You feel it is a must
To pack your kids into the car
And visit a National Trust
I'm duty-bound to warn you
It won't be like the ads
Full of Boden Mummies
And earnest, smiling dads
You won't glide around the gardens
|I'm smiling because I'm hiding from my children...|
at Basildon Park NT
Your children won't marvel at nature
What will actually happen is this:
One of them will say "boooring"
And "I can see that statue's bum!"
And "This place smells of dog farts"
You will pretend not to be their mum
It will probably rain on your picnic
And your child will lose a shoe
Then get a splinter in their finger
Then announce "I NEED A POO!"
They'll probably drop their ice cream
Then try to eat it off the floor
Or leave a sticky handprint
On an antique painted door
And the kindly National Trust staff
Will never, ever shout
But you know that they are thinking
"Get those bloody children out"
You'll shout out "Put that cup down!"
And "don't sit on the chairs!"
"The piano is NOT FOR TOUCHING!"
And "no running on the stairs!"
All you wanted was a day out...
And all you did was moan
The trick to visiting the National Trust
Is to go on your own