09-25-2015, 10:18 PM
She said she had noticed a pull to the right
whenever the brakes were applied.
My wife had remarked, and I felt it a slight,
that to fix it, I never had tried.
Of course, I had made every possible check
but nothing was found and what’s more,
whilst searching beneath I’d accrued a stiff neck
and a bruise on my head from the door.
It seemed that my injuries offered no proof
of my fervent desire to please;
with sympathy none, she remained quite aloof,
though I proffered up badly grazed knees.
To no real avail, I picked up all my tools,
a hammer, a saw and some glue.
and went to the pub, for I’m nobody’s fool,
where in drink, my anxiety grew.
It grew as I took off the wheel with a wrench
that I’d borrowed from George, and my jack,
now rusty from rain, on the outdoor work-bench
of a neighbour… it never came back.
It grew as I hammered to dislodge the disc
with a mallet I’d borrowed from Pete.
I knew in my gut that it would only shift
with controlled application of heat.
I borrowed a blow-torch, the gas type, you know,
from a chap that I’d met in the snug.
After only an hour I’d got it to go
so I gave it full blast…and a tug.
It grew as the whole thing fell off with a clang
and a flaring of brake fluid lost.
Things dangled on brake-pipe where they shouldn't hang
…and it grew as I thought of the cost.
Well now, to the root of the matter I came;
with the disc bent and cylinder cracked.
If she said JUST ONE WORD, I knew who to blame.
(…and she always kept one suitcase packed)
With blood and with sweat and with tears for a day
I had strained; for myself, not a care.
Sans tea, sans lunch, sans a working man’s pay….
and the tyre just needed some air.
tectak.
uncertain date but around 1964. Neighbour's Triumph Herald story. For Keith. Those were the days.....
whenever the brakes were applied.
My wife had remarked, and I felt it a slight,
that to fix it, I never had tried.
Of course, I had made every possible check
but nothing was found and what’s more,
whilst searching beneath I’d accrued a stiff neck
and a bruise on my head from the door.
It seemed that my injuries offered no proof
of my fervent desire to please;
with sympathy none, she remained quite aloof,
though I proffered up badly grazed knees.
To no real avail, I picked up all my tools,
a hammer, a saw and some glue.
and went to the pub, for I’m nobody’s fool,
where in drink, my anxiety grew.
It grew as I took off the wheel with a wrench
that I’d borrowed from George, and my jack,
now rusty from rain, on the outdoor work-bench
of a neighbour… it never came back.
It grew as I hammered to dislodge the disc
with a mallet I’d borrowed from Pete.
I knew in my gut that it would only shift
with controlled application of heat.
I borrowed a blow-torch, the gas type, you know,
from a chap that I’d met in the snug.
After only an hour I’d got it to go
so I gave it full blast…and a tug.
It grew as the whole thing fell off with a clang
and a flaring of brake fluid lost.
Things dangled on brake-pipe where they shouldn't hang
…and it grew as I thought of the cost.
Well now, to the root of the matter I came;
with the disc bent and cylinder cracked.
If she said JUST ONE WORD, I knew who to blame.
(…and she always kept one suitcase packed)
With blood and with sweat and with tears for a day
I had strained; for myself, not a care.
Sans tea, sans lunch, sans a working man’s pay….
and the tyre just needed some air.
tectak.
uncertain date but around 1964. Neighbour's Triumph Herald story. For Keith. Those were the days.....