A friend recently admitted that, whenever she goes away from home, she takes her iron with her. That’s the only way she can be sure she didn’t leave it switched on.
I worry when I go away –
I do, you mustn’t scoff.
Are all the things at home okay?
Did I turn the oven off?
Perhaps the freezer door’s ajar,
Or the kettle’s boiling dry?
I can’t stop thinking that they are,
However hard I try.
I didn’t lock the kitchen door
Unless I’m much mistaken:
It’s let in burglars by the score,
And everything’s been taken.
The gas fire’s on, I’m sure of that;
And the bath is overflowing.
Maybe the budgie’s in the cat?
There’s just no way of knowing.
But wait – I have a cunning plan:
I’ll sell the house and quit,
And then I’ll buy a caravan –
The touring sort. That’s it!
And so, when next I go away
And worries come to mind,
To check that everything’s okay
I’ll simply look behind.