Saturday Night Special

The divine Miss Piggy struts her stuff in the latest electro-disco style.
(Not suitable for under-18s)

A Subaltern's Love Song

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

-- John Betjeman

When A Man Hasn't Been Kissed

When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I walk behind well-dressed women
on cold, December mornings and shovel
the steamy exhalations pluming from their lips
down my throat with both hands, hoping
a single molecule will cling to my lungs.

When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I sneak into the ladies room of a fancy restaurant,
dig into the trashcan for a napkin
where a woman checked her lipstick,
then go home, light candles, put on Barry White,
and press the napkin all over my body.

When I haven't been kissed in a long time,
I start thinking leeches are the most romantic
creatures, cause all they want to do is kiss.
If only someone invented a kinder, gentler leech,
I'd paint it bright pink and pretend
Winona Ryder's lips crawled off her face,
up my thigh, and were sucking on my swollen

bicep. When I haven't been kissed
in a long time, I create civil disturbances,
then insult the cops who show up,
till one of them grabs me by the collar
and hurls me up against the squad car,
so I can remember, at least for a moment,
what it's like to be touched.

Jeffrey McDaniel

Daddy's Girlfriend

When I was very little my mother used to point at the television whenever this actress came on and go "Look! Look! Daddy's girlfriend!"

I had only a vague idea of what girlfriends were, but I decided that my mum was saying that before he met her, my dad had been going out with Eva Gabor. This made me think my dad must have been extremely cool.

I wondered why they weren't still together. In those days, I didn't understand how relationships ended (or even, I suppose, that they could...) I was only five at the time, and my dad was really, really old. I didn't understand about mistresses, either, but I thought it was better not to ask my mum too many questions.

The existential implications of having a different mother didn't even cross my mind.