Post by Barry Hodges, Bard of Gosforth on Aug 14, 2012 15:43:19 GMT
Hélas, people think that Montreal is an interesting city,
Swarming with jeunes filles canadiennes and jumping
To the infectious sounds of French chansons
And that is one way of looking at it, I herewith concede.
But there is another side to this mighty metropolis:
I would not tell a lie, not I, veracity is my middle name;
I was there not all that long ago when tragedy struck
And left me weeping like a crudely lanced boil.
I was sitting in the balcony of un chic p'tit restaurant
Watching the passing crowds on the Rue Saint-Denis,
Accompanied by a charming young bird whom I had just met
In the cosmopolitan bar of the Sheraton Centre Hotel.
I was quite impressed at Michelle's incredible thirst
As she downed two bottles of Chateau Le Geaupeneur in a row;
And I foresaw a romantic night might well lay ahead of me
If I played my cards with my customary skill and aplomb.
However, when she stood up to stagger off to les toilettes
(or as she slurred it, "O bon Dieu iI faut que je fais pipi ou j'éclaterai!)
She drunkenly knocked over the champagne bottle
Of probably the wickedest man in the entire province of Québec.
With a wild shriek of primordial rage, the huge brute rose up
And, grabbing lissom Michelle by her shapely hips,
Raised her high in the air, like Atlas displaying the globe,
Only to hurl her over the balcony with a stylish lob.
'Twas but one storey to the tarmac down below,
Thus I hoped for the best for my new lady-friend
(after all she had run up a nasty drinks bill for me already)
But the course of true love had run out for us both.
The poor wee lass was struck full-on by a speeding 4x4
Which brought her short life to a tragic and premature close;
And I could only watch in horror as a heavy truck
Administered the coup de grâce with a horrid squelch.
I decided not to argue the toss with the enraged murderer
Who insisted on my replacing his spilled champagne bottle
On pain of smashing my teeth down my handsome throat,
After all, I had Michelle's well-filled purse to help me out.
How was I to know I had accidentally taken my nouvelle pépee
To a resto patronised by the ultra-violent Montréal mafiosi?
But at least my camp waiter was able to shepherd me out
The rear entrance before les flics made an appearance.
All in all, that trip to the Rue Saint-Denis cost me quite a lot,
As I was obliged to pay for two half-eaten meals plus
A compulsory 20% service charge and a hefty "thank you"
For my enforced use of the convenient emergency exit.
Dear Heavens above, I doubt this delightful Canadian mecca
Will draw me back for quite a few years to come
As I understand there is a warrant out for my arrest
As an accomplice to a dastardly and depraved act of random violence.
Swarming with jeunes filles canadiennes and jumping
To the infectious sounds of French chansons
And that is one way of looking at it, I herewith concede.
But there is another side to this mighty metropolis:
I would not tell a lie, not I, veracity is my middle name;
I was there not all that long ago when tragedy struck
And left me weeping like a crudely lanced boil.
I was sitting in the balcony of un chic p'tit restaurant
Watching the passing crowds on the Rue Saint-Denis,
Accompanied by a charming young bird whom I had just met
In the cosmopolitan bar of the Sheraton Centre Hotel.
I was quite impressed at Michelle's incredible thirst
As she downed two bottles of Chateau Le Geaupeneur in a row;
And I foresaw a romantic night might well lay ahead of me
If I played my cards with my customary skill and aplomb.
However, when she stood up to stagger off to les toilettes
(or as she slurred it, "O bon Dieu iI faut que je fais pipi ou j'éclaterai!)
She drunkenly knocked over the champagne bottle
Of probably the wickedest man in the entire province of Québec.
With a wild shriek of primordial rage, the huge brute rose up
And, grabbing lissom Michelle by her shapely hips,
Raised her high in the air, like Atlas displaying the globe,
Only to hurl her over the balcony with a stylish lob.
'Twas but one storey to the tarmac down below,
Thus I hoped for the best for my new lady-friend
(after all she had run up a nasty drinks bill for me already)
But the course of true love had run out for us both.
The poor wee lass was struck full-on by a speeding 4x4
Which brought her short life to a tragic and premature close;
And I could only watch in horror as a heavy truck
Administered the coup de grâce with a horrid squelch.
I decided not to argue the toss with the enraged murderer
Who insisted on my replacing his spilled champagne bottle
On pain of smashing my teeth down my handsome throat,
After all, I had Michelle's well-filled purse to help me out.
How was I to know I had accidentally taken my nouvelle pépee
To a resto patronised by the ultra-violent Montréal mafiosi?
But at least my camp waiter was able to shepherd me out
The rear entrance before les flics made an appearance.
All in all, that trip to the Rue Saint-Denis cost me quite a lot,
As I was obliged to pay for two half-eaten meals plus
A compulsory 20% service charge and a hefty "thank you"
For my enforced use of the convenient emergency exit.
Dear Heavens above, I doubt this delightful Canadian mecca
Will draw me back for quite a few years to come
As I understand there is a warrant out for my arrest
As an accomplice to a dastardly and depraved act of random violence.
