OH NO, I GOT A COLD

By Pam Ayres

That bloke in the telly adverts,
He’s supposed to have a cold.
He has a swig of whatnot
And he drops off, good as gold,
His face like snowing harvest
Slips into sweet repose.
Well I bet this tortured breathing
Never whistled down his nose.

I burnt me bit of dinner
Cause I’ve lost me sense of smell,
But then, I couldn’t taste it,
So that worked out very well,
I’d buy some, down the cafe,
But I know that at the till,
A voice from work will softly say
“I thought that you were ill”.

So I’m wrapped up in a blanket
With me feet up on a stool,
I’ve watched the telly programmes
And the kids come home from school,
But what I haven’t watched for
Is any sympathy,
Cause all you ever get is:
“Oh no, keep away from me!”

Medicinal discovery,
It moves in mighty leaps,
It leapt straight past the common cold
And gave it us for keeps.
Now I’m not a fussy woman,
There’s no malice in me eye
But I wish that they could cure
the common cold. That’s all. Goodbye.

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