If I should speak to married men,
the looks I get from wives!
Their mouths say ‘Where’s your partner?’
Their eyes ‘Back off – he’s mine!’

But a happy hubby doesn’t stray
and I don’t need to encroach.
Please understand that I’m content,
with no desire to poach.

For both sides of the bed are mine –
oh, I still think sex is fun,
but no man, or woman, owns me
and I answer to no-one.

To live life without compromise,
that supplement, I’ll pay –
to travel where I want to go,
stay where I want to stay.

No, I’m neither old nor bitter,
and I don’t have multiple cats,
so I need no-one’s pity –
I’m single, and fine with that.


I’d Rather Read My Diary (Than Fifty Shades Of Grey)

Now there’s a famous quote
from an Oscar Wilde play
about bringing your diary
to read when on the train.
Well, quite a lot of things have changed
since poor old Oscar’s day –
but I’d rather read my diary
than Fifty Shades Of Grey.

It has trysts in distant cities,
midnight missions bearing booze,
where the sex is realistic
and the characters are too.
But I could never publish it
(unless the names were changed…)
so, sadly, it will never sell
like Fifty Shades Of Grey.

It has a lot more single malt.
It has a lot less pain –
except for when I bang my head
(again – again – again!)
It may not be as raunchy
but still, it’s quite risqué,
so I’d rather read my diary
than Fifty Shades Of Grey.

It doesn’t need emoticons
to tell you when to laugh
as I’m trying to un-trash hotel rooms,
hide love bites with a scarf,
or limping home, while trying to hold
my tattered lingerie –
oh yes, my diary’s much more fun
than Fifty Shades Of Grey!