Rinse and repeat

Sinfin to Mackworth, crossing through town,

‘Hand car wash’ signs dotted all around.

Cars queueing as, through different stages they’re valeted by blokes on minimum wages.

Drivers lazy? Too much wealth? When I were a lad, you did it yourself.

Sundays, didn’t rush, just took it easy, a washing-up bowl and some Lemon Squeezy.

Chamois leather, a sponge and a cloth for the final coat of Turtle wax, to polish it off.

Bumpers, chrome cleaned and buffed ‘till they gleamed and your fingers were black from the Autosol cream.

Down every street on the estate and beyond a bucket ‘band of brothers’, all with a common bond.

Teaching the ritual to the girls and boys of how to wash the hubcaps on their pride and joy.

Streams of foamy water down the gutter into drains, a job well done, and twenty minutes later – yes, it rained.