Exams are over. Excuse me while I chuckle and let out a wee scream of joy.
You can only ever do your best, and I truly did. 9 hours of intense revision a day for countless weeks better pay off, or else...
One feels slightly elated, freedom and hope in equal measures methinks
So, yesterday after the final exam my fellow students and I found, with great difficulty I should add, a pub in the borough that is Kensington. And then we found another, and then we had dinner and finally we returned to Pub 2, losing members of the harem at each stage in the transition.
Things about yesterday I wish to remember-
a) The call I received from The Dame as I sipped my Bloody Mary in pub1.
'You remember that restaurant we went to where I had those skewered vegetables?'
'Yes, I do, now what about it?'
'Well, I'm making them tonight' said she. That's correct, she can cook! 'I just wanted to know what those onions were that they used. I can't seem to find small onions and I don't think they were pickled onions?' At this point she seemed a little baffled poor love.
'Um, well why don't you get some shallots; they're small enough.'
'Okay, and do I boil the onions beforehand?' she purred.
'No!'
This afternoon I simply couldn't resist:
Text to The Dame:
'One can't help but wonder how The Dame's kebabs shaped up. Were the onions small enough? What recipe was used? Can The Dame cook?'
the reply:
'Ah ha! Duke, your Dame is well accomplished in kebabs (pardon the pun)!. V successful effort if I do say so myself. In addition, the doctor and I are going for a coffee next wk!'
Well I'm glad things are rolling over. Perhaps my desire of securing handcuffs, an entire policeman's outfit, a pair of scrubs and a stethoscope might all just be realised (an inside joke).
b) Spending some quality time with Miss Joss-Stone-hater (we've had a discussion, though any resolution on the issue couldn't be further from the horizon) and Miss get-a-room, both of whom I much love. Finally managed to meet their boyfs, both of whom are equally nice. I believe we were all rather merry towards the end of the night, even though Mr ProPlus was clearly sloshed by 5pm. A special mention to Mr Tech (he with whom I spent many an hour revising/he who is building a jet engine in his spare time- whatever happened to quiet knitting? Miss unravel was also there. She has recently started her own blog and it is going very well. Though, I feel hers is a tad more personal than mine, and raw (yes, even rawer than mine, a different sort of raw mind). Oh yes and we mustn't forget Miss best boobs.
All in all a great time. Plenty more to come me hopes.
Am now back up north, in the middle (sort of) of the UK, at home. Nearly fell asleep in the bath. An almost tragedy. Am very much looking forward to reading books, eating glorious food (there is more to Indian cuisine than the korma, please be assured). Also, will watch a heap of time watching films, gossiping, and going to the Cinema.
Another point...
M and the Boyf went on holiday last week. A fluffy holiday in Portugal. Needless to say, they are now both back and I am about to speak with M after a good long time! Our conversation will commence with my pursuing the subject of books M managed to read whilst on holiday. Not that any of my recommendations will be mentioned (an exception being 'Notes on a Scandal' which I hope has been finished).
Now, you know me. Films, books, sex and food are basically my life in four words. Is it justifiable to find it puzzling that M is never interested in any of my recommendations unless they concern a ring with magical powers, men with deranged foreheads and excruciatingly long white beards speaking in a foreign tongue? I suppose it could be worse, It call all depend on the landing of a mothership or Unidentified Flying Object. Sigh.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Seeds
‘They’re an aphrodisiac, seriously dahling’ said S as I rotated around her during one of our revision sessions. Pumpkin seeds were the topic of discussion as she nibbled on the excuses-for-food one by one.
‘Oh really?’ I replied, ‘I thought they were what plump girls ate to make them feel better about themselves.
‘No dahling. They’re an aphrodisiac.’
How precisely are you able to think about cock whilst in the thick of revision?’ I asked.
‘Oh I think about all of that much more than I should.’
‘So, anyways, run me through corporation tax will you?’
Needless to say, I don’t for a second believe that seeds and nuts of any variety are an aphrodisiac of any sort. They are an entrepreneur’s dream that’s what they are. Somebody saw seeds, small and dainty as they are and decided to churn out a rumour as to their healthy/sexy nature. A seed is a seed is a seed.
This belief didn’t however stop me from googling the allegations mind.
Looks as though Google doesn’t quite agree with me.
‘Oh really?’ I replied, ‘I thought they were what plump girls ate to make them feel better about themselves.
‘No dahling. They’re an aphrodisiac.’
How precisely are you able to think about cock whilst in the thick of revision?’ I asked.
‘Oh I think about all of that much more than I should.’
‘So, anyways, run me through corporation tax will you?’
Needless to say, I don’t for a second believe that seeds and nuts of any variety are an aphrodisiac of any sort. They are an entrepreneur’s dream that’s what they are. Somebody saw seeds, small and dainty as they are and decided to churn out a rumour as to their healthy/sexy nature. A seed is a seed is a seed.
This belief didn’t however stop me from googling the allegations mind.
Looks as though Google doesn’t quite agree with me.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Sauna
Two things you should know about me
A) I’m a clever cookie and spend time considering my actions before I generally take them. Leading a life entirely on a whim can be fun (occasionally) but may fail to grant you any sort of firm root.
B) I have a penis size which is comfortably above average. We’re not talking monstrous, we’re talking big enough with the promise of something exciting if handled correctly.
M has tried to convince me time and again that race has little to do with length/girth of the phallus, although I remain slightly unsure of the matter myself. To find an oriental man with a large one has the same probability, it would appear, as find Hugh Grant starring in a film in which he isn’t playing himself. Miniscule. The black man with a small one is also a distant nightmare it would appear.
And to the case in issue…
We all know what people think of Saunas (of the Homosexual variety). Seedy little cattlesheds for old men to sit and perv over the promise of sparse but young flesh.
Of course, a very high proportion of these people are self confessed hetero-bashing straightens who probably wouldn’t know a gay sauna even once they’d entered one (what a sight that would be).
I’m not for a moment suggesingt I know any better, I just think there simply must be something out there for young sexy horny me that involves a steam, water and a string of dark rooms.
The biggest issue for me is not where to find a decent sauna, but how to suppress and control my erection once I get their.
The thing is, and I’m not overly sure about other men, but I get turned on by horny surroundings. Period. The very fact that it was a gay sauna might cause me to rise, even though each man in there might, in principal, remind me of an ageing sprout.
So, the plan of action is thus:
a) Learn how to keep it down! Watch lots and lots of high class porn and control the beast that is. You don’t want all men to think they caused you to rise, or that your rising is in any way a consequence of their studishness. Chances are it won’t be.
b) Source a list of prospective Saunas (which I have done – there are 14 listed in London (a surprisingly small number and so very disproportionate to the number of cock fiddlers in this city.)
c) Find somebody good looking worth going with. Even I have difficulty envisaging myself scuttling off into the world of gay saunadom all alone. Sort of like the man who doesn’t believe in ghosts but would never actually say ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in a row opposite a mirror in a darkened room.
