Saturday morning, noon and night.
We wash and scrub with all our might.
The girls are also right in there,
polishing, cleaning and bringing cheer.

Beat the carpets, vacuum, patch.
Tempers fray as blisters hatch.
Engines suffer scouring Jeyes,
Then gaudy multi-colour sprays.
Knuckles bleed and owners roar,
Cleaning in crannies never reached before.

With aching arms and groaning backs.
We Simonize and Turtle Wax.
Wheels are washed with frantic zeal.
God help the guy with the 60-spoke wheel!

Sunday dawns, we're at it again.
Dear God don't let it pelt with rain.
Hood and tonneau, screens and spare,
Though seldom used they must be there.
Battery leads, gee what a sight!
We should have fixed those up last night!

To Sleepy Hollow now we crawl.
And hardly raise the dust at all.
We range them round on either side,
Two gleaming rows of owner’s pride.

The Judges search with faces grim.
For foreign parts, and missing trim,
For faulty latch, a ding, a scratch.
How can you hide a rusty patch?
Upholstery's torn, the carpets worn,
No Healey had “that” , when it was born!

After all that work It seems a sin,
That everyone of us can’t win.
Congratulations, well done Joe.
Next year we’ll give you real go!

Unknown Author