Memories of Kingston-on-Thames

When folks hear the name of Kingston-upon-Thames
They no doubt recollect its lovely old town hall,
Its rather tasteful concrete multi-storey carpark,
And its slightly better-than average shopping mall,
Or maybe the public toilet on the river banks
Where the naughty gay men go for night-time wanks.

But I have a secret memory of this historic borough
For it is where I used to bonk the luscious Sandy,
A horny thirties divorcée with a taste for gobbling
(a love-practice which always makes me very randy),
Even though I had to listen to her dreary chat
In between reassuring her she wasn't really fat.

But one day, as I was leaving her mock-Tudor house
After having deposited my love-juice in her nest,
I noticed a swarthy gent hiding near her hedge
With a full petrol can under his sweat-stained vest,
And I recognised who it was: her ex-hubby,
A half-caste who was slightly mad and rather tubby.

I jumped into my Porsche and drove off in the night
Wondering what on Earth might happen next;
It was hardly my bleeding fault I thought
That nubile Sandra was so cute and over-sexed.
Next day I read her house was burned right to the ground,
And not even Sandra's IUD remained to be found.

Poor dear thing, I admit she really wasn’t very bright
But she meant quite well, did my dear little Sanny;
She didn’t have a wicked bone in all her body
And, each New Year, I miss her well-trimmed little fanny.

And my New Year's Resolution is: "After exploring ladies’ tooshes,
Always keep an eye out for exes lurking in the bushes".