I shall hang clothes pegs from my ears in matching shades,
I shall drape a lemon yellow cotton fitted bed sheet (single size of course) around my shoulders like a toga,
And I shall perform a joyous waltz with my rotary airer,
In celebration of this day, this perfect day.
Oh you sun, you perfect sun. My heart reaches up to you and my trousers rise up to face your warmth.
Oh you breeze, you splendid breeze. You tug gently at my knickers without ever threatening to rip them off and toss them over the garden wall.
I shall wear these tools of my trade, they shall know me by my pegs,
And I shall cackle, and whip my washing machine into a frenzy,
Until it's drive belt whines and it's drum aches.
And at night I shall carry a pile of laundry up to bed with me, and feel it still warm and dancing gently against my arms.