What Dreams May Come...

I was walking through the town the other day, when this beautiful young woman blocked my path.

‘Ello,’ she said.

‘What?’

‘Ello.’

‘Oh right, ello back.’

‘What is your name?’ she asked. She talked funny.

‘JJ, what’s yours?’

‘Fifi.’

‘Fifi?’

‘Yes, Fifi. Why not?’

I shrugged, strictly in the English manner.

‘Where ya from?’ I asked her, with studied nonchalance.

‘La Belle France, where else?’

She looked a bit miffed, presumably because I hadn’t picked up her accent or the undoubted aura of Gallic chic that clung to her like expensive perfume. I’d wondered whether she might have been from Merthyr Tydfill, or somewhere.

‘Oh, a Frenchie eh? Right. Whereabouts?’

‘Gay Paris,’ she said with a knowing look, and then wrinkled her nose provocatively. ‘Mais, bien sure; Paris might be gay, but I am certainly not.’

‘I never thought for a moment...’

She placed a delicate finger on my lips to prevent me finishing the sentence, and wagged another finger on her free hand. I was beginning to warm to the conversation.

‘I would like to join your harem,’ she said with a shrug of her own - more Gallicly, more diffident even.

‘But I haven’t got a harem.’

‘You ’aven’t got a harem? Pourquois?’

‘What?’

‘Why ’aven’t you got a harem? You should ’ave one. You ’ave such soulful eyes.’

‘You’re 'avin me on!’

‘Not at all. I will arrange zis for you.’ Her accent was becoming stronger. ‘Do you like sultry Latin senoritas?’

‘Yup.’

‘Do you like cool Nordic blondes?’

‘Yup.’

‘Do you like Indian girls with rich chocolate voices?’

‘Yup.’

‘Do you like Celtic colleens with pale faces, raven 'air and blue eyes?’

I was beginning to get the hang of it.

‘Yup.’

‘And do you like Chinese girls with their enigmatic smiles and graceful demeanour?’

'Yup.'

'And Slavic girls with ze sexy, piercing eyes?'

‘Yup.’

‘OK, I ’ave ze leest.’

‘You ’ave ze what?’

‘Ze leest,’ she said, waving the piece of paper on which I hadn’t noticed her writing. ‘Come to my place at midnight and I will tell you a sousand and one tales to keep you amused.’

‘You’re going to tell me stories? But what about...’

The finger went over my lips again.

‘Ah, cherie, life is never perfect, you know.’

And then the alarm went off.

I got tired of being serious today.