It is 3.38 AM and I am still tapping away producing high quality material for five different websites ahead of a 5.30 AM stroll to bag a place on the Strand. Mrs Thatcher surely you would admire such entrepreneurial spirit. And the phone rings at Real Man Pizza Company? Feck is it a neighbour complaining that the music is on at full blast. Maybe “watching the Detectives” by Elvis Costello is not his cup of tea? Or perhaps it was me singing along to Marianne faithful’s Ruby Tuesday?
Or maybe one of our neighbours is a deluded leftie and objects to me singing along loud to the Kinks anthem which explains why the UK was such a basket case before Thatcher came to power: Sunny Afternoon.
The tax mans taken all my dough,
And left me in my stately home,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
And I can't sail my yacht,
Hes taken everything Ive got,
All Ive gots this sunny afternoon.
Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
My girlfriends run off with my car,
And gone back to her ma and pa,
Telling tales of drunkenness and cruelty.
Now Im sitting here,
Sipping at my ice cold beer,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
Help me, help me, help me sail away,
Well give me two good reasons why I oughta stay.
Cause I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
Ah, save me, save me, save me from this squeeze.
I got a big fat mama trying to break me.
And I love to live so pleasantly,
Live this life of luxury,
Lazing on a sunny afternoon.
In the summertime
In the summertime
In the summertime
The Laffer curve meets music.
In fact it is some moron who got our number from our website and failed to notice that we shut at 10.30 on a Wednesday. “Do you do delivery?” Er yes…but not at 3.38 AM