Friday, 12 November 2010


Christmas is the perfect time to unleash the inner Femme Fatale – and at Deadly is the Female next Wednesday, you can be there to see it happen. 

Outrageous performance poet Muriel Lavender will make her first appearance as Deadly is the Female’s official Poet-in-Residence, during the St Catherine’s late-night shopping evening on Wednesday 17 November.

Proprietor Claudia Kapp looks forward to welcoming her customers with seasonal refreshments to go with the live entertainment.  “Deadly is the Female has always been unusual and daring, so a poet-in-residence fits like a glove.  Muriel can’t resist our faux-vintage clothing and accessories - why not come in and find your inspiration?”

Muriel first discovered Deadly is the Female whilst visiting relatives in Frome.  “I fell in love with the shop instantly – we were meant to be together,” she says. “The clothes are dazzling, flirty and fun: just like me! With her exquisite style, Claudia’s captured all the glamour and class of the 1950s pin-ups, and I’ll be celebrating that.  I believe that poetry is not for reading, it’s for performing.  In six-inch heels.  Ta-Daaaa!”

To find out more, visit Claudia at and Muriel at  

Friday, 5 November 2010

Sex (or, Yes Thank You, I Have an Adequate Supply of Satisfaction, Sir Mick)

The Women’s Liberation generation fought for rights
At a time when it was not considered ladylike to fight
The victory was crushing for the menfolk of the day
But I’m not sure that Women were the winners in the fray
We gained a lot of power – but we gave a lot away

If this was 1952 I could have read a book
While he fumbled in me nightie for a little bit of nookie
He never would have thought about the missus’ Satisfaction
‘Are you finished yet or not, dear?’ was sufficient Girl Reaction
But the Sexual Revolution changed the way we loved, and whether
For good or ill, we’ve got it and we’re stuck with it for ever

Thanks to Wimmin in the Sixties and their blessed Wimmin’s Power
I’ve to act like I enjoy it and I want it every hour
It isn’t that I don’t – for goodness’ sake, I’m not a nun:
I have urges just like every other girl under the sun
But I’m tired – don’t you get it?  I’m exhausted by the grind
Of work and chores and kids, I’m bored, and then I’ve got to find
The perfect lover deep within me when it’s time to hit the sack!
Well, I tell you now: she’s f**ked orf and she isn’t coming back

If you like it dirty, take a sponge and wash the car
If you want a little spice, nip down to Al’s Falafel Bar
If you want to dress me up in something slinky and revealing
Bugger off!  You must be joking, love – I simply am not feeling
Like I want to lace myself into a posture-threatening bra
Or insert a – tell the truth, I’m not that sure what those things are

Inside my head, inside my body, there’s another me
She delights in six-inch heels and in sexy lingerie
She’s transported by the touch of silk or fur upon her skin
Excited by the frenzy that her lips can put you in
If she isn’t sighing on her back she’s purring on her knees
But sometimes even she prefers a sit down and some tea

Poking round in unexpected places till we’re half insane
They think of us as car engines or model aeroplanes
All they ever want to do is have a fiddle with our parts
They spend forever rummaging to find the bit marked ‘start’
They’d be happy if the mystery of Woman was explained
With an exploded diagram like in those manuals from Haynes
It’s no good trying there, you know, I’m not a garden shed
He’ll be stopping in a minute so’s to stand and scratch his head
Wondering what he came in for, the absent-minded bloody fool
- Funny really, cos they always know exactly where their tools
Are kept, they’re comfortably in reach at any moment, day or night
Which is why you shouldn’t ever let their hands out of your sight
Pockets are for handkerchiefs! the Schoolmarm always said
As she clipped another sweaty little beggar round the head
The minute that her back was turned it’s folly to pretend
That they weren’t vigorously shaking hands with their new bestest friend

We – women – we are blessed with bodies beautiful, top-full
Of secrets, dark and glorious with rhythms magical
In every way as earthly-strong as the unending tidal pull;
Wouldn’t it be simple if instead of what we’ve got
Our equipment was in front – like blokes – just like a letterbox?
Yes!  That would do the trick all right, how easy would it be:
“How pet, d’you fancy takin’ a special delivery?”
Our menfolk shout, then go to grab your knockers (steady on the door
Furniture, we know you’re there, just press the button), or
If they’re particularly dexterous they could ring the little bell
(If it was like that, I might go a little Parcelforce as well)
And the postman always does it twice! – could anything be better?
I won’t hesitate next time the boss says Muriel, take a letter

I admit it: I’d be a Domestic Goddess if I could –
Because we can behave like men, it doesn’t mean we should.