When finally we get to meet,
perhaps if you one day turn round in the street,
I will woo you and whisk you away
for a year and a day.
‘Cos I love a cliché -
so I’ll wine you and dine you too.
And I’ll pay.

I’ll impress you with my repartee.
We’ll cuddle up on the settee.
Just you and me
and Sky TV
and Chicken in a Bucket for three.

I treasure my clippings of you,
I stick them in an album with glue.
Though they’re pointing out your
expanding Hips.
Too many chips
they say when they’re asking which is sexier -
that or anorexia.


I know you’re a little bit fatter
than when you were in that Soap
But to me that doesn’t matter.
As long as I can still carry you
when we finally elope.

Why do they have to point their cameras right
up your skirt? So they can tell you might
have problems with Cellulite?
Or got no pants on tonight?
Then they can put it on a dodgy internet site?

You can live at my house.
Now that my mum’s dead.
We can be wed
We can sleep in my bed.
Under my Sheffield United bedspread.

You can dump your rich fiance
Who I read once shagged Beyonce
Behind your back
And hers. Dirty get.
That goal scoring Brazilian
earns about a half a million
a week or something, so they say.
But I reckon he’s gay, anyway.
So you’ll be well rid.

Our love will be strong once we’ve met
Although that hasn’t happened as yet
It’ll be great when we do
‘Cos it’s fate me and you
I’ll finally say Hello
Which will be ironic
‘Cos that was where I first saw your face
All those years ago.

That had me chuckling, Sir_Nigel. And it's Monday morning too! :o :)