The Lockdown Look

I haven’t been out me door for a week

Not changed me socks they bloody reek 

I’ve run out of deodorant and antiperspirant 

The whiff from underarm is clearly unpleasant

Teeth they’ve missed their dose of Maclean’s

My sex appeal’s more like Mr Bean’s

Breath like sewerage on a hot summer day

Not helped by lashings of chicken Bombay

My hair’s a mess it’s bloody out of control 

Scissors at the ready and a pudding bowl

Beard’s scraggy and not looking it’s best

Scratching and itching like a bloody bird’s nest!

My dirty fleece; you’ll find a month of dinners

Thanks god I’ve given up looking in mirrors

Despite all this I observe government demands

And spend all my days washing me hands!