That’s right, the bloke who drove Tom Jones to murder his woman back in 1968 was named Pierre. He met Jonesy’s woman in Pontypridd Co-op having ‘accidentally’ reached and grabbed hold of the same cucumber in the grocery aisle. Having overwhelmed her with suggestive eyebrow raising and the aroma of cheap rollies and garlic, he insisted on going back to hers for “making zee pashonat lurving”. This turned out to be a rough artless pounding over the arm of the sofa and the curr never even had the decency to take his socks off.
He left early doors the next day for the ferry back to Dieppe, but by then Jonesy had been outside all night in a right old stew having witnessed the silhouetted piston-like transaction of the previous evening on the blinds of the front room. Spending all night in Ynysangharad park and getting through 8 cans of kestrel, Jonesy steamed in to have it out with her. Sadly he looked a right state and she just burst out laughing when she opened the door, so Jonesy felt the need to stab her 43 times, drive her in the boot and drop her in the Taff with bricks in her dressing gown pockets.
The judge was very reasonable, and in summing up at the trial, said: “for the rest of her life – had she lived – Delilah would have had day-dreaming yearnings for a French portion; once women have had a taster of some Gallic contempt-sex it stays with them forever. It was kinder this way”. Jonesy was sentenced to an afro and a duet with the as-yet-unborn Robbie Williams.