I heard a new word the other day – ‘Tchotchke’ – it means trinkets and knickknacks. What an odd word. I walked round the house saying it out loud and felt a bit like a Russian spy. I thought it sounded like a name a French Madame would give to her idolised, overly coiffured poodle. Anyway, this was where my idea was born.
I decided that I would make an excellent Madame of a brothel and go by the name of ‘Madame Tchotchke’ keeper of all things trinkety wearing knickknacks. The power I would be able to exude from this position would indeed furnish my pockets with more than enough hard cash to fulfill my bucket list. If Lillian from Shameless can do it so can I. Of course, mine would be a classy establishment set in some Manor house and decorated with opulence and finery. I, as Madame, and front of house would of course be revered and treated with the utmost respect as I lay on my chaise longue reading the Daily Telegraph and chatting with high powered business men about the dreadful state of the economy whilst they waited for their turn with Fiona Fetish.
How interesting it would be to watch men of magnificent standing and power crumble and drool at the feet of a pouting femme fatale.
I would learn to hone in on my artful skills and become the most subtly manipulative woman of the town. I would be able to extort favours from the elite and mighty in return for my silence. Parking tickets and traffic wardens would never darken my days again. Solicitors and MP’s would fight my every corner if ever necessary without the whiff of an extortionate bill.
Where else could I find a job with such varied interest along with oodles of money without having to do anything more than be polite, discreet and wily? I could live my life vicariously through the exploits of the beautiful, powerful, scrupulous and rich. I could study the minds of the elite, the bizarre and the sexual deviant thus giving me enough material to have a best seller out on the bookshelves within a year and a follow on TV show or Hollywood movie. There really is no end to the money and freedom that can be achieved from this position.
I would have interesting themes and ideas to entice people to spend more money:
Two for one offers on redheads in the Autumn, for example.
Coming of age (ahem) parties. I would call them porgies and you would leave with a goodie bag.
A coven of ecstasy – A blonde, brunette and redhead all at the same time. Bewitching.
I would also derive extra income by streaming webcams into the boudoirs of beautiful girls for those who could not afford my extortionate rates or who are short of time and just want to ‘indulge’ in their lunch hour or whilst the wife nips out to Asda. For all you wives out there, worry thee not about your partners infidelity for a sated partner is less grumpy, more amenable and more likely to return home with flowers and chocolates from the guilt trip that comes afterwards. Plus you’re going to get some peace and be able to watch Downton Abbey without him sidling his hairy foot up your leg and giving you salacious glances that make you want to punch him in the face. Also, I do not intend to make my brothel for men only. NO, NO NO!… The west wing of the house of ill repute will be dedicated to women needing the attention of Gods. The place will be saturated with hard toned muscle and men with the swarthy, moody looks of Antonio Banderas. So, once you’ve loaded the shopping from Asda in your boot, drive on over for your hour long Spanish lesson and I promise he isn’t going to care a hoot whether you’ve shaved your legs or not. You will return home mesmerised and in a much better frame of mind to start cooking supper for your beloved.
I shall know I’ve made it when I’m dressed in the finest Haute Couture – the business sort that has a fine line between professional and sexy as Hell. I shall park my Aston Martin on double yellow lines right outside Prada and be followed closely by my bodyguards whom I shall refer to as thing 1 and thing 2.
Trust me, the minute they legalise brothels in this country I shall be onto this idea like a tramp on chips.