Sundays so Different.

[Bob Pacey]

Just Dreaming

I used to go out surfing with the coast wind in my hair
the beach sand and the shells beneath my feet.
The sweet smell of sea spray as I woke on the beach
a magic potion nothing else could beat.

A camp fire by the beach on a clear Saturday night
with just my mates and friends all gathered around.
We'd sleep in the old wagon or curl up on the ground
it was safe because there were no louts around.

Up early come the morning to check out the pounding surf
grab the board and head out on the swell.
The local cops they knew us and mostly left us alone
Oh what stories that yellow V Dub could tell.

Now on a Sunday morning I wake up later every week
it is harder just to struggle out of bed.
A late night on the puter has near worn this bugger out
and now it's all the household chores I dread.

Three baskets of dirty washing piled up for the week.
there is ironing and folding up to do.
I should be outside fishing in the sun and on the beach
but I've still got to clean the dirty loo.

I look at all the pictures that I've saved there over time
of mates who have gone to who knows where.
Somewhere through the years I've forgotten how to live
as I sit here lounging in my comfy chair.

Life is what you make it and there is no turning back
the daily grind it takes a firm hold.
Then the dog at the door says I want to be fed
and well there is still some more washing to fold.

Bob Pacey v(c)

[Shelley Hansen]

Lotsa memories, hey Bob!!

[Heather]

I learnt a long time ago that the dishes, the ironing and washing will still be there tomorrow if you don't get to do it today. It's called letting go!

Bob just check the last line of the second stanza.

[Bob Pacey]

I only have three laundry Baskets Heather and they were all full.


Bob

[Heather]

I think your "time management" needs working on Bob. (Or you could go shopping for more clothes!)

[Bob Pacey]

Problem fixed I took your advice and went shopping but I skipped the cloths and got three more baskets

[Vic Jefferies]

Love the poem Bob, but I think it's called getting old.
As for housework my mate got a tip from a recently widowed neighbour: if you sleep in a double bed alone make sure you sleep on the same side every night for a week. Then the following week move to the other side...that way you only have to wash your sheets half as often!

[r.magnay]

...funny you should say that Vic, my Mum died a couple of months ago, Dad said, 'I only have to wash the sheets half as often now,' for that very reason.....Mum had been in hospital for five months so I don't know if he started then or just after she died.

[alongtimegone]

Bob I spent many a weekend on the gold coast beaches with mates. One car an Austin A40 that we crammed into. Only sleeping problem was the boys in blue enjoyed waking us and telling us to move which we did about a hundred metres after they'd driven off. Most uncomfortable weekend nights I've ever experienced but loved each and every one. Love your poem too.
Wazza

[Catherine Lee]

Great poem with wonderful memories in there Bob. Skip the washing - send it to the laundromat and head to the sea and take the dog with you! x