So, as my exams come to an end, and after I return to London from a break back home, I shall be on the prowl yet again. This time the prowl is getting bigger, the steaks much higher and the river of my lust filthier. Whether I’m successful is a different matter.
Cross those fingers and labia won’t you?
A) I’m a clever cookie and spend time considering my actions before I generally take them. Leading a life entirely on a whim can be fun (occasionally) but may fail to grant you any sort of firm root.
B) I have a penis size which is comfortably above average. We’re not talking monstrous, we’re talking big enough with the promise of something exciting if handled correctly.
M has tried to convince me time and again that race has little to do with length/girth of the phallus, although I remain slightly unsure of the matter myself. To find an oriental man with a large one has the same probability, it would appear, as find Hugh Grant starring in a film in which he isn’t playing himself. Miniscule. The black man with a small one is also a distant nightmare it would appear.
And to the case in issue…
We all know what people think of Saunas (of the Homosexual variety). Seedy little cattlesheds for old men to sit and perv over the promise of sparse but young flesh.
Of course, a very high proportion of these people are self confessed hetero-bashing straightens who probably wouldn’t know a gay sauna even once they’d entered one (what a sight that would be).
I’m not for a moment suggesingt I know any better, I just think there simply must be something out there for young sexy horny me that involves a steam, water and a string of dark rooms.
The biggest issue for me is not where to find a decent sauna, but how to suppress and control my erection once I get their.
The thing is, and I’m not overly sure about other men, but I get turned on by horny surroundings. Period. The very fact that it was a gay sauna might cause me to rise, even though each man in there might, in principal, remind me of an ageing sprout.
So, the plan of action is thus:
a) Learn how to keep it down! Watch lots and lots of high class porn and control the beast that is. You don’t want all men to think they caused you to rise, or that your rising is in any way a consequence of their studishness. Chances are it won’t be.
b) Source a list of prospective Saunas (which I have done – there are 14 listed in London (a surprisingly small number and so very disproportionate to the number of cock fiddlers in this city.)
c) Find somebody good looking worth going with. Even I have difficulty envisaging myself scuttling off into the world of gay saunadom all alone. Sort of like the man who doesn’t believe in ghosts but would never actually say ‘Bloody Mary’ three times in a row opposite a mirror in a darkened room.
So, as my exams come to an end, and after I return to London from a break back home, I shall be on the prowl yet again. This time the prowl is getting bigger, the steaks much higher and the river of my lust filthier. Whether I’m successful is a different matter.
Cross those fingers and labia won’t you?
Hit me baby one more time
It’s a day of mourning. A day I find myself questioning where Britney Spears of the Hit-me-baby-one-more-time variety went.
And it all started so well. She was a beautiful, youthful fantasy. And then she had relationships, got married, had children, and now she’s shaved her hair off in rebellion, signed herself into a plush rehabilitation clinic and is, if sources including the London Lite are to be believed, on the brink of suicide.
So, where precisely did it all go wrong? Was it always inevitable? An occupational hazard of young celebrity?
I wouldn’t normally blame something so trivial if it weren’t for Lindsay Lohan, Robbie Williams and various other celebrities checking into Rehab the way many of us pop into Sainsbury’s for some bread.
Is it telling of the culture of celebrity, the way it eats you up and spits you out whilst you remain totally unaware?
Is it her own fault that she craved something so huge so young. Did she enter with her eyes closed? Can anybody ever estimate the cost of stardom until they’re too involved in the cycle? Is Britney Spears a victim or her own culprit?
The photos of her looking like a male thug have not only shocked me into writing this entry, but pose a fundamental question. Is fame really worth insanity?
The fact that she is now in a very exclusive rehabilitation clinic is in itself a very telling factor. I hope she gets better soon.
I’ve always enjoyed her music, in fact, everything about Miss Spears used to be lush.
Celebrity,
The uncoiling of a spring,
The peeling of an orange,
The burning of a candle,
The spreading of a flame.
And it all started so well. She was a beautiful, youthful fantasy. And then she had relationships, got married, had children, and now she’s shaved her hair off in rebellion, signed herself into a plush rehabilitation clinic and is, if sources including the London Lite are to be believed, on the brink of suicide.
So, where precisely did it all go wrong? Was it always inevitable? An occupational hazard of young celebrity?
I wouldn’t normally blame something so trivial if it weren’t for Lindsay Lohan, Robbie Williams and various other celebrities checking into Rehab the way many of us pop into Sainsbury’s for some bread.
Is it telling of the culture of celebrity, the way it eats you up and spits you out whilst you remain totally unaware?
Is it her own fault that she craved something so huge so young. Did she enter with her eyes closed? Can anybody ever estimate the cost of stardom until they’re too involved in the cycle? Is Britney Spears a victim or her own culprit?
The photos of her looking like a male thug have not only shocked me into writing this entry, but pose a fundamental question. Is fame really worth insanity?
The fact that she is now in a very exclusive rehabilitation clinic is in itself a very telling factor. I hope she gets better soon.
I’ve always enjoyed her music, in fact, everything about Miss Spears used to be lush.
Celebrity,
The uncoiling of a spring,
The peeling of an orange,
The burning of a candle,
The spreading of a flame.
The Resurrection
Christianity Exploration has come to an end. I say this with sadness. I’ll admit I enjoyed learning about something so different. I enjoyed meeting a bunch of lovely people. Do I believe the Bible is the only truth and that I should therefore seek to live a sin free Christian life? Not convinced yet.
Partly due to the sacrifices I’d have to make, but mostly because I feel as though I haven’t learnt about other religions with as much dedication as I have Christianity. It’s therefore important to actively go about researching other religions and contemplate their truth. Once that’s done, I can make a choice. Adopting a faith out of ignorance is one of the worst things to do me thinks.
So, 7 weeks in and no Grace before dinner. Though on the last day a prayer was said.
‘Please don’t say it if you don’t mean it’ said the leader. There are already enough hypocritical Christians in the world’.
I have learnt what it means to be a devote Christian. It has nothing to do with helping people, or forgiving people or giving up crisps for Lent. The prayer that was chanted explains it very well…
For those of you who consider yourself Christians, are you able to say this and mean it?
‘Heavenly Father, I have rebelled against you. I have sinned in my thoughts, my words and my actions – sometimes unconsciously, sometimes deliberately. I am sorry for the way I have lived and ask you to forgive me. Thank you that Jesus died on the cross so that I could be forgiven. Thank you that I can now see clearly who Jesus is and why he came. Please send your Holy Spirit to help me follow him whatever the cost. Amen.’
