A song for a lovely honey we called Ann Summers, due to her working there. She asked me for a birthday card poem and caused me a writer's block. When I tried to explain, she cursed me with a look of pure disdain. So, I wrote this along the lines of a frigid, flustering fool that she'd doubtlessly be serving at the Ann Summers shop. Katie looks at all men with indifference and always takes fun from them. Bravo, darling, it's all we deserve.


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