It's outrageous! I have been sitting here twiddling my thumbs for the last few months waiting for 'the Plod' to come calling in order to question me about the many, I would go so far as to say very many, instances of inappropriate behaviour I have instigated against various 'wimmin' - but not a sign of them! Well, I mean to say, everyone and his uncle have been interviewed about what they got up to with girls back in the '70s and '80s but not me - and, boy oh boy, could I tell them a tale or two, or six - or seven, or seventeen, if they want. Admittedly, mine date back to the '50s and '60s and my memory - like everything else, dammit! - isn't quite what it used to be, and it's also true that perhaps age adds, er, enchantment to the exact details, but even so, I have been sitting here patiently building up a profile - I think that's the word the police use - of my many conquering amorous campaigns and I am desperate to tell them all about it. Well, the chaps in my local Saloon Bar don't seem to want to know any more, in fact they tend to drift off to the Public Bar when I come in, but I don't care, I'm fed up with them nit-picking at various details which they claim keep changing over time. I put it down to jealousy because none of them enjoyed the success I had with the ladies 'back in the day'.
By the way, did I ever tell you when I met Elizabeth Taylor . . .
ADDITIONAL: Of course, I've just realised the answer to why the 'Plod' haven't come calling - none of my 'wimmin' have complained! And, of course, they wouldn't, would they?, because they loved me and my attentions - couldn't get enough of me, if truth be told - that's the answer - obvious when you think about it . . . "Ah, yes, I remember it well . . ."