Free and Raw

I seem to have come to London at a time when free newspapers seem to be descending from the heavens. 'The Metro' in the morning, 'The London paper' in the evening. And, just Incas you want an ineptness we have 'The London Lite'. Now, what exactly are these people thinking. As if HEAT magazine wasn't enough. Now we have to hear about Pete and Nikki in the papers.

Either they're being considerate and providing relief from an often boring journey home, or they're insistent on turning us into those women, you know, who read HEAT magazine. I refuse to become one of 'those'.

Now, if the papers actually contained anything interesting, anything 'mind-developing', anything un-gossip-mongerish, we might have our brain fucked on our ways to and from work. Instead we have foreplay without so much as a promise of an orgasm. Shame shame.

Now, the 'Financial Times' is a sexy paper. The sexiest. If you can pull off reading a Financial Times and look interested in the recent merger deal between Bitch and Slag Ltd, you've made it. Consider it done.

So, that observation over and done, I can move on.

The reason I missed last night's entry was because the computer decided he would die for a while. And after twenty attempts at resuscitation I let him wilt. Simple. And now he's in top form. Sometimes in life, you have to leave the bastards be, and more often than not they'll come running, gagging.

And well, the reason behind tonight's entry is due to my returning late from a blind date. Yes, that's correct, a blind date.

Person : another GR (though Scandinavian) - Deals with computers and gambling (not another word)
Location : Rupert Street bar in Soho followed by Satsuma (for some delicious miso soup and Sashimi), followed by KU Bar (charring Cross Road), followed by GAY. Still unsure why I always end up there. It was nice not to have to wait in a blasted queue this time around. That would have tipped me over the edge I'm sure.
Conclusion: Nice, the best looking yet. Blonde hair blue eyes. Masterful qualities. And if there was one thing I wasn't impressed with it was myself. There was so much possibility I was almost drowning. But I froze. I came to realize there's still so much to learn. So much to overcome. Maybe I'm not as comfortable with all this as I had initially imagined. I was however, to my surprise, described as 'in control'. The biggest compliment (though wish this could come without rigidity). And we left with erections, erections despite my furiously gobbing down a slice of pizza smothered in chilli sauce outside Tottenham Court Road tube station. And once I returned to the boudvoir we had phone sex. Just like that. Like it was the desert to the main. And it was good. I really think I sense something. The smell of potential is hanging around me. That soporific scent of possibility.

What will M think?