I guess the question isn’t whether you’re a sinner or a winner, but whether you believe in something so deep and overwhelming.
Partly due to the sacrifices I’d have to make, but mostly because I feel as though I haven’t learnt about other religions with as much dedication as I have Christianity. It’s therefore important to actively go about researching other religions and contemplate their truth. Once that’s done, I can make a choice. Adopting a faith out of ignorance is one of the worst things to do me thinks.
So, 7 weeks in and no Grace before dinner. Though on the last day a prayer was said.
‘Please don’t say it if you don’t mean it’ said the leader. There are already enough hypocritical Christians in the world’.
I have learnt what it means to be a devote Christian. It has nothing to do with helping people, or forgiving people or giving up crisps for Lent. The prayer that was chanted explains it very well…
For those of you who consider yourself Christians, are you able to say this and mean it?
‘Heavenly Father, I have rebelled against you. I have sinned in my thoughts, my words and my actions – sometimes unconsciously, sometimes deliberately. I am sorry for the way I have lived and ask you to forgive me. Thank you that Jesus died on the cross so that I could be forgiven. Thank you that I can now see clearly who Jesus is and why he came. Please send your Holy Spirit to help me follow him whatever the cost. Amen.’
I guess the question isn’t whether you’re a sinner or a winner, but whether you believe in something so deep and overwhelming.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Stress
Yes, it's one of those good-for-nothing stupidly pathetic, miserable gloomy days. Exams went worse than I expected, not because I didn't know what I was talking about, but because time management is not my strongest point and the person looking at my exam paper will think I know nothing! Argh! Very pissed off.
Hope and pray I've done better than I think. Suffering failure is something I'm very very bad at. Simply won't do it.
In need of an orgasm, now! Am downloading something as I write this in fact. Praise the person whoever thought up necessary masturbation to combat all of life's sadness.
Two exams to go. Will do better. Manage time. Practice makes perfect. Self motivation is key.
Must not stew in our misery too long as might fall over the edge of sanity.
'Work hard for the sake of it and not with any success in mind' somebody whose mind i respect once said to me. Days like this make me wish I thought that were true.
Hope and pray I've done better than I think. Suffering failure is something I'm very very bad at. Simply won't do it.
In need of an orgasm, now! Am downloading something as I write this in fact. Praise the person whoever thought up necessary masturbation to combat all of life's sadness.
Two exams to go. Will do better. Manage time. Practice makes perfect. Self motivation is key.
Must not stew in our misery too long as might fall over the edge of sanity.
'Work hard for the sake of it and not with any success in mind' somebody whose mind i respect once said to me. Days like this make me wish I thought that were true.
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Spurt (pun always intended)
I know men who wank off first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Every day, like clockwork. The way others eat breakfast and have supper. That sort of thing. Does routine ever stifle their enjoyment I wonder.
Apart from the actual two second orgasm that might culminate from the tug, what can one possibly get out of something that has become so routine, so necessary? Does the novelty of masturbation ever wear off (together with the dick shine)?
I refer, of course, in the above passage, to the dick that looks weathered. Been through a bush backwards, putting it more colloquially, easier for you all to understand (as long as you leave the physics of what I’ve said well alone).
I used to be a ferocious masturbator. Wanking was the best thing about returning from school. The way some boys look forward to fish fingers, I’ve always had my eye on other things. I’d say culinary delights, though perhaps this stretches the imagination to the brink of snap.
Not so much now, though six times a week isn’t bad. I do believe however, and Arthur will support this assumption, that men, whilst being in a relationship, still can’t seem to get enough of their own hand action. Doing it yourself and having someone do it for you are two completely different things. Controlling the rhythm for a start. Followed by the wondrous exercise of sordid imagination. Topped with that sigh of relief when you can switch off the light and turn over knowing that there’s no obligation to cuddle the pillow. Indeed, if you so wished, you might chuck the bugger on the floor entirely.
On a separate matter, the pubic lice have gone. Safety measures included rubbing down body with special lotion yet again, showering as much as possible, washing clothes frantically, underwear to the point of ripped cloth. Though, I feel better. There’s a lesson to be learnt here, though one wonders what exactly that might be.
Exams loom this week and you’ll forgive me for not writing with such frequency until they’re well and truly over. Of course, by that time I’ll be completely free for a week or two to run around Soho, (wo)man humping on every street corner.
And another thing, entirely separate yet again…
A friend of mine said the funniest thing the other day.
‘My sister and I were talking yesterday and were saying how much we’d love to go out with a Scottish man. The accent! It’s all in the accent.’ She concluded, before she said something that put a smile firmly on the lips.
‘Of course, the only thing that puts me off is the idea of him talking dirty. I guess it would be something along the lines of..
Cun a leek ur poosey?’
Sigh.
Apart from the actual two second orgasm that might culminate from the tug, what can one possibly get out of something that has become so routine, so necessary? Does the novelty of masturbation ever wear off (together with the dick shine)?
I refer, of course, in the above passage, to the dick that looks weathered. Been through a bush backwards, putting it more colloquially, easier for you all to understand (as long as you leave the physics of what I’ve said well alone).
I used to be a ferocious masturbator. Wanking was the best thing about returning from school. The way some boys look forward to fish fingers, I’ve always had my eye on other things. I’d say culinary delights, though perhaps this stretches the imagination to the brink of snap.
Not so much now, though six times a week isn’t bad. I do believe however, and Arthur will support this assumption, that men, whilst being in a relationship, still can’t seem to get enough of their own hand action. Doing it yourself and having someone do it for you are two completely different things. Controlling the rhythm for a start. Followed by the wondrous exercise of sordid imagination. Topped with that sigh of relief when you can switch off the light and turn over knowing that there’s no obligation to cuddle the pillow. Indeed, if you so wished, you might chuck the bugger on the floor entirely.
On a separate matter, the pubic lice have gone. Safety measures included rubbing down body with special lotion yet again, showering as much as possible, washing clothes frantically, underwear to the point of ripped cloth. Though, I feel better. There’s a lesson to be learnt here, though one wonders what exactly that might be.
Exams loom this week and you’ll forgive me for not writing with such frequency until they’re well and truly over. Of course, by that time I’ll be completely free for a week or two to run around Soho, (wo)man humping on every street corner.
And another thing, entirely separate yet again…
A friend of mine said the funniest thing the other day.
‘My sister and I were talking yesterday and were saying how much we’d love to go out with a Scottish man. The accent! It’s all in the accent.’ She concluded, before she said something that put a smile firmly on the lips.
‘Of course, the only thing that puts me off is the idea of him talking dirty. I guess it would be something along the lines of..
Cun a leek ur poosey?’
