Review of Meg of Max's Angels, London

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Clean, convenient, comfortable. I felt very safe, apart from the suspicion that I was about to be shagged within an inch of my life.

Curvy blonde with a fantastic body and the most marvellous glint in her eye.

Fellow readers, I feel it my duty to share a stirring story of how London's Perkiest Pole managed to make my Pole Perky. I refer, of course to Maxes Angel legend and superstar Meg. As Meg reminded me, we first met several years ago and I've enjoyed renewing our acquaintance at regular (but rarely often enough) intervals ever since.

Like many of her admirers, I devastated by news of her retirement, but like many of her fans old and new, I was cuffed that Meg's Magic Muff had returned to the scene. Shame on me for not having reacted more quickly, but I was at a loose end in a downpour and seeking the comfort that only comes from parking one's submarine in a snug marina.

Fortunately (and surprisingly) for me, Meg was available at short notice. I hurtled towards her comfortable flat with my middle leg dragging an ever-deepening trench in the pavement. Our eyes met. Our minds melded. And I enjoyed the most marvellous hour of energetic rumpy pumpy (she rumped, I pumped). And it was bloody marvellous.

If there are former fans of Meg that haven't welcomed her return in the only appropriate way, what are you waiting for. If there are any of you out there that have been tempted by her delights but haven't yet succumbed, what are you waiting for? Would I repeat. In the immortal words of Churchill, Ohhh Yusss...