Mavis Black read the card that someone had slipped into her bag. It said "If you want to hire the T Team, be at Ye Olde Saxon Violets Coffee Shoppe at exactly 10:00."
She checked her watch. It was 10:00 precisely. She looked around anxiously but, apart from the waitress, did not see anyone that looked like a troubleshooter. The waitress came over to her table and sat down.
"You can't sit there, I'm waiting for someone."
"Mavis Black?"
"Yes, that's me."
As if on cue a bright pink GMC Vandura screamed to a halt outside the coffee shop. Two women burst out of the van and, along with the waitress, bundled Mavis inside before speeding off.
The waitress pulled off her blonde wig to reveal a head of blond hair styled in exactly the same way. "Mavis Black, you've just hired the T Team. I'm Anabelle Smith. What can we do for you?"
"I represent a group of people that are trying to keep a children's hospice open. But there are developers that want the land. We need you to help us raise enough funds to buy the land outright."
"Leave it to us, because WE ARE... THE T TEAM."
Mavis was startled by a military fanfare. A young woman dressed in clothes that had clearly been curtains recently and wearing a peaked bunny cap pulled a mobile phone from her jeans. "Robert, I told you not to phone me at work." She shut the phone off.
"Your husband?" Mavis asked.
"My psychiatrist." Responded the woman.
--
Anabelle Smith looked over her team. They had stood together loyally for many years. Yes, there had been disagreements, even conflicts, but somehow they were always sorted out.
"OK, ladies, these good people need our help and they are going to get it. Agreed?"
"Agreed, Anabelle." They chorused.
"Temperance, your job is to get the sponge. Beatrice, the jelly. Aysha-Emma."
"Don't tell me. It's the fruit. It's always the fruit." Aysha-Emma Maddox turned her cap so the peak faced backwards, thrust her hands in her pockets and strolled out.
"Do you trust her, Anabelle?"
"Beatrice Anastasia Bacchus, how can you say that? Maddox has always come through for us."
"She's a crazy fool."
"That's not nice," said Temperance Pike.
"She's helped you out on many occasions."
"You mean knocking me out all those times?"
"Well, at least you didn't get seasick."
"I don't get seasick. I just hate boats."
"Ladies, ladies. We have jobs to do. Let's get to it."
In a couple of hours, the team reassembled and set to work. Once the ingredients were combined it was put into the fridge to set. The ladies of the Rotary Club applauded the team when they were presented with the finished product.
Annabelle turned to the other ladies and just said...
"I love it when a flan comes together."
Wednesday, 29 February 2012
Tuesday, 28 February 2012
Lost in the Jungle
I admit I had been foolish not to listen to the advice I had been given. I had decided to drive from Pho-Lat to Kai-Tam by myself. When I had gone about a hundred and fifty miles, my land rover completely seized up. I inspected the engine, but there was no way I could get it to start again. I reached for a map and my water flask. The flask was empty. Again, I had been so sure I would arrive safely at my destination that I had not worried about running out of water. I checked the map. There was a small village about fifteen miles away through the jungle. There I would find food, water and help.
I set off in a direct line to the village, or so I thought. After several hours, and without anything to guide me, I realised I was quite lost. I was also hungry and thirsty. Now, having grown up in Pho-Lat Province, I did have some jungle craft, but I had not needed to use it for many years. I looked around until I spotted some berries, about the size of a grape and the colour of lemons. They were not good for food, they were highly acidic and would bring on terrible stomach cramps. I did recognise the broad, shiny leaves of a plant I knew to be related to the potato. I dug it up and hungrily ate the root. I had difficulty in swallowing it because I was so dry.
That is when I spotted the toad. It was bright red in the dark green of the jungle. I knew it was poisonous, but I also knew it could help me. I captured it and started feeding it the berries. The toad was highly addicted to them and devoured berry after berry. It stopped for a while and vomited out an acrid mass before returning to the fruit. Its skin colour started to change through orange to the colour of the berries. This was what I had been waiting for. I threw the berries away. The toad just sat there for a while. Then it started jumping through the undergrowth. The berries had given it a mighty thirst and it was using its natural instincts to find fresh water. And all I had to do now was to follow the yellow sick toad.
