I wrote this for our 25th.  That is to say, we had been dating for 25 days, which at the time was something of a record.

For both of us.

Ironically, I am still on a motorcycle and we have been married in excess of 25 years.

Please be as brutal as you want, I have no illusions.  I know my dogerell owes more to Benny Hill than anyone else

Do you remember when we met?

It’s nearly four whole weeks, and yet

Hardly any time has passed, or so it seems.

At the disco you were jivin’

And as I watched your body writhin’

I thought ‘Blimey, what a smashin’ pair of jeans!’

I thought there and then I’d pull you

So I said, ‘Don’t let this fool you.

I’m in cognito. I’m really a tycoon.’

You looked at me all sweet and pert,

Poured your Cinzano down my shirt,

And cried ‘Why don’t you push off, you stupid goon!’

But the friend you came with, Stella,

Had struck lucky with a fella

So you had to dance with me or dance alone.

I said ‘I like the way you look.’

You answered with a swift right hook,

But my charm won through, you let me take you home.

My mates at work thought I was daft

But they regretted that they’d laughed

When they saw, when it came to birds, that I’d got taste.

(Except for little Billy Kerr,

Who said ‘Well, I don’t fancy her.’

So I took him outside and filled in his face)

Remember that day on the boat?

It was cold, and I gave you my coat,

And it fell in, just where the sewer outlet lied.

I was fishing it back in,

You said ‘You don’t know where it’s been’.

I said, ‘I don’t care, my sarnies are inside.’

Sometimes I think I show you up

When I pour tea out from my cup

And drink it from the saucer ‘just like a chimp’.

But subtly you let me know,

Quietly stamping on my toe.

(Since we’ve been going out I’ve had this limp)

There’s no way I could love you more.

I’ve never felt this way before…

Ignore what Linda says… and Joyce… and Lesley.

Ain’t never met no-one so cool,

You’re perfect, like Lynsey de Paul,

And I’m your perfect guy, next to Elvis Presley.

(Mind you, next to Elvis, anyone would seem perfect)

I went out, says one of my friends,

With the same bird for weeks on end,

But even when that romance is forgotten

We’ll be gettin’ it together,

Bikin’ barefoot through the heather,

‘Cause I don’t half fancy you something rotten.