in to tell me
That we’re going to the beach.

And I’ve got to take my brother,
Both my sisters, wife and mother,
And I think they’re all so lucky
That my shotguns out of reach.

Since our trips were all suburban,
I had bought a Nissan Urvan,
Now I run a taxi service
For the family with this bus.

Though it’s 5k’s to the beach,
It takes half a day to reach,
‘Cos the roads are full of people
With the same idea as us.

It’s a really crowded place,
And it’s hard to find a space,
Till you open up your esky,
And it smells like someone’s died

So you grab a patch of sand,
Shove a tinnie in your hand,
And settle down to suck the fat
Off cold Kentucky Fried.

But the umbrella’s had the dick,
And the wife starts feeling sick,
As she chunders in the esky
On my luke-warm cans of beer.

There’s bluebottles and flies,
And salt water in my eyes,
And the young bloke with his spade
Is shovelling sand into my ear.

Well things are pretty calm,
Until they sound the shark alarm,
And the oceans full of turds
Cos the water board’s on strike.

So across the beach you scuttle,
Jump inside the Holden Shuttle,
Though you think it’s time to torch the thing
And buy yourself a bike.

You count the kids once more,
And you slam the sliding door,
And you curse the suntan lotion
As your skin begins to peel.

Then the dog shit’s on the carpet,
And the damn car won’t get started,
Cos some bastard’s nicked the battery,
And your four new alloy wheels.

So we’ve had a beach embargo,
No more trips in the Tarago,
But there’s still a few distractions
To disturb my Sunday kip.

But these things of which I speak,
Will be gone within a week,
Cos I’m going to shoot the neighbours
And destroy that damned airship.

© copyright A Jack 1986
*This refers to Alan Bond’s airship, which used to fly slowly over my house.

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