Monday, 27 February 2012
A Tale of World War II
This is based on a shaggy dog story which could be described as traditional. It was the first shaggy dog story I ever heard. This is my version.
Shortly after the start of World War II the call went out to craftsmen and skilled workers to come to the aid of the Nation’s defence.
One such was Nigel Webster. He had just finished his apprenticeship as an Oglogel Box Maker and was very keen to serve his country.
He went to the Army Recruitment Office.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Sergeant asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s about 20 feet across, and 20 feet high...”
“That’s too big for the Army to use. We would need to have special vehicles just to carry it. Try the Air Force.”
So Nigel went to the Air Force.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Squadron Leader asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s a cube that weighs about 30 Tons...”
“That’s far too heavy to go in one of our aircraft, try the Navy.”
So Nigel went to the Navy.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Midshipman asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s a cube that weighs about 30 Tons.”
“That’s heavy, but our ships could carry it easily. How big is it?”
“About 20 feet per side, Sir.”
“That’s not a problem. What exactly does it do?”
“Well, Sir, I’m not allowed to say, but if you will let me make one, I can demonstrate it.”
“OK, you’re in.”
Some weeks later Nigel was on the HMS Fearless. Under his instruction, huge tarpaulins were erected on the deck and fastened securely. These rose up to form a wall so that no-one would see the secrets of the Oglogel Box that Nigel had sworn to preserve.
Over the next month, timber and nails and equipment were taken inside the work area and the air was full of the sounds of sawing and hammering.
At the end of 6 weeks, Nigel reported to the Captain that the work was done. HMS Fearless set sail for a demonstration of the Oglogel box's strange properties.
As the ship positioned itself off of the coast near Penzance, the deck gradually filled with admirals and generals, politicians and nameless figures that stayed in the shadows.
The crowd watched, hushed now, as a crane swung over the area where the Oglogel box had been constructed. The hook went down and, after a while, Nigel called out that all was secure.
The crane took the strain. The motor rumbled with the effort of lifting the box. Slowly it rose from behind the tarpaulins, Nigel on the top steadying it. The crowd stared, fascinated by this strange object.
It was, as Nigel had said, a cube about 20 feet per side. It had a large hole (about 3 feet across) in the centre of each of the sides. There were slots irregularly spaced above and below the hole. Also on each side were sets of arrows pointing upwards.
Nigel gave the signal and the crane turned so that the box hung over the side of the ship. The crowd surged to the guardrail to see what would happen next.
The box was lowered, gently, to the surface of the sea. Nigel very carefully unhooked the box and was lifted back onto the deck.
All eyes stared at the box, now floating a few feet away from the ship. Then they saw a spurt of water coming from the holes and it began to sink. And as it sank, it went
Oglogel, oglogel, oglogel
Shortly after the start of World War II the call went out to craftsmen and skilled workers to come to the aid of the Nation’s defence.
One such was Nigel Webster. He had just finished his apprenticeship as an Oglogel Box Maker and was very keen to serve his country.
He went to the Army Recruitment Office.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Sergeant asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s about 20 feet across, and 20 feet high...”
“That’s too big for the Army to use. We would need to have special vehicles just to carry it. Try the Air Force.”
So Nigel went to the Air Force.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Squadron Leader asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s a cube that weighs about 30 Tons...”
“That’s far too heavy to go in one of our aircraft, try the Navy.”
So Nigel went to the Navy.
“Well, Son, what do you do?” The Midshipman asked.
“I’m an Oglogel Box Maker, Sir!”
“What is an Oglogel Box?”
“Well, it’s a cube that weighs about 30 Tons.”
“That’s heavy, but our ships could carry it easily. How big is it?”
“About 20 feet per side, Sir.”
“That’s not a problem. What exactly does it do?”
“Well, Sir, I’m not allowed to say, but if you will let me make one, I can demonstrate it.”
“OK, you’re in.”
Some weeks later Nigel was on the HMS Fearless. Under his instruction, huge tarpaulins were erected on the deck and fastened securely. These rose up to form a wall so that no-one would see the secrets of the Oglogel Box that Nigel had sworn to preserve.
Over the next month, timber and nails and equipment were taken inside the work area and the air was full of the sounds of sawing and hammering.
At the end of 6 weeks, Nigel reported to the Captain that the work was done. HMS Fearless set sail for a demonstration of the Oglogel box's strange properties.