Sigh.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Valentine - belated
Reasons why things could be better:
1) Am in the thick of revision. No time for public lice, no time for Desperate Housewives, no time for dating, not time to cruising in the underbelly of London that is Soho, no nothing (apart from of course piles and piles of not-very-exciting/not-very-horny academic material that sits around me from 10am to 9pm on most nights).
2) So, I didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. In fact, I didn’t even realise it was anything other than an ordinary day up until about 1pm when I received a text. And from that moment on I received three further texts, a voicemail and a small card. Lucky me. In return I gave nothing. Don’t expect don’t receive is my rule for such occasions. And before you all jump on the bandwagon, it’s NOT because I’m single! It’s all a commercial ploy. Tell them you love them today or else they’ll never know! Cry the roses that are lined up against the back shelf in Sainsbury’s. A friend of mine received a £50 worth of roses in a vase from she-has-no-idea-who. The telling thing is of course, that she probably wasn’t a tenth as excited by the whole prospect as her work colleagues were. Smile.
3) Probably won’t finish the book I need to have read for my book club this coming Monday. Every time I turn a page, guilt seems to grip me from behind and well, I’m sure you can imagine what happens next.
4) Haven’t eaten out in an exciting worry-free place of late. Need to get these blasted exams over with and have myself a Merry London Time (I refer, of course, to the eating, drinking, flirting, blowing, pizza, experience).
5) Belle De Jour – Woman after my own heart, whore with a humour. Clever funny ex whore more precisely, is making a television appearance. Of course, as the literary whores you all are will know, she is anonymous. Boo Hoo. Billie Piper is tipped to play the witty Yorkshire-France-London hybrid. Now, I don’t have a problem with Billie, in fact, she’s quite a remarkable little actress even if I say so myself. It’s that ginger mole that’s attached to her I have the problem with.
6) No reply as yet for Organist/Lice giver. Though, perhaps he’s ashamed.
On a positive note:
1) Did see ‘Dreamgirls’ last night, followed by ‘Amores Perros’ (Love is a Bitch). Both very enjoyable. Jennifer Hudson all the way to the Oscars and the Mexican film, well it was at times difficult to watch but overall so clever and though provoking. And the dog fighting gave me nightmares. Do check these films out. I only recommend the best to you, dear readers.
Back to Revision. Hi Ho Hi Ho Hi Ho.
1) Am in the thick of revision. No time for public lice, no time for Desperate Housewives, no time for dating, not time to cruising in the underbelly of London that is Soho, no nothing (apart from of course piles and piles of not-very-exciting/not-very-horny academic material that sits around me from 10am to 9pm on most nights).
2) So, I didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. In fact, I didn’t even realise it was anything other than an ordinary day up until about 1pm when I received a text. And from that moment on I received three further texts, a voicemail and a small card. Lucky me. In return I gave nothing. Don’t expect don’t receive is my rule for such occasions. And before you all jump on the bandwagon, it’s NOT because I’m single! It’s all a commercial ploy. Tell them you love them today or else they’ll never know! Cry the roses that are lined up against the back shelf in Sainsbury’s. A friend of mine received a £50 worth of roses in a vase from she-has-no-idea-who. The telling thing is of course, that she probably wasn’t a tenth as excited by the whole prospect as her work colleagues were. Smile.
3) Probably won’t finish the book I need to have read for my book club this coming Monday. Every time I turn a page, guilt seems to grip me from behind and well, I’m sure you can imagine what happens next.
4) Haven’t eaten out in an exciting worry-free place of late. Need to get these blasted exams over with and have myself a Merry London Time (I refer, of course, to the eating, drinking, flirting, blowing, pizza, experience).
5) Belle De Jour – Woman after my own heart, whore with a humour. Clever funny ex whore more precisely, is making a television appearance. Of course, as the literary whores you all are will know, she is anonymous. Boo Hoo. Billie Piper is tipped to play the witty Yorkshire-France-London hybrid. Now, I don’t have a problem with Billie, in fact, she’s quite a remarkable little actress even if I say so myself. It’s that ginger mole that’s attached to her I have the problem with.
6) No reply as yet for Organist/Lice giver. Though, perhaps he’s ashamed.
On a positive note:
1) Did see ‘Dreamgirls’ last night, followed by ‘Amores Perros’ (Love is a Bitch). Both very enjoyable. Jennifer Hudson all the way to the Oscars and the Mexican film, well it was at times difficult to watch but overall so clever and though provoking. And the dog fighting gave me nightmares. Do check these films out. I only recommend the best to you, dear readers.
Back to Revision. Hi Ho Hi Ho Hi Ho.
Pubic Lice
Text to the Organist:
‘Hi there, I hope you’re ok. Just a quick note to let you know that I’ve contracted pubic lice. Since you were the last and only person I’ve slept with, I think you’ve probably got them too. I hope you’ve treated them seen as now you’re in a relationship. We wouldn’t want Yorkshire suffering an epidemic. ;)’
Sufficiently merry I thought. Bearing in mind he took my virginity and gave me in return something ghastly.
It had been itchy down there for quite a while. I suppose new non virgins don’t really think they’ll contract diseases the first time round with a condom in place. How very presumptuous of us.
Either way, it’s almost history now thanks to Derbax (The one stop solution to all forms of lice and crabs). And having lathered my body completely yesterday I feel slightly better, and more than a tad less itchy today.
Of course, in the process, I’ve
a) shaved my balls and trimmed closer than ever before.
b) Felt what it’s like to have soft squigy balls.
c) Revealed my true self to the lady at the Sexual Health Clinic (now there’s a place I never thought I’d visit), and had her finger my balls after which she exclaimed: ‘Oh look they’re moving’. Yes indeed they were.
The thought of them makes me feel icky inside. Things crawling over your privates, breeding over them, it was probably like a set of Eastenders before the Tsunami hit. Let’s hope Pat Butcher is well and truly out of the way.
If every subsequent sexual encounter begins with my having a furrow down there in search of lice, you’ll forgive me won’t you.
And there was I, thinking sex was perhaps the most positive thing in the world.
‘Hi there, I hope you’re ok. Just a quick note to let you know that I’ve contracted pubic lice. Since you were the last and only person I’ve slept with, I think you’ve probably got them too. I hope you’ve treated them seen as now you’re in a relationship. We wouldn’t want Yorkshire suffering an epidemic. ;)’
Sufficiently merry I thought. Bearing in mind he took my virginity and gave me in return something ghastly.
It had been itchy down there for quite a while. I suppose new non virgins don’t really think they’ll contract diseases the first time round with a condom in place. How very presumptuous of us.
Either way, it’s almost history now thanks to Derbax (The one stop solution to all forms of lice and crabs). And having lathered my body completely yesterday I feel slightly better, and more than a tad less itchy today.
