Category Archives: seduction

What happened to peace, love and understanding? (Would you believe, this happened to a friend of mine…)

Hard Headed woman.

After another week of our boss giving us yet more grief
I headed into the cosy bar for a little Friday night relief,
It was a workmates birthday, I felt obliged to celebrate,
I thought  I’d sent a text to say I would be home at eight.

I never received her reply.

I swear I only had one beer, then a wee drop o’ scotch
When I chanced to glance down at my broken watch,
Was I deluded in thinking I could believe that bitty toy?
The night was young and so was the birthday girl-er, boy.

Strange how time slips by.

Drinks were drunk and soon my quiet night grew loud,
And then I saw a(double) vision stand out of the crowd,
Suddenly I forgot she was the daughter of my bosses brother,
Suddenly I felt no fidelity towards my significant other.

But I felt that tingle in my thigh.

I blame the drink, I blame the passion in her eyes,
But I didn’t fancy facing her, hungover, come sunrise,
I left her snoring in her room, slipped away like a jerk,
Come Monday I’d find workplace romances do not work.

And I’d kissed my job goodbye.

But in the here and now, in the cold light of the day
My usually ever-understanding partner tells me to f- go away,
Ignoring my gentle taps tap upon the door, then my heavy knocks,
No sweet-talking her round this time, she’s changed the locks.

She’s not letting this sleeping dog lie.

That hard hearted woman won’t answer text or call,
That woman’s got me beating my head against the wall,
Why, she always knew what kind of butt-headed man I am?
Now neither she nor this thick brick wall will give a damn.

Oh, what a bone-headed bloody fool am I.

Late at night, trawling through the channels and I fell upon this tender offering from the past. So serious, so silly, so… If any fans feel distraught about this all I can offer is, ‘sorry- grow up.’

The Vampire Diatribes.

First Entry.

The full moon shone down, bright and clear
As she left the pub full of cider and good cheer,
When from out of the shadows ol’ Dracula did appear
She gave out a cry as down her thigh ran a…frisson of fear.

This sure put a dampener on the nights atmosphere.

The Count slid towards her with a lecherous leer,
She feared this was her dying day as he drew near,
As his fangs grazed her neck she whispered in his ear
Bitter words no salivating vampire ever desires to hear.

Immodest confessions no fair Catholic maid could volunteer.

She has developed quite the reputation round here,
Has an accommodating nature that’s sure to endear,
Her maidenhood hadn’t withstood her sixteenth year,
She’d long laid her honor to rest, and not shed one tear.

So while she’s lying safely abed, Drac’s crying in his bier.

Ah, I somehow missed the passing of Burt Reynolds. So it’s a late eulogy to the late Burt.

Bye bye Burt.

It’s the final curtain for cool Cosmopolitan Bandit Burt,
The epitome of the seventies man, as your Mama can assert,
A twinkling eye, a cocked eyebrow, that mountebanks mustache-
Then and now he could elicit in the ladies a damn indecent hot flash.

The President returns home after meeting his Russian counterpart for a private wee tete-a-tete. A private and it would seem, illuminating and revelatory meeting. Try to picture it, as Donald did.

All That Glistens…

The President looked down from the casement
Of his glittering golden GREAT gilded Trump Tower,
The full moons soft saffron suffused glow meant
Don’s Rolex showed he was nearing the witching hour.

Tonight the moon seems full, of dark portent,
Tonight Don is as quiet and shy as a wall-flower,
Tonight its rich unadulterated light has lent
A blood-moon cast to his petulant glower.

Oh, how it pains this peach-of-a-President
To find Captain ‘Merica’s lost his superpower
As well as losing that sweet smell of victory scent,
Since he parleyed with Putin that’s started to sour.

In the FAKE photos Don sees it, and it is all too evident;
‘Neath a fake tan lies a sad whey-faced sack of sh– flour,
How he regrets Moscow and the time there ill-spent,
In the moons glow the tears flow, a regular golden shower.

A trip to chilly Scotland, to the big bold brassy city. Here a poor simple innocent Antipodean might easily have his head turned by the promise of hot steamy offerings… So ripe, so redolent, so seductive.

Bittersweet.

We’ve loved the life in Edinburgh, there’s so much to see and do,
Take a tour around the Old Town, take in the spectacular view,
My wife knows I’m no romantic but as our Christmas here passes
I’m seeing less through frozen specs than rose-tinted glasses.

We’ve Tiki-toured to near and far, from Loch Ness to Stockbridge,
Based in a quaint olde cottage free of all mod cons- like a fridge;
Promenaded past the Balmoral, trekked up ‘n’ down the Royal Mile,
Even the theatrics of a Spooky Spirits Tour invoked the ghost of a smile.

Yet- and yet- there is one unsavory thing I have found,
In both the New and Old Towns, on high or lower ground,
A presence lurks in the shadows, pervasive, omnipresent,
A fact of life in bonny Edinburgh I find, frankly unpleasant.

They seem to to haunt every corner, their entreaties oh so sweet,
Boldly advertising their dark seductive pleasures, pictures of deceit,
The wafting scent, the open invitation of a treat to make your day complete;
Don’t succumb, all you get is highway robbery, and tossed out into the street.

…No no no NO NO, I must explain, I don’t mean the ladies of the night;
There’s little wrong with consensual transactions, when the price is right,
No NO, I’ve never sought the dubious charms of a bargain basement tryst,
Nor the comfort and release of a half-price half-interested flip of the wrist.

Understand, if propositioned, this gentleman will decline,
The story essayed above did happen- to a ‘friend’ of mine…

The travesty I’m talking of is insidious, a blight and a scourge,
See, there’s the door, walk in if you’ve the nerve or the urge,
But beware, the broken man speaking to you strode in like a hero-
There’s nothing to suck the joy from life than supping a Caffe Nero.

The ill-practiced baristas lassitude was just the first of my concerns-
Its true that at Nero’s you’le see someone faffing about as the milk burns-
No, I didn’t leave no tip, I offered no thanks, because scarce a sip I drank,
I rate Caffe Nero bottom of the barrel, a stone-cold zero in taste- and rank.