IMAGINE MY SURPRISE!
This phrase was the tipping point in every story sent into "Readers' Letters" of the soft porn mags of the 70's that I splashed out on. The Marge Proops of sex advice was Fiona Richmond. But I was on holiday at the time I wrote this and without "research resources" and remembered her name wrongly as Fiona Millicent.
Dear Fiona Millicent, I write about an incident
Which happened on a golfing holiday I took in Troon
I’d mentioned to the hotel staff
The unmade bed, the dirty bath
The Manager said he’d address the matter very soon;
So shortly after that I let the cleaner in the room.
I’d guess her age about 18; she looked a star of stage or screen
Her blouse was full to bursting and she’d legs up to the hilt;
She tidied round with mop and broom
She cleaned the bath, the sink, the room;
She bent across my king-sized bed and straightened up the quilt;
Image my surprise when she lifted up her kilt.
Dear Fiona Millicent, I’m normally quite reticent
To talk of my experiences few and far between;
But I was shopping at my butcher’s
And I’d bought about as much as
I needed when the butcher’s boy eyed me very keen
He asked me out so sweetly that I felt just like a queen.
He picked me up dead sharp at 8
And for a treat on our first date
He took me to the pictures in a little town called Leith;
The film was called “All Hands on Deck”
And starred Jean Harlow, Gregory Peck;
We said that from this boredom we would both need some relief;
Imagine my surprise when he offered me his beef.
Dear Fiona Millicent, your column is magnificent;
Please let me share my story of our vicar and his wife;
Moving lately to our parish
Came the vicar and wife, Alice,
Who invited me for card games at the vicarage in Fife;
She’d worked in Ayr casino and was sharper than a knife.
We played a hand or two of whist, “Just for matchsticks,” he’d insist;
She shuffled cards so dextrously, with certainty of touch
But dealt the last card in my lap
(A ruse to see my hand, perhaps?)
I put it down to nervousness – an accident as such.
Imagine my surprise when his hand dropped to my crotch.
Dear Fiona Millicent I’m really rather innocent
Of matters of the flesh since I come from Tunbridge Wells
But beauty far beyond mere speech
Appeared to me upon the beach
Bedecked in pink and purple reins and tinkliest of bells;
The sweetest donkey ever on the sands of Ingoldmells.
It was the prettiest I’ve seen, its coat a luscious, golden sheen
I stroked it on its forehead and I gazed into its eyes
I dropped my coin into the sand
(Which, truly, was not what I’d planned)
The donkey got quite frisky and its plonker grew in size
As I bent to pick the pound up – well, imagine my surprise.