Of course, in the process, I’ve
a) shaved my balls and trimmed closer than ever before.
b) Felt what it’s like to have soft squigy balls.
c) Revealed my true self to the lady at the Sexual Health Clinic (now there’s a place I never thought I’d visit), and had her finger my balls after which she exclaimed: ‘Oh look they’re moving’. Yes indeed they were.
The thought of them makes me feel icky inside. Things crawling over your privates, breeding over them, it was probably like a set of Eastenders before the Tsunami hit. Let’s hope Pat Butcher is well and truly out of the way.
If every subsequent sexual encounter begins with my having a furrow down there in search of lice, you’ll forgive me won’t you.
And there was I, thinking sex was perhaps the most positive thing in the world.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
Inventions
I’m finding it rather difficult to decide which of these two essential devices would get my vote for the best invention ever:
1) The toasted sandwich maker
2) The juicer
Perhaps it’s because I’m currently eating a wholly delicious brie, tomato, spring onion and ham toasted sandwich as I write this entry. Perhaps it’s because I can virtually put any combination of things between two slices of bread and avoid labelling it a ‘buttie’ when it comes out.
Then again, the juicer is a seriously clever clever contraption. Any fruit (apart from peaches and bananas), pressed right through into the purest of juices (bearing in mind one must always wash the fruit before hand).
Whenever I’m at home with the parents we have a glass of freshly pressed juice every morning. Such an easy way to fit the requisite five in (fruit and vegetables that is) me thinks.
Having said that, unlike M and Arthur, I don’t per se find my enemy in green vegetables or indeed any vegetable. And, what’s with all these grown people suddenly expressing a dislike for green vegetables. At this age? Honestly.
Where would I be without the toasted sandwich maker. Imagine a life without either: Unthinkable.
1) The toasted sandwich maker
2) The juicer
Perhaps it’s because I’m currently eating a wholly delicious brie, tomato, spring onion and ham toasted sandwich as I write this entry. Perhaps it’s because I can virtually put any combination of things between two slices of bread and avoid labelling it a ‘buttie’ when it comes out.
Then again, the juicer is a seriously clever clever contraption. Any fruit (apart from peaches and bananas), pressed right through into the purest of juices (bearing in mind one must always wash the fruit before hand).
Whenever I’m at home with the parents we have a glass of freshly pressed juice every morning. Such an easy way to fit the requisite five in (fruit and vegetables that is) me thinks.
Having said that, unlike M and Arthur, I don’t per se find my enemy in green vegetables or indeed any vegetable. And, what’s with all these grown people suddenly expressing a dislike for green vegetables. At this age? Honestly.
Where would I be without the toasted sandwich maker. Imagine a life without either: Unthinkable.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Loneliness
Has it ever occurred to you, as you walk from the Victoria line to the Piccadilly, what the people standing on either side of you are thinking? Has it occurred to you what the lady in front of you is dragging along in her trolley case? Or where she might be going. Home to a lover who’ll shower her with the affection she’s craved all day, or throw an ashtray at her in frustration. Or the man who sits opposite you, perhaps on the tube, and reads the paper. I wonder how his day went. I wonder who he’s going home to know.
Of course, it never really crosses our mind that perhaps these people have nobody waiting for them. That in fact, they are thinking about how to spend the next four hours alone after the episode of Eastenders finishes. We think people are happiest when loved, when with somebody who will love them and give them what they most desire; belonging, a sense of belonging. And we like to assume that everybody is loved, that everybody is loveable.
The truth is, many people living the London life are single. Many many people in the world as a whole are single. And many parade their youth-free-and-single self quite happily from one end of Trafalgar Square to another. But all with the desire in their mind that someday they’ll be just as happy and there will be a second person attached to them for times of acute loneliness.
I have been lonely, terribly lonely, but then so are most people in the world at some point in their lives. It’s only natural, one would assume, this state of oblivion. Not knowing what’s about to happen and not really caring, as long as it’s something.
I’ve never regarded my own loneliness with any greater weight than the loneliness of others. All loneliness is equal, I thought. Of course, the consequences of each individual loneliness couldn’t me any more different. What we do with our solitude is something which sets us apart from those around us. Stamp collection and flower cutting are solutions I’m sure, the same as curdling in one’s one deep and dark pool of sadness.
The reason I talk about loneliness is that I have just returned from watching a film that has really crept under my skin. Notes on a Scandal, starring Dame Judi Dench and Cate Blanchatt. It was excellent. Having read the book and now seen the superlative performances that grace the silver screen, I have real admiration for perhaps the two most stunning performances in recent times.
Of course, great films are often sad. And this was. It made me fear my singledom for perhaps the first time in my life. Festering in one’s own loneliness is perhaps the thing I fear most. Not because of what it is, but because what it might do. Mental Note: Must not turn into a lonely obsessive bachelor. Must find someone to pounce on in times of misery…. and joy, let’s not forget.
Points of passion…
The idea of a teacher pupil relationship is no new fantasy. The huge number of pornographic videos on the subject continues to be ample support for this assertion.
And the Connolly Boy in the above film is delicious, as is Cate Blanchatt’s character, Sheba.
It made me feel old you see, all this pre pubescent sex. Passionate, lusty, horny, greedy. I want some of that so badly. I need to re-evaluate my entire strategy I feel. Whore myself truly and utterly in the face of youth. Drink from the fountain, pull from the tree. And it’ll be the purest form of sex ever. Animal sex.
Of course, it never really crosses our mind that perhaps these people have nobody waiting for them. That in fact, they are thinking about how to spend the next four hours alone after the episode of Eastenders finishes. We think people are happiest when loved, when with somebody who will love them and give them what they most desire; belonging, a sense of belonging. And we like to assume that everybody is loved, that everybody is loveable.
The truth is, many people living the London life are single. Many many people in the world as a whole are single. And many parade their youth-free-and-single self quite happily from one end of Trafalgar Square to another. But all with the desire in their mind that someday they’ll be just as happy and there will be a second person attached to them for times of acute loneliness.
I have been lonely, terribly lonely, but then so are most people in the world at some point in their lives. It’s only natural, one would assume, this state of oblivion. Not knowing what’s about to happen and not really caring, as long as it’s something.
I’ve never regarded my own loneliness with any greater weight than the loneliness of others. All loneliness is equal, I thought. Of course, the consequences of each individual loneliness couldn’t me any more different. What we do with our solitude is something which sets us apart from those around us. Stamp collection and flower cutting are solutions I’m sure, the same as curdling in one’s one deep and dark pool of sadness.
The reason I talk about loneliness is that I have just returned from watching a film that has really crept under my skin. Notes on a Scandal, starring Dame Judi Dench and Cate Blanchatt. It was excellent. Having read the book and now seen the superlative performances that grace the silver screen, I have real admiration for perhaps the two most stunning performances in recent times.
