Cold Calling

So you're out in the garden sunbathing In your favourite canvas lounger Nursing a drink of lager, or whatever you prefer When, suddenly the telephone's ringing With its sharp insistent tone. Oh! Who the heck is that, you inwardly groan. Some casual friend or enemy Who's made your life a misery By calling in the afternoon? No, No, it's Blitish Glass or some such crew. Who want to do a survey just for you. Well, that's the usual selling line they pass. Now, what do you do, my boy? Well, you suddenly become the butler You know, the one you don't employ And put on a posh old accent in reply. 'Sorry, sir, his Lordship's not at home. He's out a hunting foxes, I'm afraid. Oh, hang on a mo. I hear the traces jangling And the distant sounds of horns. Could you please continue hanging On a moment longer. Thank you sir.' So you set down the receiver... You naughty old deceiver.. And resume your sunbed dozing for a certain time Helping yourself of course to a lager and a lime! Or if you wish, become another character, Perhaps a giggly maid from under-stairs. It needs a high-pitched voice. Think Arias. And the ability to act With Oscar winning speechifying tact That she, a mere serving maid is picked For such a great and unexpected honour. Be ready with your sighs, your sorrowful tears When finally for are made to realise It isn't you but your lord and Master who's required. Now here you have a choice. Show anger in your voice Or adopt a pleading tone.. Anything to keep the beggar on the phone. It could take twenty minutes or an hour or more But one thing's sure. He won't ring you no more. So off you trot and do enjoy your lager In the peaceful setting of your sunny garden.