In the Bunker

This working life is no joke. No sooner had I arrived home than I had to shuttle coal through to the bunker at the back of the house. And then make my tea. And wash up! And my fingernails need clipped. What time have I got to squeeze in a read of the papers and a nap before heading out to meet the boys?
And they're trumpeting a rise in employment on the news! I tell you, once all these peeps realise what it's like they'll be opting for the cushy life back on the bureau.
Or in my case, the sofa.