Of course, great films are often sad. And this was. It made me fear my singledom for perhaps the first time in my life. Festering in one’s own loneliness is perhaps the thing I fear most. Not because of what it is, but because what it might do. Mental Note: Must not turn into a lonely obsessive bachelor. Must find someone to pounce on in times of misery…. and joy, let’s not forget.
Points of passion…
The idea of a teacher pupil relationship is no new fantasy. The huge number of pornographic videos on the subject continues to be ample support for this assertion.
And the Connolly Boy in the above film is delicious, as is Cate Blanchatt’s character, Sheba.
It made me feel old you see, all this pre pubescent sex. Passionate, lusty, horny, greedy. I want some of that so badly. I need to re-evaluate my entire strategy I feel. Whore myself truly and utterly in the face of youth. Drink from the fountain, pull from the tree. And it’ll be the purest form of sex ever. Animal sex.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Conversation
B- So have you seen the organist again?
Me- no I haven’t...he's far far away now, with a bf in fact....
B- Boyfriend? Goodness. Did you know he had one before you slept with him?
Me- no he didnt have one then but I don’t think it would have mattered if he did
B- nah, i didn't think it would:)
Me- and your love life>?
B- so are you glad to have it all over and done with then? Losing virginity?
B- my love life is dry
Me- well i am, and know the potential that could exist with somebody i really fancies
B- Met a bloke on Saturday actually, but there was no flirting, very platonic
Me- Oh right
B- Was it what you thought?
Me- it was, but there wasn’t much sexual chemistry...
B- Better or worse? was there anything that wasn’t what you expected?
Me- And I wish he’d dominated a little more
B- Ok
Me- Um, his foreskin was long, didn’t expect that
B- Hehe! well, you'll get the chance again, it's all about learning what you like I guess...
Me- absolutely
B- As in extremely long?
Me- no, it sounds worse than it was, it was longish, wanted to bite it off and remove it
B- Yeah. But you have the rest of your life to focus on it though.
B- Hehe
Me- I’m so surprised you’re still single, you’re so attractive, can’t think what could be wrong
B- Don’t think I've ever seen very long foreskin
Me- lucky you
B- Thank you
B- I think it's because deep down I actually want to be single. It's a defense mechanism I think. That way I don't get hurt
Me- oh really....well that’s perfectly okay, I truly enjoy it
B- Yeah, I wish I cud enjoy it like you do. I'm stuck in a weird place where I can't decide whether I want to be with anyone or not but I don't just want to have sex anymore. I want to experience what it's like to be in love. At the same time I want to be on my own.
Me- yes, but having a few dates along the way is no bad thing
Me- you won’t find love automatically, it’s all a process
B- No, but dating is very stressful I think
B- Yeah probably. Maybe I'm not ready for that whole thing
Me- Um, its confidence boosting In my opinion
B- Maybe I should go back to having flings
B- Yeah, or devastating! I don't handle rejection particularly well
B- Don't you want to fall properly in love some time?
Me- Um, I only want it if the person I’m with has the same definitions of commitment and love as I do, otherwise not really as there is little point.
B- But you don't think you'll ever "settle down" with one person?
Me- Maybe one day I’ll meet somebody who is enough for me and then perhaps I will
B- yeah
Me- But I don’t buy into this whole fantasy of finding the right person and having the right kind of life, because it’s all just that, a fantasy. People do it because they think they should, because they think it’ll make them happy and then they think, I’ve got it, so of course I’m happy even when they’re not. And then you start having children in order to fill the holes of your lonliness.
B- I think you are right and I think that's where part of my own problem is. The part of me that really wants a bloke is just insecure because I haven’t got one. Because I'm not meant to be normal without a bf. Society says so! We're all meant to coupled up for some reason!
Me- I just get frustrated when so many people so early on want to create this whole 'perfect family' photograph. What happens after you’ve had ur kids and family and all that’s left is wrinkles and disappointments at having spent your youth?
Me- Exactly, society dictates our life in that way. I think it takes a strong person to resist in that way..
B- yeah.
B- But it's difficult when you get stigmatized for being single. Single equals loner or freak (in some eyes, like my mother’s :)) but I'm pretty sure I'm a single girl for life... And hopefully it won't bother me.
Me- No, I think life has a funny way of twisting and turning when you least expect it
B- or I mite turn into a thriving lesbian...
B- Nah. I'll let you know if things should change
Me- Lesbians, in my experience, are very uncomplicated and generally very nice
Me- I want to meet a girl now, I really have this urge. I just don't really know where to start with it all.
B- I'm ashamed to say I have never known any lesbians.
B- I think a girl would be interesting for you..
Me- You should have come to my birthday, one of my closest friends is gay, you would have adored her I’m sure.
B- Is she butch?
Me- Not at all
Me- And on new years I saw the most beautiful lesbian ever, she was stunning
B- Wow. I have this awful stereotypical image in my mind when I think of lesbians. It's because I once went to Brighton and all I saw was really butch women holding hands
Me- Yes, no, some are, but not all
Me- no I haven’t...he's far far away now, with a bf in fact....
B- Boyfriend? Goodness. Did you know he had one before you slept with him?
Me- no he didnt have one then but I don’t think it would have mattered if he did
B- nah, i didn't think it would:)
Me- and your love life>?
B- so are you glad to have it all over and done with then? Losing virginity?
B- my love life is dry
Me- well i am, and know the potential that could exist with somebody i really fancies
B- Met a bloke on Saturday actually, but there was no flirting, very platonic
Me- Oh right
B- Was it what you thought?
Me- it was, but there wasn’t much sexual chemistry...
B- Better or worse? was there anything that wasn’t what you expected?
Me- And I wish he’d dominated a little more
B- Ok
Me- Um, his foreskin was long, didn’t expect that
B- Hehe! well, you'll get the chance again, it's all about learning what you like I guess...
Me- absolutely
B- As in extremely long?
Me- no, it sounds worse than it was, it was longish, wanted to bite it off and remove it
B- Yeah. But you have the rest of your life to focus on it though.
B- Hehe
Me- I’m so surprised you’re still single, you’re so attractive, can’t think what could be wrong
B- Don’t think I've ever seen very long foreskin
Me- lucky you
B- Thank you
B- I think it's because deep down I actually want to be single. It's a defense mechanism I think. That way I don't get hurt
Me- oh really....well that’s perfectly okay, I truly enjoy it
B- Yeah, I wish I cud enjoy it like you do. I'm stuck in a weird place where I can't decide whether I want to be with anyone or not but I don't just want to have sex anymore. I want to experience what it's like to be in love. At the same time I want to be on my own.
