I saw her in a disco bar
- besotted at first sight!
and managed to get introduced
one cold and wintry night.

Her mate said “She’s just right for you,
so don’t give up just yet.
She never shows her feelings
for a bloke that she’s just met"

So I hung in there doggedly
for two more weeks or three.
But, tho’ we used to get on well,
she never fancied me.

Then, one night - it was freezing cold -
her mate proposed a tactic bold.
She said “We ought to take a trip,
to Brighton for a midnight dip?”

So, being full of Light and Mild,
and gagging for this Heaven-Child,
I said “Let’s do it! – I agree!”
(it was warm inside the pub you see)

And, being now extremely fond,
of this delightful, bubbly, blonde,
I hoped I might see what she wears
beneath her bum-tight trendy flares.

Fair ladies are not won we’re told,
by fella’s with faint hearts.
But outside in the bitter cold,
was where reality starts!

We got into her mate’s small car,
and headed for the coast afar.
The beer had worn off and I knew,
I’d bit off more than I could chew!
 
Sober now, with icy stare,
we reached the said resort.
I stripped down to my underwear,
(some garish Boxer shorts)

I thought, “If I’m her heart to win,
I’ll have to throw myself right in!”
And so, just east of Palace Pier,
I tried to overcome my fear.

I ran full-pelt. I dare not stop,
until the Channel reached the top
of my poor weedy, white, bare chest,
(at least I hadn’t worn my vest!)

And as I stood there tremb-er-ling,
my nuts began to freeze.
While she had only ventured in,
to halfway up her knees!

The image of Burt Lancaster,
frolicking in the foam
with Deborah Kerr, seemed oh so far
(I wished I’d stayed at home!)

No surf-washed kisses, heavy sighs,
my manhood shrank to half its size,
and now resembled I suspect,
a tortoise in a polo-neck!

The heart she’d won I found was now
in cardiac arrest.
I staggered out a wrinkled wreck –
I’d feebly failed the test.

My confidence hit its lowest ebb.
I’d never be her Captain Webb
with all my dignity now gone.
We never met from that night on.
 
 
I wrote ‘Skinny Dipper’ in 2003 and, by a strange coincidence, discovered the object of my youthful desire the following year through the internet and sent her a copy.  She replied that the eventful evening all those years ago had figured high on her repertoire of anecdotes over the years but that she could never recall who she was with!  We met for a coffee and the whole experience reminded me of John Betjeman’s ‘In a Bath Teashop’ and it inspired this:
 
 
Friends Reunited
 
What an unlikely combination:
You with your morning’s shopping
in plastic bags at your feet,
and me with my heart in my mouth.
It’s been thirty years since our last meet -
parallel lives in different directions.
This one-time, would-be Valentino
moving carefully to avoid old aches,
watching you drink your cappuccino
and wondering if I should have
ordered cakes?
Desperately seeking common ground
and hoping that it doesn’t rain.
My coat of memories in the Lost and Found.
I wonder…..shall we meet again?
 
 
(We never did)