Above, dear Hélène at work

Amélie was a good sort
at least I thought so until that day
the old cow locked me in the cellar
of her Parisian bordello and threw the key away

My crime? I didn’t cough up
the fee after the event
a caddish trick I realize now
yet my francs I’d long since spent
spent them on buckets of champers 
and a host of lovely wayward girls
oh yes and at the opium den
also on harlots clad in naught but South Sea pearls
And thus it was when I arrived
at Madam Amélie’s Maison de Tolerance
where I feasted upon her new fresh flesh
my poor excuse my inherent ignorance
When presented with the massive bill
for all the services she had rendered
but only when she drew her six-shooter
was the point that I surrendered
So now I languish in the gloom
of a vault so cold and dank
in the company of sewer rats
and a rather smelly septic tank

Yet am I disappointed?
well I am to a certain extent
but looking on the bright side
it could be heaven sent

that her pretty scullery maid Hélène
has taken pity at my plight
and has eased the strain of my incarceration
by ‘visiting’ me both day and night
each time she has a free moment
she takes a clandestine trip down here
also she promises to escape with me
when the coast is clear
Yet do I really want to leave? 
After all I am the consummate cad
and Hélène serves my every need
so things really aren’t that bad

Copyright © 2023. All rights reserved save for Kevin Ayers. Unauthorised copying, reproduction, hiring, and lending, prohibited.

24 thoughts on “SHE LOCKED ME IN THE CELLAR!

    1. It’s a funny old world, Liz. Some years ago, in a pub after work, there was a bunch of posh caps in the bar. I overheard one such posh bloke boasting of his ‘way with the girls’. Listening to him, it was clear he’d had three marriages that had failed because of his need for extra women…a wife, to him, was not enough. To the point. On this occasion he announced he’d married again, only this time he wanted the new wife for keeps on the basis that it was costing him a fortune paying money to his host of previous wives. Now this…to him…was a cunning scheme. His latest wife was called Amada and they had a poodle named Freddy. The clever…if one could call it ‘clever’…bit was that he made sure that two new so-called lovers we both named Amada, and as a gift to those new lovers, he gave the pair each a poodle he’d named Freddy. In his view, should he speak when asleep then ‘names’ would be no issue. ‘Tis a true story, by the way. It was he who was on my mind when I penned this piece. My thanks that you’ve read this odd verse. Regards, Mike

      1. I agree, Liz. He was the sort of chap who gives all men a bad, bad name. It would be interesting to find out what he’s up to these days. He must be old now.

  1. TOF! You are a glad cad… in this prose.
    Still, there seems to be a message that sometimes an ill fate isn’t so bad at all!
    Hope you are well recovered. Resa xx

    1. Very kind of you, young Resa. Annoyingly, I will never be ‘recovered’, yet the quack tells me it won’t kill me, a bonus of sorts. I’ve just have to accept it. At least French red is still on the menu. All the best. Regards, TOF

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