Me- yes, but having a few dates along the way is no bad thing
Me- you won’t find love automatically, it’s all a process
B- No, but dating is very stressful I think
B- Yeah probably. Maybe I'm not ready for that whole thing
Me- Um, its confidence boosting In my opinion
B- Maybe I should go back to having flings
B- Yeah, or devastating! I don't handle rejection particularly well
B- Don't you want to fall properly in love some time?
Me- Um, I only want it if the person I’m with has the same definitions of commitment and love as I do, otherwise not really as there is little point.
B- But you don't think you'll ever "settle down" with one person?
Me- Maybe one day I’ll meet somebody who is enough for me and then perhaps I will
B- yeah
Me- But I don’t buy into this whole fantasy of finding the right person and having the right kind of life, because it’s all just that, a fantasy. People do it because they think they should, because they think it’ll make them happy and then they think, I’ve got it, so of course I’m happy even when they’re not. And then you start having children in order to fill the holes of your lonliness.
B- I think you are right and I think that's where part of my own problem is. The part of me that really wants a bloke is just insecure because I haven’t got one. Because I'm not meant to be normal without a bf. Society says so! We're all meant to coupled up for some reason!
Me- I just get frustrated when so many people so early on want to create this whole 'perfect family' photograph. What happens after you’ve had ur kids and family and all that’s left is wrinkles and disappointments at having spent your youth?
Me- Exactly, society dictates our life in that way. I think it takes a strong person to resist in that way..
B- yeah.
B- But it's difficult when you get stigmatized for being single. Single equals loner or freak (in some eyes, like my mother’s :)) but I'm pretty sure I'm a single girl for life... And hopefully it won't bother me.
Me- No, I think life has a funny way of twisting and turning when you least expect it
B- or I mite turn into a thriving lesbian...
B- Nah. I'll let you know if things should change
Me- Lesbians, in my experience, are very uncomplicated and generally very nice
Me- I want to meet a girl now, I really have this urge. I just don't really know where to start with it all.
B- I'm ashamed to say I have never known any lesbians.
B- I think a girl would be interesting for you..
Me- You should have come to my birthday, one of my closest friends is gay, you would have adored her I’m sure.
B- Is she butch?
Me- Not at all
Me- And on new years I saw the most beautiful lesbian ever, she was stunning
B- Wow. I have this awful stereotypical image in my mind when I think of lesbians. It's because I once went to Brighton and all I saw was really butch women holding hands
Me- Yes, no, some are, but not all
Slag meeting
It happened. The first complete meeting of the slags. The Dame, Ophelia, Desdemona, Othello and myself. The place, Zizzi's Italian restaurant, St Albans. The prompting event: Ophelia's birthday (reaching the ripe old age of 407).
St Albans really is a pretty place. And the food was as delicious as the conversation. Why did nobody invent Calzones earlier? Folded pizzas are the way to my heart, completely, utterly.
It has occurred to me, as a post-meeting matter, that perhaps talking openly about golden showers and intercourse-induced rope burns whilst in the midst of posh folk might be a class A offence.
The thing is, it's perfectly permitted to talk about dates, or what you did when you got home, as long as you don't actually use the f word and say it all in barely audible whispers. Of course, I'd rather drink petrol than lower the tone of my voice. and the thing that riles me most? the number of people who'll happily turn their noses up at my vocal whore display only to go home and suddenly find themselves slipping it into their wives as she bends over to pick up the pizza ad that's coming flying through the door whilst they were out.
It seems to me, talking about things and doing them are not only separate issues, but emerge from different universes completely. At least my words won't cause my wife to suffer concussion when she collapses one I've rabbited her. Puh!
Now, I have a fear: perhaps there are many more people who are as prudish about this sort of thing than I'd ever imagined. I want opinions and comments from all of you regarding this matter. Is there such a thing as a correct place in which to talk about matters of sexual potency. Apart from the bedroom. Though, judging be certain people, I'd pay money to watch them talk dirty after Coronation Street had finished on the tele.
I also fear Othello might have been a tad uncomfortable with the explicit nature of the discussions taking place. Whether Desdemona has briefed him on the issues before the meeting is an issue I'll need to address with her I suppose. Perhaps the blank look were about something else entirely. Of course, you never really know what people are thinking.
Another point worth mentioning: The Dame and Desdemona acted rather well around each other. None of that slippery flirty filth, or peering into cleavage that wasn't for show, or any of that. It was all so, so, innocent. If Othello hadn't been around, might the dynamics of our meeting have changed? Having said this, The Dame's recent women phobia might have kept curtailed her behaviour with or without Othello.
As for Ophelia, she took us to a great cocktail bar in St Albans which truly was deserved of the praise she showered over it. Although, the names of the cocktails make them sound less beautiful than they actually are. 'Porn star' and 'Sucker' being two of the most delicious.
All in all, a great day. And it all ended with my meeting Arthur and half of the London Bridge Drug Circuit for drinks at our London Favourite 'Thirst'. As his love life gets more and more complicated, his fashion sense increases threefold, the jeans get more and more expensive and, by default, the women swarming around him, like moths to a flame.
Here's to you all!
St Albans really is a pretty place. And the food was as delicious as the conversation. Why did nobody invent Calzones earlier? Folded pizzas are the way to my heart, completely, utterly.
It has occurred to me, as a post-meeting matter, that perhaps talking openly about golden showers and intercourse-induced rope burns whilst in the midst of posh folk might be a class A offence.
The thing is, it's perfectly permitted to talk about dates, or what you did when you got home, as long as you don't actually use the f word and say it all in barely audible whispers. Of course, I'd rather drink petrol than lower the tone of my voice. and the thing that riles me most? the number of people who'll happily turn their noses up at my vocal whore display only to go home and suddenly find themselves slipping it into their wives as she bends over to pick up the pizza ad that's coming flying through the door whilst they were out.
It seems to me, talking about things and doing them are not only separate issues, but emerge from different universes completely. At least my words won't cause my wife to suffer concussion when she collapses one I've rabbited her. Puh!
Now, I have a fear: perhaps there are many more people who are as prudish about this sort of thing than I'd ever imagined. I want opinions and comments from all of you regarding this matter. Is there such a thing as a correct place in which to talk about matters of sexual potency. Apart from the bedroom. Though, judging be certain people, I'd pay money to watch them talk dirty after Coronation Street had finished on the tele.
I also fear Othello might have been a tad uncomfortable with the explicit nature of the discussions taking place. Whether Desdemona has briefed him on the issues before the meeting is an issue I'll need to address with her I suppose. Perhaps the blank look were about something else entirely. Of course, you never really know what people are thinking.
Another point worth mentioning: The Dame and Desdemona acted rather well around each other. None of that slippery flirty filth, or peering into cleavage that wasn't for show, or any of that. It was all so, so, innocent. If Othello hadn't been around, might the dynamics of our meeting have changed? Having said this, The Dame's recent women phobia might have kept curtailed her behaviour with or without Othello.
