MONDAY
You’d think that, with a name like this, I’d hang around in space.
Instead I’m in a chip shop with a grimace on my face.
TUESDAY
I should be from the future and be pissing round with rockets,
But I’m buying an extension lead – my house has fuck-all sockets.
WEDNESDAY
I should be fighting aliens, traversing space and time,
Instead I’m doing washing up, as nobody likes grime.
THURSDAY
I should be crossing black holes from dimension to dimension.
Instead I’m slightly balding due to inter-office tension.
FRIDAY
I should be finding worlds, and planting flags and naming planets.
I’ve got a worktop catalogue, I’m just up to the granites.
SATURDAY
I should be stopping overlords from leaving thousands dead.
Instead I’m all hungover and I’m eating eggs in bed.
SUNDAY
I should be killing monstrous things with futuristic rays.
Instead I’m sitting on my arse and watching Songs Of Praise.
