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Poem

There’s a show that’s on the telly
Frank Skinner is the host
And the guests he has they talk about
What winds them up the most

In a novel by George Orwell
Called nineteen eighty four
People get to face their fears
Behind a dark mysterious door

The number one that on my list
I’m sure you will agree
Cold callers that seem to know
When you’re watching your TV
 
Or early in the morning
While you are still in bed
So it was for me one Friday
And this was what was said

The first words that were spoken
“How are you today?”
“To tell the truth until you rang”
“I was pretty much OK”

But since you’ve asked me so politely
About my physical or mental state
I will tell you what my week’s been like
Why you’ve called will have to wait
 
Monday started badly
And maybe you don’t care
But my car’s brakes, suspension and exhaust
Were costly to repair

Tuesday wasn’t any better
I had no milk in the fridge
And to make things worse that evening
I played terrible at bridge

Wednesday was a nightmare
My printer’s out of ink
And the white shirt that I put in the wash
Has turned a ghastly shade of pink
 
Yesterday was better
But before I went to bed
I thought I’d recorded Masterchef
But got Emmerdale instead

So now I guess it’s your turn
And now I’m wondering why
If you’re calling me to check
If I’ve had PPI

“Well no” he said “It isn’t that” 
“I’ll call back later if I can”
“This doesn’t seem the best time to discuss
“Our affordable funeral plan”

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