The freelancer’s lament

There’s a pile of bills at my elbow that’s as big as a very big thing
And the odds of avoiding interest seem to be diminishing.
Waitresses tell me politely that my credit card has been declined;
It’s far from the first time but nevertheless I am far from being resigned.

The grocery cupboard is bare and my clothes are developing holes.
My best pair of shoes is slowly but certainly coming apart at the soles.
The cats have left home on a quest for a bowl more reliably filled with crunchies,
And too often I’m forced to (gasp!) call the parents should ever I get the munchies.

Things should be okay. For every bill here, two invoices have been sent;
Yet month by month, it’s never clear I’ll be able to pay the rent.
It beggars belief. I worked so hard from September through to May.
I’ve earned thousands of pounds – but it’s no use if I can’t get the buggers to PAY!


(A completely fictitious (ahem) bit of doggerel I rediscovered in an old notebook. Fear not, Jemima is not lacking for crunchies.)

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