1 May 2012
'It was a cool December night And I was on the pull When I met this lovely-looking girl In the bar of "The Talking Bull".
I remember it all so clearly - The repartee and chat, I smiled at her and she said, "Whadaya think you're looking at?"
Her voice was like a foghorn But she moved with style and grace, Especially when I tried it on And she slapped me round the face
But then she kissed it better And held me really tight And asked if I was going back To her place for the night.
Refusal would be really rude, Was what went through my mind As I climbed the stairs up to her flat, Admiring her behind
And then the door was open And she led me to the bed Past the handcuffs, and the whip, And the plastic horse's head.
There were pictures on the wall of men In rubber gloves and masks And women smoking pipes and wearing Stockings and red basques,
And on the bedside table Was a truncheon, long and black, Next to the photo of a labrador Wearing a plastic mac.
It all seemed just a bit surreal, Which I put down to the booze And the little pill I'd taken earlier To keep me set on 'cruise'
Then things got kinda busy, There were people everywhere And everything went hazy But I didn't really care.
Next thing, I was sitting On a seat in Regent's Park Wondering how I'd got there And why it wasn't dark
And why I'd got a headache And a dry and painful throat And why I'd got no clothes on Underneath my coat.
So let this be a lesson To those out on the pull: Beware the voice like a foghorn, It talks a load of bull
But of course there is an upside Should you wish to have a go, 'Cos I know that I enjoyed it - I've seen the video.'
D.Axton
A Winter's Tale • Opuss № I