As the ship positioned itself off of the coast near Penzance, the deck gradually filled with admirals and generals, politicians and nameless figures that stayed in the shadows.
The crowd watched, hushed now, as a crane swung over the area where the Oglogel box had been constructed. The hook went down and, after a while, Nigel called out that all was secure.
The crane took the strain. The motor rumbled with the effort of lifting the box. Slowly it rose from behind the tarpaulins, Nigel on the top steadying it. The crowd stared, fascinated by this strange object.
It was, as Nigel had said, a cube about 20 feet per side. It had a large hole (about 3 feet across) in the centre of each of the sides. There were slots irregularly spaced above and below the hole. Also on each side were sets of arrows pointing upwards.
Nigel gave the signal and the crane turned so that the box hung over the side of the ship. The crowd surged to the guardrail to see what would happen next.
The box was lowered, gently, to the surface of the sea. Nigel very carefully unhooked the box and was lifted back onto the deck.
All eyes stared at the box, now floating a few feet away from the ship. Then they saw a spurt of water coming from the holes and it began to sink. And as it sank, it went
Oglogel, oglogel, oglogel
Friday, 24 February 2012
The Road Trip
“I’m telling you Brad, if you don’t turn off that Sat Nav, I’m going to throw it out the window.”
“No, Jenny. I need it. It’s vital for work.”
“But why does it have that voice?”
“What voice?”
“That..that. Oooh! You know.”
“What’s wrong with it? It’s clear, and tells me exactly where I need to go.”
“After one hundred yards, turn right, you sexy, sexy man.”
“I’m telling you, Brad , I’ve just about had it with the voice of that – that - Hussy!”
“Do people still say that?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Look. How will we know where to go without Sat Nav?”
“I can read a map.”
“OK, I’ll turn the Sat Nav off, you direct us to Lemster, and we’ll stop for lunch.”
Jenny reached round, and grabbed the map book, riffling the pages to Worcester where they had begun their journey. She followed the roads with her finger, then stopped and stared at the book. Then she turned to the index, turning a few pages, then traced down with her finger, then went back to the map page.
“Lemster?”
“Yes, Lemster.”
“A little village north of Ludlow?”
“What are you talking about? Lemster’s a big place. Famous.”
“Well, I can’t find it.”
Brad braked sharply and grabbed the map book.
“Look. Here! Here! Lemster!”
“That says Leominster.”
“It’s pronounced ‘Lemster'.”
“Well, why didn’t you say you wanted to go to Leominster?”
“It’s pronounced ‘Lemster!’”
The two quietly fumed during the rest of the journey. Brad changed gears sharply and Jenny shot him angry looks that contained more acid than words ever could. They pulled into the restaurant car park, went in and sat down. Eventually a waitress came over to them to take the order.
“Before we do that, could you answer a question?”
“ Brad!”
“Look, Jenny, I just want to settle this once and for all.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just eat our meal in peace.”
“Miss. My wife and I had a disagreement on the way here. Please could you tell me the correct way to pronounce the name of this place?”
“Jol-ly Chef.”
“No, Jenny. I need it. It’s vital for work.”
“But why does it have that voice?”
“What voice?”
“That..that. Oooh! You know.”
“What’s wrong with it? It’s clear, and tells me exactly where I need to go.”
“After one hundred yards, turn right, you sexy, sexy man.”
“I’m telling you, Brad , I’ve just about had it with the voice of that – that - Hussy!”
“Do people still say that?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“Look. How will we know where to go without Sat Nav?”
“I can read a map.”
“OK, I’ll turn the Sat Nav off, you direct us to Lemster, and we’ll stop for lunch.”
Jenny reached round, and grabbed the map book, riffling the pages to Worcester where they had begun their journey. She followed the roads with her finger, then stopped and stared at the book. Then she turned to the index, turning a few pages, then traced down with her finger, then went back to the map page.
“Lemster?”
“Yes, Lemster.”
“A little village north of Ludlow?”
“What are you talking about? Lemster’s a big place. Famous.”
“Well, I can’t find it.”
Brad braked sharply and grabbed the map book.
“Look. Here! Here! Lemster!”
“That says Leominster.”
“It’s pronounced ‘Lemster'.”
