Walking down the new streets admiring the flowers,

The blue and pink curtains in lit widows, whirring lawn mowers,

The dining rooms so bridal, so cosy and so nice,

Glimpses of chintz walls, brass lanterns, meals with rice,

The bay windows puffing out, like chests proud,

These are middle class streets no working man allowed,

A laundry van crawls along looking for a house name,

Not having numbers the driver searches in vain,

Finding the house, and walking up to side door,

Wringing his uniform cap, looking at the floor,

The door is opened by the house maid this today,

The laundry man smiles, as he takes dirty linnen away,

Empty milk bottles sparkle in the morning sun.

A whirrrr from the milk float, Metroland, daily business has begun.