the weekly

Sleeping Rough

My sleeping is only subliminal;
I wake on my twenty-first wink.
I can't face the average criminal
Without plenty of coffee to drink.

The crime rare is probably soaring,
And the innocent banged up in error -
No wife who will tell me 'Stop snoring'.
My night-times are nothing but terror.

The countryside briefs have it easy:
They can look out and add up the sheep.
The London air makes me feel queasy,
And the traffic prevents any sleep.

I'm losing my grip on my chief case;
My client gives surly replies.
There may be some weight in my briefcase –
But for heavier bags, see my eyes.

Suspects I coach think I'm dozy,
But the truth is, I'm going through hell,
While they dream of freedom, all cosy,
Bunked up in a silent old cell.

In fact, I would really enjoy a
Spell behind bars, do some time.
I'm 55, clapped-out, a lawyer,
And I'm thinking of turning to crime.

Click here for the Daily Telegraph story.

Sleeping Rough
'The Sleep Report, carried out by market research organisation GFK NOP, found that divorced male lawyers, aged 55, who live in London are the UK's worst sleepers and as a result are suffering problems.' - The Daily Telegraph
6 August 2008


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