groan...

The weathered wheelbarrow waits

by a weary watering can

which has

suddenly

sprung 

a leak.

But luckily there isn't a hole

in my 

bucket...

hmm. I should probably delete this, shouldn't I! - I certainly hadn't planned on ending it with the 'hole in my bucket' scenario, but it just seemed to write itself. That song reminds me of seemingly never-ending car journeys in the summer holidays of a long time ago, from Whitley Bay to Kent. Intertwined with non-stop 'Are we there yet??'s, were endless games of 'I spy' and rousing sing-songs, led by my dad, presumably originating from his days of being in the scouts.... There's a hole in my bucket / On Ilkley Moor bah tat / The quartermaster's store /   Under the lilacs / Weel may the keel row / One man went to mow / and so on ... and on ... and on...