A typical week at London
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
Three days a week,
I am running,
And always on my feet.
I bow down to tax,
Even forgetting to relax.
Then comes Thursday, with the spirit to yell,
A time to gel.
Fooseball intermittently,
And Passfield dinner reluctantly,
I pass the week off,
In a quandary.
Three days a week,
I am running,
And always on my feet.
I bow down to tax,
Even forgetting to relax.
Then comes Thursday, with the spirit to yell,
A time to gel.
Fooseball intermittently,
And Passfield dinner reluctantly,
I pass the week off,
In a quandary.
Devoted to those ten minutes which made be wonder what I do in a typical week. I know it does not sound too rhythmical, but then reflects the actual and truer than true state-of-affairs.
