What is it with bloody Mills & Boon
Those soppy women who coo and moon
Over long haired chaps without a shirt
Or handsome surgeons whose idea to flirt
Is to make snide remarks and throw a snit
Frankly, I think it’s a load of....tosh
Why are they all called Estevez?
What’s wrong with Derek, Steve or Bez?
Why a doctor or a millionaire?
Why not a plumber with thinning hair?
And the women themselves, don’t get me started!
No wonder they end up broken hearted
That bunch would make Jane Austen spin
In her grave as they take it on the chin
When the hero of the tawdry saga
Tries his luck against the Aga
Only to snub her at the Society Do
Honestly, are these ladies all on glue?
I can’t see why they’re so besotted
I’d tell these berks to go and get knotted
I know I should get off my big high horse
I’m staring down the barrel of the menopause
I should think back to when I was a girl
Channel Barbara Cartland, give romance a whirl
But three pages in to Fifty Shades
My opinion on this stuff remains unswayed
All that leather and chains and sparkly Spandex?
The rest of the book gets used as Andrex
I guess I’ll never get this genus
With its hundreds of different words for...love
Where playboys with their wicked wiles
With perfect hair and crooked smiles
Their bank accounts obscenely laden
Always win over the blushing maiden
Who hated them in Chapter One
But by the end is Quite Undone
And melts the heart of the Alpha Male
In every single bleeding tale
And despite the warnings from her friends
Is waltzing down the aisle by the end
A woman here got off with Jesus?
Oh wait, ‘Hey-seus’ – I never know what pleases
The readers of this tiresome genre
Where Baby is never put in the corner
I think I’ll stick to what I know
I just can’t give these things a go
I can’t be doing with all that palaver
I’d rather be home eating crisps, supping Cava
You can keep your Fabio, Rex and Gino
I’ll stick to Mr Men and The Beano