IMAGINE MY SURPRISE
(Afficianados of the soft porn mags of the 70's will recall the Letters to the Editor pages. Letters were quite formulaic You pretended they hadn't been cobbled together by a roomful of middle aged hacks as you spanked your monkey but always had the phrase halfway through the story, "Imagine my surprise..." Fiona Richmond was Men Only's shagnasty but I wrote this away from any research material and the nearest I could remember her name was Millicent. Plus it makes some fine rhymes)
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.