Ivor took the front end, Danny took the back.
Jenifer and Moira took hysterics.
I was somewhere underneath, shouting, "There's a knack
in moving baths". (I'd seen it done at Eric's).
This one was Victorian. Iron. Foundry cast.
Weighing in at seven hundred pound.
Avocado upstart installed, he'd washed his last
sweaty student, and was coup-ward bound.
We heaved him to the window, four storeys high,
teetered him across the flaking sill.
Shouted down to Charlie, "Coast clear?" "Aye!"
and sent him fleein' doon. I feel it still:
The stomach churning judder as he drilled the asphalt path
that ran between the midden and the dunnie.
The shriek of breaking windows as the carcass of the bath
exploded. Charlie bawlin', "'That's no' funny!"