I just longed for a doctor in Bishopscourt

With luxurious gardens around

The hanging basket at 4 Hever Gardens, aptly named Bishopscourt_1.JPG

Where I could be fussed like a lady

Who'd amble along while he frowned.


I wanted an MG - a red one

A sports car to make my hair flow

Where I'd be the envy of colleagues

Who stumble and grovel down low.


I covet the lap-life of luxury

The days which one idles away

With comfort and ease of the wealthy

Who scornfully look at our pay.

Just give me the splosh-page in fancy 

Society's pinnacle sought

With elbows just tipping the glasses

With small-talk's competitive sport.


I should travel along in a carriage

Labelled first class for those who afford

What the working man can't even think of

Yet dreams of himself as a Lord.

I hate to admit that I'm fussy

Unused to simplicity's ways

So my arrogance plunges in anger

And spite settles into our gaze.


I am left to dry all the tea cups

The knives, forks and spoons there as well.

I'm the housemaid, the housekeeper, nanny

While he puts both his feet up in hell.


I'm seduced into marrying the doctor

By my dreams of the life we would lead,

But we're poverty stricken and empty

And slumming it sunken in greed.


0 just give me the life of contentment

Where the satisfied folks surely meet.

Help me to find all the peace that they speak of

When they ride in their second-class seat.


February 1984