. The Ballad of Mrs. Pam Able Mrs. Pam Able was very unstable, And loved to be tied to her dining-room table. Her friends were appalled, many names she was called, For her fatal attraction for men who were bald. One day after yoga, still wearing her toga, She spotted a man with a head like an ogre. They started to chat, about this and then that, Before she invited him back to her flat, Where according to fable, she lay on her table, And cried, “Lash me down with this telephone cable!” The man was amiss, he just wanted a kiss, And he’d never encountered a woman like this. But his exit was blocked, every door she had locked, So, he jumped through the window and ran away shocked. Leaving Mrs. Pam Able, (who’s very unstable) Removing the tears from her dining room table. . . Long Jane Silver after Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson He met her on the Internet, she said her name was Jane. He told her that he fancied her and Donald was his name. She said that she was fifty but she looked a little older. Her photo showed an eye-patch and a parrot on her shoulder… She said she had a cottage down in Cornwall by the sea. He asked if he could come on down and keep her company. And so, he stood outside her door where hung a light of red. The waves were crashing down below, the gulls screamed overhead. She then came clomping down the path, she looked a little butch. Her parrot winked his beady eye as Jane leaned on her crutch. “What have we here, my lovely boy” with Donald she did flirt. But he recoiled in horror as she lifted up her skirt. His timbers truly shivered at the sight he gazed upon. For in the leg department, she had only got the one, She dragged him to her bedroom, it was futile to resist. Then produced a set of handcuffs that she clamped upon his wrists. She took his cash and credit card and told him, “Now old son, I’ll dress you up in pirate gear and then we’ll have some fun.” She gave upon his forehead then, a great big sloppy kiss. “I must escape,” cried Donald “For I never wanted this.” This lady then got angry and to Donald she did cry, “All men, who my affections spurn, are destined for to die.” She opened up the window of this room so dark and dank, Where nailed upon the window ledge there stood a ten-foot plank. “Now up you go my lovely boy,” to Donald she did shout, “You’ll be in Davy Jones’s Locker, ‘ere this day is out.” Along the plank he stumbled right until he reached the end. She cackled then to Donald, “This is adios my friend.” He stood there trembling on the plank, for mercy he did plead, But she was having none of it and started to proceed, To swing her crutch around her head and deal the final blow, That sent the quaking Donald to the crashing rocks below. Now time has passed so quickly since that day of infamy, His ghost still haunts those shattered rocks above the stormy sea. His friends, they thank old Donald now; he makes them all think twice About the scurvy internet and how it can entice. . . Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.