Becoming an old sailor.

As Pat’s return looms I’m faced with the alarming prospect of restoring the house to a state of cleanliness she might just tolerate. And the thought brings total inertia as I turn into A. A. Milne’s Old Sailor. 

  For those readers who had a deprived childhood - their parents failing to read them Milne’s complete oeuvre - here are the first two and the last two stanzas of the poem, enough to give you the picture:

    ‘There was once an old sailor my grandfather knew

    Who had so many things which he wanted to do

    That, whenever he thought it was time to begin,

    He couldn’t because of the state he was in.

    He was shipwrecked, and lived on an island for weeks,

    And he wanted a hat, and he wanted some breeks;

    And he wanted some some nets, or a line and some hooks

    For the turtles and things which you read of in books. …

… So he thought of his hut … and he thought of his boat,

    And his hat and his breeks, and his chickens and goat;

    And the hooks (for his food) and the spring (for his thirst) …

    But he never could think which he ought to do first.

    And so in the end he did nothing at all,

    But basked on the shingle wrapped up in a shawl.

    And I think it was dreadful the way he behaved - 

    He did nothing but basking until he was saved!’