Why are we so mediocre?
Anything I plant from seed comes out horribly stunted.
We spend forty years in a job and never succeed, they say what a joker.
We try to write poetry and it’s painful to read.
In the Territorial Army I never rose higher than trooper.
In tennis my ball hits the net, my serve is so light.
When singing I sound like a clapped-out scooter.
I have never sailed further than the Isle of Wight.
Skiing down a mountain gives me a most dreadful fright.
Our campaigns always seem to fizzle out.
My oil paintings are childlike, a pitiful sight.
Sometimes we seem to have all the charm of a lout.
But we can console ourselves merrily.
If we have our faith and if we have our family.