She was the kind of dame that's hard to ignore. Every time I opened the wardrobe door she would whisper 'cocktails?' in the kind of breathy voice that would make a bishop kick a hole in a stained glass window. I tried to push her off but she shook her toggles at me like a stripper's tassels. I was lost.
She hit me up for cocktails as if I was Rockefeller.
Then made me trawl to her favourite vintner for more of the hard stuff. She was game, I was willing and my heart was fluttering. Who was I to say no to dame who always said yes?
As I kissed her a boozy goodbye she whispered in my ear,
"Orange you glad you came up to see me?"
I guess I was, only time would tell.
(PS. Now on sale, cheap as chips for Americans, but still a fortune for those shopping at Symon St London! This is size 4, size 6 was better at the bust but hip wise, swung out like London Bridge accommodating the Royal Navy fleet.)