“Well, why didn’t you say you wanted to go to Leominster?”
“It’s pronounced ‘Lemster!’”
The two quietly fumed during the rest of the journey. Brad changed gears sharply and Jenny shot him angry looks that contained more acid than words ever could. They pulled into the restaurant car park, went in and sat down. Eventually a waitress came over to them to take the order.
“Before we do that, could you answer a question?”
“ Brad!”
“Look, Jenny, I just want to settle this once and for all.”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just eat our meal in peace.”
“Miss. My wife and I had a disagreement on the way here. Please could you tell me the correct way to pronounce the name of this place?”
“Jol-ly Chef.”
Thursday, 23 February 2012
Normally Speaking
“Ah, Dr Baxter, Come in. Sit down.”
“Thank you, Chancellor.”
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about this paper you’ve written.”
“Yes?”
“‘An Analytical Method for Diagnosis of Mental and Personality Disorders’.”
“Yes.”
“What is your purpose in writing it?”
“I thought it would clarify psychological and psychiatric diagnoses.”
“Indeed. I have a few questions to ask. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, Chancellor. Go right ahead.”
“Ludic Voyeurism Disorder - How do you define it?”
“It’s the unhealthy preoccupation of observing organised recreational physical activity.”
“Or watching sport.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you call this a disorder?”
“Because it serves no purpose.”
“Many people enjoy watching sport.”
“That just goes to show how widespread the disorder is.”
“Phantastic Voyeurism Disorder?”
“Unhealthy preoccupation of observing people behaving in imaginary ways.”
“Such as?”
“Watching fictional shows on TV, theatre and cinema.”
“Don’t most people do this?”
“Yes, Chancellor. That doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”
“Dr Baxter. Can I ask a personal question?”
“By all means.”
“Do you watch TV?”
“No. I’ve never had one.”
“What about sport, do you play sport?”
“No. I don’t see the point of it.”
“I see. Now, this paper of yours lists 235 disorders.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Chancellor.”
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you about this paper you’ve written.”
“Yes?”
“‘An Analytical Method for Diagnosis of Mental and Personality Disorders’.”
“Yes.”
“What is your purpose in writing it?”
“I thought it would clarify psychological and psychiatric diagnoses.”
“Indeed. I have a few questions to ask. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, Chancellor. Go right ahead.”
“Ludic Voyeurism Disorder - How do you define it?”
“It’s the unhealthy preoccupation of observing organised recreational physical activity.”
“Or watching sport.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you call this a disorder?”
“Because it serves no purpose.”
“Many people enjoy watching sport.”
“That just goes to show how widespread the disorder is.”
“Phantastic Voyeurism Disorder?”
“Unhealthy preoccupation of observing people behaving in imaginary ways.”
“Such as?”
“Watching fictional shows on TV, theatre and cinema.”
“Don’t most people do this?”
“Yes, Chancellor. That doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”
“Dr Baxter. Can I ask a personal question?”
“By all means.”
“Do you watch TV?”
“No. I’ve never had one.”
“What about sport, do you play sport?”
“No. I don’t see the point of it.”
“I see. Now, this paper of yours lists 235 disorders.”
“Yes.”
"Including aversion to prawn curry?"
"Yes sir. Not liking prawn curry is just not normal."
“I see. How did you come up with these disorders?”
“I analysed a number of studies.”
“And who performed these studies?”
“I did.”
“I thought so. Now, if I read this right, you have disorders relating to driving cars, flying in aircraft, going on holiday. All these would seem to be quite normal.”
“Not according to my studies, Chancellor.”
“I can see at least twelve of these that apply to me. The same for other people I can think of. As a matter of fact, I think there is only one person they don’t apply to.”
“Chancellor?”
“You’ve defined yourself as normal, haven’t you?”
”Well, according to my studies...”
“And anyone who is not you, is not normal?”
“Well...”
“You have devoted a whole paper to proving you are the only normal person on the planet.”
“So it would seem, Chancellor.”
“Baxter, that is not normal.”
“I see. How did you come up with these disorders?”
“I analysed a number of studies.”
“And who performed these studies?”
“I did.”
“I thought so. Now, if I read this right, you have disorders relating to driving cars, flying in aircraft, going on holiday. All these would seem to be quite normal.”
