OLD JIMS SHED

A COUNTRY SINGER IN AUSTRALIA, OR RATHER A BUSH BALADEER ,BY THE NAME OF JOHN WILLIAMSON A FEW YEARS AGO WROTE A SONG CALLED "ALL AUSTRALIAN BOYS NEED A SHED" AND ITS TRUE.AS MANY OF YOU KNOW ,JULIE AND I HAVE JUST MOVED INTO OUR FIRST OWN HOME,AND,ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS TO GET FIXED UP(AFTER THE COMPUTER) WAS THE SHED.IT ALREADY HAS A RADIO,FAN AND FRIDGE (WHICH ARE ALL VITAL TO AN AUSSIE MANS SHED.)ALONG WITH MY MEAGRE COLLECTION OF TOOLS (WHICH I'M BLOODY USELESS WITH ANYWAY).IT IS A "MASSIVE" 3M X 3M ERECTION--CHOCKERBLOCK FULL OF STUFF.BUT ITS "MY SHED". PROBABLY THE BEST SHED I EVER SAW,WAS MY OLD MATE,MY INSPIRATION IN MANY OF MY POEMS -"OLD JIMS SHED IN YOUNG" A PLACE WHERE OLD JIM AND HIS DOG "CUJO" SPENT MOST OF THE DAY.

THIS IS MY STORY,THE TALE HAS BEGUN
OF JIM,AND CUJO'S SHED IN YOUNG.
WHERE EVERYTHING'S METAL,CAUSE, JIM WOULD,IF HE COULD,
BURN EVERY SINGLE LAST PIECE OF WOOD.
WALK,AND BE CAREFULL,"DON'T TREAD ON THAT
PSSST---GO ON CUJO,GET THAT BLOODY CAT".
NOT ALL,CARE TO ENTER,THIS HALLOWED SHED,
AND YOU'LL NOT GET IN EITHER,LEST THE PASSWORD IS SAID.
"FOSTERS" THATS THE WORD,AS YOU KNOCK SCREAM IT OUT,
AND HAVE ONE OR TWO WITH YOU,CAUSE ITS ALWAYS YOUR SHOUT.

EVERTYTHING IS THERE,IN JIMS GREAT BIG SHED,
OLD PRAMS,STOVES,OVENS,DRIERS,SCRAP PIECES--A BED.
AN OLD DRUM IN THE CORNER,THAT SERVES AS A FIRE,
A GREAT PILE OF JUNK,AND THE MOUNTAIN GROWS HIGHER.
ON AN OLD UP TURNED CAN,THERE HE SITS ON HIS SEAT,
AS HE WARMS BY THE FIRE,HIS DOG AT HIS FEET.
"DO YA FANCY A BEER" IS HIS NORMAL HELLO,
"I GOT THIS FROM THE TIP,BUT THE BLUDGER WON'T GO,
PULL UP A CHAIR,THE BOTTLE TOPS PEELED."
AS HE DRAGS FROM THE PACKET,ANOTHER WINFIELD.

YOU CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER,OR CAN'T WAIT TO FIND
WHAT HE'S MAKING,AS YOU HEAR MACHINERY GRIND.
WITH THE ODD ANGRY OUTBURST,OCCASIONAL CURSE,
(AND WHEN THINGS GET REAL BAD,HE CAN DO EVEN WORSE)
BUT,WHEN CLANGING AROUNDS FINISHED,HE'LL OFT WANDER IN,
"HEY LORNE,LOOK WHAT I MADE,FROM THAT OLD PIECE OF TIN"
POOR LORNIE,SHE STUCK,TWIXED THIS,AND THE OTHER,
CAUSE IF SHE TELLS HIM ITS NICE,HE'LL GO MAKE ANOTHER.
"OH THATS NICE,WHAT IS IT ?" SHE SAYS SCRATCING HER HEAD.
BUT OLD JIM DOESN'T HEAR,HE'S BACK IN HIS SHED.

AS DAY SLIPS TO DARK,HE'S STILL THERE IN HIS SHED.
THE PATTER OF RAIN,HIT THE ROOF OVERHEAD.
HE SITS THERE CONTENT,WHAT MAN COULD NEED MORE?
THE OCCASIONAL DROP OF RAIN HITS THE FLOOR.
THIS SHED IS HIS CASTLE,THIS SHED IS HIS KEEP,
JUST ONE MORE BEER,THEN ITS OFF FOR A SLEEP.
"C'MON CUJO,THAT WILL DO FOR THE NIGHT"
HE HEADS FOR THE DOOR AND TURNS OUT THE LIGHT.
BUT,COME FIRST LIGHT IN THE MORNING,IT HAS TO BE SAID,
HE'LL BE STRAIGHT FROM HIS SLUMBER,AND INTO HIS SHED.