Ooh er missus, fancy that.

A dear friend of mine emailed me today with a link to an event described by TimeOut as:

Between tarot readers, burlesque dancers and jazz musicians you’ll find London’s poets. In a city where everything has a price, buy a private reading from one of the brothel’s ‘whores’ and enjoy a one-to-one literary experience that you’ll never forget.

I didn’t realise I should be charging people to listen to my dire odes. Does this mean I also have to bear all bar nipple tassles whenever reading “The Trouble With Bees”?

Though since my poetry is nonsensical, do I have to wear a clown suit to portray the meaning? Or should I read it out in my most sexiest voice and confuse the hell out of everyone?

I’m certain I can make Spike Milligans “On the Ning Nang Nong” an audible, sensual delight to behold.

What my dear friend actually meant was that I should consider taking a date to this venue. That thought had bypassed me completely.

I’d have to find a man to go with first…One who prefers a silly whore over a sexy one.

Peace out xoxo



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