“Not according to my studies, Chancellor.”
“I can see at least twelve of these that apply to me. The same for other people I can think of. As a matter of fact, I think there is only one person they don’t apply to.”
“Chancellor?”
“You’ve defined yourself as normal, haven’t you?”
”Well, according to my studies...”
“And anyone who is not you, is not normal?”
“Well...”
“You have devoted a whole paper to proving you are the only normal person on the planet.”
“So it would seem, Chancellor.”
“Baxter, that is not normal.”
The Guru
“Good evening. Tonight we meet Guru Kaun...”
“Please. You must use my full name.”
“Alright, forgive me if I mispronounce it. Guru Wobble Butt...”
“No, no, no. It is Guru Woh Bol Bahut Laykin Laghana Thora Kaun.”
“May I just call you ‘Guru’?”
“Please.”
“Thank you. Now, Guru, your recently published biography makes some amazing claims. Would you like to back them up?”
“By all means.”
“You were born in Jaipur?”
“Yes.”
“Ah yes. I know Jaipur very well. The Pink City, with the Jal Mahal, the Lakshmi-Narayan Temple and the Amber Fort. I lived in the Sindhi Colony for some time, you know. Where exactly in Jaipur were you born?”
“The bedroom just above the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“My father owned a restaurant in Peckham. I was born in the apartment just over it.”
“So, not in India?”
“No. Peckham.”
“You weren’t born Wobble Butt…”
“Woh Bol Bahut Laykin Laghana Thora Kaun. No. I was given that name after I attained enlightenment.”
“What was your name when you were born?”
“Neville G. Cooper.”
“What did the G stand for?”
“Arthur.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes. The G is silent.”
“I see. Now, your book says that you are an Astral Traveller?”
“Yes. A very good car.”
“Sorry?”
“The Vauxhall Astra. Very good.”
“And what is this about walking between the stars?”
“Ah yes. I have not done that for many years.”
“Would you like to tell us about it?”
“I learned to walk between the stars when I was in the United States. I was taught by a wise man called John Glenn.”
“John Glenn the Astronaut?”
“No, John Glenn the USPS Letter Carrier. He delivered the mail in Beverley Hills. Many stars there.”
“How did you become a Guru?”
“It was in May 1978. I achieved enlightenment and ascended into the heavens. Then I found myself in the scented garden of the wise woman. I told her of everything I had seen. That is when she gave me my new name.”
“You levitated?”
“Certainly.”
“How did you do that?”
“I sat in the Lotus Position on a bamboo mat, repeated my mantra, emptied my mind, and rose up into the air.”
“What was that mantra?”
“Cut the cords.”
“Can you demonstrate this levitation to us here?”
“I would need a hot air balloon.”
“Tell me how you met the wise woman.”
“As I say, I found myself in her scented garden. I was dazed by my experience. She called to me and we talked for hours. It was then she gave me my new name and bestowed upon me the title of Guru.”
“How did you know she was a wise woman?”
“By the deep spiritual questions she asked.”
“Such as?”
“Who do you think you are? Why did you crash your balloon in my greenhouse? Who is going to pay for the damage?”
“And she called you Guru?”
“Yes, although I did not immediately understand her accent. It sounded more like Gerrout.”
“What actually do you do as a Guru?”
“Each day I go to my chambers. When people seek my guidance, they are ushered into my presence. There I listen to their stories, their appeals for help. I do what I can with the powers that I have. Sometimes it is enough.”
“And how do you help them?”
“I offer them a loan. Low interest, easy terms, six months for first repayment.”
“So, you aren’t a Guru, are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are, in fact, a bank manager.”
“OK, guv’nor. It’s a fair cop. I’ll go quietly.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, that was Neville Cooper, bank manager.”
“Psst! Want a mortgage?”
“Gerrout!”
“Please. You must use my full name.”
“Alright, forgive me if I mispronounce it. Guru Wobble Butt...”
“No, no, no. It is Guru Woh Bol Bahut Laykin Laghana Thora Kaun.”
“May I just call you ‘Guru’?”
“Please.”
“Thank you. Now, Guru, your recently published biography makes some amazing claims. Would you like to back them up?”
“By all means.”
“You were born in Jaipur?”
“Yes.”
