Odd Jobs

The lockdown is over, all finished and so the unfinished jobs should be done, indoors painting ceilings, outdoors borders weeding, and everything under the sun. A toilet not flushing, a pipe outside gushing, all fixed and now working just fine, patio slabs needs fixing, some mortar needs mixing, the Garden of Eden's like mine. But now, after so long, where did it all go wrong? There's so much I still need to do, the patio I've bungled, the border's a jungle and can't still use one of the loos. The answer, I fear, is when having a beer in the sunshine, and those days were many, instead of just one, I had more, 'till they'd gone and the jobs ticked as done? There weren't any. My keenness was flagging, the missus was nagging, each job I'd not done just glared back, the rows all then started, surprised we've not parted, if I worked for her, I'd be sacked. Out comes measuring tape, for there's now no escape do each job on the list 'till they're done, One day I'll get a beer, but it will be, I fear mid December, and there'll be no sun.