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A Managers Tale of Woe
I'll tell tale of grief and woe
As
Manager of Durham Show;
When the big day comes around
I
swear my feet don't touch the ground;
Each year think
"What can go wrong?"
Pull up a chair - The list is long.
Late
at night, phone lines humming
Three more judges now not coming;
Don't know what I dread the most
Entry forms get
lost in post
Or catalogues don't reach my door
Till
Friday afternoon at four.
The penning van now blows a
tyre
My blood pressure is climbing higher;
They say they
might be here by eight
Hall setting up is running late.
The
caterers overlook my booking,
Have I got time to do some cooking?
The judges feast of pork and ham
May now be plates of
bread and jam.
Another headache - What a pity
The
vets have gone to Durham City;
That means vetting in starts late
With
grumbling queue's beyond the gate;
The rain pours down
and persian cats
Do their impression of drowned rats
I
just can't cope - I shout and yell
I hear a sound - Alarm clock
bell
Thank heaven things aren't what they seem
It's
all just been a nasty dream -
I Hope.