“Ah yes. I know Jaipur very well. The Pink City, with the Jal Mahal, the Lakshmi-Narayan Temple and the Amber Fort. I lived in the Sindhi Colony for some time, you know. Where exactly in Jaipur were you born?”
“The bedroom just above the kitchen.”
“I’m sorry? I don’t understand.”
“My father owned a restaurant in Peckham. I was born in the apartment just over it.”
“So, not in India?”
“No. Peckham.”
“You weren’t born Wobble Butt…”
“Woh Bol Bahut Laykin Laghana Thora Kaun. No. I was given that name after I attained enlightenment.”
“What was your name when you were born?”
“Neville G. Cooper.”
“What did the G stand for?”
“Arthur.”
“Arthur?”
“Yes. The G is silent.”
“I see. Now, your book says that you are an Astral Traveller?”
“Yes. A very good car.”
“Sorry?”
“The Vauxhall Astra. Very good.”
“And what is this about walking between the stars?”
“Ah yes. I have not done that for many years.”
“Would you like to tell us about it?”
“I learned to walk between the stars when I was in the United States. I was taught by a wise man called John Glenn.”
“John Glenn the Astronaut?”
“No, John Glenn the USPS Letter Carrier. He delivered the mail in Beverley Hills. Many stars there.”
“How did you become a Guru?”
“It was in May 1978. I achieved enlightenment and ascended into the heavens. Then I found myself in the scented garden of the wise woman. I told her of everything I had seen. That is when she gave me my new name.”
“You levitated?”
“Certainly.”
“How did you do that?”
“I sat in the Lotus Position on a bamboo mat, repeated my mantra, emptied my mind, and rose up into the air.”
“What was that mantra?”
“Cut the cords.”
“Can you demonstrate this levitation to us here?”
“I would need a hot air balloon.”
“Tell me how you met the wise woman.”
“As I say, I found myself in her scented garden. I was dazed by my experience. She called to me and we talked for hours. It was then she gave me my new name and bestowed upon me the title of Guru.”
“How did you know she was a wise woman?”
“By the deep spiritual questions she asked.”
“Such as?”
“Who do you think you are? Why did you crash your balloon in my greenhouse? Who is going to pay for the damage?”
“And she called you Guru?”
“Yes, although I did not immediately understand her accent. It sounded more like Gerrout.”
“What actually do you do as a Guru?”
“Each day I go to my chambers. When people seek my guidance, they are ushered into my presence. There I listen to their stories, their appeals for help. I do what I can with the powers that I have. Sometimes it is enough.”
“And how do you help them?”
“I offer them a loan. Low interest, easy terms, six months for first repayment.”
“So, you aren’t a Guru, are you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You are, in fact, a bank manager.”
“OK, guv’nor. It’s a fair cop. I’ll go quietly.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, that was Neville Cooper, bank manager.”
“Psst! Want a mortgage?”
“Gerrout!”
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
The Perfect Marriage
I’ve been wed for 30 years,
Happy now as we were back then
The secret I will share with you
And you will be wiser men
Find a woman that sears your mind
Who turns your blood to fire
Who melts your legs into jelly
And fills your heart with desire
A woman whose face and form
Haunt your every thought
First thing in the morning
And very last thing at night
Buy her clothes and jewellery
Take her to the finest places
Dine with her and dance with her
Compliment her graces.
A long stemmed rose for valentine
And twelve on her birthday
And bouquets for no reason at all.
Give her all your energy,
Your passion and devotion
Give her your heart, your strength
Your love and adoration.
Make this woman’s happiness
The goal of your very life
But, above all, mark me well,
Just don’t tell the wife.
Happy now as we were back then
The secret I will share with you
And you will be wiser men
Find a woman that sears your mind
Who turns your blood to fire
Who melts your legs into jelly
And fills your heart with desire
A woman whose face and form
Haunt your every thought
First thing in the morning
And very last thing at night
Buy her clothes and jewellery
Take her to the finest places
Dine with her and dance with her
Compliment her graces.
A long stemmed rose for valentine
And twelve on her birthday
And bouquets for no reason at all.
Give her all your energy,
Your passion and devotion
Give her your heart, your strength
Your love and adoration.
Make this woman’s happiness
The goal of your very life
But, above all, mark me well,
Just don’t tell the wife.
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