The Day In The Life Of A 70’s Site Plasterer
>>> @ PMplastering.net <<<
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You rise before dawn, the sky still gray,
The missus calls, “Stay in bed today!”
But you growl, “No love, I can’t let down—
The site won’t wait while I lie around.”
You pull on clothes with plaster crust,
Steel-toe boots, and gear you trust.
Each step you take leaves dusty trails,
Through morning mist and foggy gales.
It’s the life of a site plasterer, strong and proud,
Covered in dust, still laughing out loud.
From sunrise grind till the close of play,
That’s the rhythm of a plasterer’s day.
Ohhh— the trowel keeps time, the walls obey,
That’s the beat of a plasterer’s day.
Cereal downed, the sandwiches made,
Juice topped up, tea freshly laid.
A kiss goodbye, you’re out the door,
To beat the rush and face the roar.
You reach the site while others sleep,
Your trowel in hand, your faith runs deep.
No time for chat or breakfast stop,
You’re in the mix till the final drop.
It’s the life of a site plasterer, strong and proud,
Covered in dust, still laughing out loud.
From sunrise grind till the close of play,
That’s the rhythm of a plasterer’s day.
Ohhh— the trowel keeps time, the walls obey,
That’s the beat of a plasterer’s day.
You smooth the walls till they gleam and shine,
A craftsman’s touch, near godlike line.
By dusk you’re spent, your body sore,
But pride still hums—“I’ll do one more.”
Home again, the bath runs hot,
Dinner’s steaming in the pot.
Kids leap high to grab your knee,
But all you crave’s some peace and tea.
It’s the life of a site plasterer, strong and proud,
Covered in dust, still laughing out loud.
From sunrise grind till the close of play,
That’s the rhythm of a plasterer’s day.
Ohhh— the trowel keeps time, the walls obey,
That’s the beat of a plasterer’s day.
Then comes the cry—“Oi, lazy lump!
We’re going out, now shift your rump!”
You grin, gear up, and hit the road,
Pub, friends or park? – your joy reloads.
The cash rolled in, life felt so sweet,
Each day’s hard graft made ends meet.
But then one day, the hammer dropped—
“Health and Safety!”—the freedom stopped.
Now fences rise where laughter played,
Rules on rules, all joy decayed.
Start when told, and leave on cue,
No jokes, no smoke, no banter too.
They watch your step, they mark your name,
The “Woke Brigade” has changed the game.
Yet still you plaster, proud and true,
Because that’s what real tradesmen do.
It’s the life of a site plasterer, strong and proud,
Covered in dust, still laughing out loud.
From sunrise grind till the close of play,
That’s the rhythm of a plasterer’s day.
Ohhh— the trowel keeps time, the walls obey,
That’s the beat of a plasterer’s day.
>>> @ PMplastering.net <<<
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Copyright © Peter Moring 2025
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