Alice, my Queen,

it was all just a jest,

When we do meet for dinner,

You'll have naught but the best.

I've booked us a table

At Royle's on The Strand,

The food is delightful,

As is the band.

You may choose what you wish

From a wide spread of fayre,

You may order champagne,

Drink all you dare.

Your leg sounds exciting,

I can't wait to see,

And to place my svelte hand,

On this bionic knee!

I shall send a gold carriage,

To collect you at eight.

Start dressing at three,

Then you might not be late.

Love and expectations, Cole.

p.s  As far as redecoration is concerned, might be a tad tricky, listed building and all. So sad.

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Owain Glyn