As for Ophelia, she took us to a great cocktail bar in St Albans which truly was deserved of the praise she showered over it. Although, the names of the cocktails make them sound less beautiful than they actually are. 'Porn star' and 'Sucker' being two of the most delicious.
All in all, a great day. And it all ended with my meeting Arthur and half of the London Bridge Drug Circuit for drinks at our London Favourite 'Thirst'. As his love life gets more and more complicated, his fashion sense increases threefold, the jeans get more and more expensive and, by default, the women swarming around him, like moths to a flame.
Here's to you all!
Sunday, February 04, 2007
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Ha Ha!
So, the girl in my class, with whom I had the joint celebration, celebrated her birthday today. And it was Ophelia's birthday yesterday. May we all age gracefully and never have to wear our flab over our shoulders like a Pashmina.
This afternoon we went out for lunch and strawberry beer (the extent of my attachment to the red stuff has surprised even me). And this is where I wrote in her birthday card...
I don't normally know quite what to write, other than Happy Birthday, here's to a great year, many more birthdays, have a great day, love...so I went for something a little unusual, though strikingly something that might only come from my mind:
'Happy Birthday dearest. Here's to rope burns, handcuffs and cock rings. May you enjoy a year full of sordid promise.'
She burst into laughter which is always a positive sign, and informed me that she'd have to hide the card when her mother came to visit. What a shame that is I thought.
Also over lunch,
I heard the funniest thing I've heard in a long long time...
A friend of a friend was fooling around with her boyfriend one afternoon while her parents were out. Mid-fooling the boy asked her to poo into a sock allow him to whip her with it. Not even shit can get in the way of true love I suppose and she agreed.
And then came the anal sex, all of which was conducted on her parents' cream sofas (if the symbolism was in any way intended I'd be impressed). So, needless to say, shit on white is a bad idea. More so once you're done and realise that your love has spread itself over the pale fabric.
Upon returning to their house the Mother and Father looked at the sofa with a mix of horror and bewilderment.
'It was the dog' said the girl to her mother, placing the blame entirely on the clueless fluffy creature perched in front of the fire.
'Oh no' said the father, we can't be having any of that. And a few days later they had the dog put down.
No doubt she's learnt to clean up after herself since that time.
This afternoon we went out for lunch and strawberry beer (the extent of my attachment to the red stuff has surprised even me). And this is where I wrote in her birthday card...
I don't normally know quite what to write, other than Happy Birthday, here's to a great year, many more birthdays, have a great day, love...so I went for something a little unusual, though strikingly something that might only come from my mind:
'Happy Birthday dearest. Here's to rope burns, handcuffs and cock rings. May you enjoy a year full of sordid promise.'
She burst into laughter which is always a positive sign, and informed me that she'd have to hide the card when her mother came to visit. What a shame that is I thought.
Also over lunch,
I heard the funniest thing I've heard in a long long time...
A friend of a friend was fooling around with her boyfriend one afternoon while her parents were out. Mid-fooling the boy asked her to poo into a sock allow him to whip her with it. Not even shit can get in the way of true love I suppose and she agreed.
And then came the anal sex, all of which was conducted on her parents' cream sofas (if the symbolism was in any way intended I'd be impressed). So, needless to say, shit on white is a bad idea. More so once you're done and realise that your love has spread itself over the pale fabric.
Upon returning to their house the Mother and Father looked at the sofa with a mix of horror and bewilderment.
'It was the dog' said the girl to her mother, placing the blame entirely on the clueless fluffy creature perched in front of the fire.
'Oh no' said the father, we can't be having any of that. And a few days later they had the dog put down.
No doubt she's learnt to clean up after herself since that time.
The Dame dissected (once more)
The Dame has found not only one potential suitor but two it transpires. If we can all raise our glasses...
Of course, this is The Dame we're talking about, not some lilac wall flower that creeps steady up the garden fence. No, there are issues.
Suitor number 1 is problem free, a doctor and they get along rather well or so I'm led to believe. Hours and hours developing the love with the aid of the eFertiliser that is MSN messenger. Though I've warned her of the false sense of intimacy this particular route can create and urged to meet as soon as possible before expectation are too high to be met.
Suitor number 2 is a problem however. The classic mix of business and pleasure. Working with someone you've fallen for can lead to disaster or conversely job satisfaction of the sexiest form if dealt with due care.
Should she bite the bullet and pursue a relationship with someone she is unsure is gay (although the flirting does make me wonder whether in fact she might be) and risk a working life of uncomfortable meetings and dinners if things go horribly wrong (although I'm sure they won't). Or should she stay well away and nip something in the bud before it has the chance to blossom into a sort of love-daffodil, if we must.
I know the whole never-mix-business-with-pleasure theory. But a) this is The Dame exploring her avenues after a long time, b)an exciting prospect for The Dame if her gaydar is working correctly c) the path to great sex with somebody nice. And if you're both friends and grown up, I can't see why you'd not be able to nip it in the bud at some later stage...if the need ever arises.
This is interesting as only earlier this evening belle de bengal and I were discussing her own encounter with a fellow work colleague. The fact that she is in a higher position than he is and that she has control over his pay added a certain edge to our conversation and a certain glow to my face.
I guess I just think if you're going to get a job that's going to take up your life you might as well give yourself some self-made perks and enjoy a string of quickies once everybody's gone home. You see, the thing about London is that it is full of all consuming occupations. Work or life? Sex of celibacy? It's really as simple as that. We're all grown up enough to know that we can do and what we really really shouldn't.
WARNING: first sign of attachment and a) end it end it end it or b) find another job, find another job, read the Metro and find another job.
The Dame should exercise due caution however. You'd laugh out loud at this point, I'm sure, if you knew precisely what The Dame's purpose in life was.
Of course, this is The Dame we're talking about, not some lilac wall flower that creeps steady up the garden fence. No, there are issues.
Suitor number 1 is problem free, a doctor and they get along rather well or so I'm led to believe. Hours and hours developing the love with the aid of the eFertiliser that is MSN messenger. Though I've warned her of the false sense of intimacy this particular route can create and urged to meet as soon as possible before expectation are too high to be met.
Suitor number 2 is a problem however. The classic mix of business and pleasure. Working with someone you've fallen for can lead to disaster or conversely job satisfaction of the sexiest form if dealt with due care.
Should she bite the bullet and pursue a relationship with someone she is unsure is gay (although the flirting does make me wonder whether in fact she might be) and risk a working life of uncomfortable meetings and dinners if things go horribly wrong (although I'm sure they won't). Or should she stay well away and nip something in the bud before it has the chance to blossom into a sort of love-daffodil, if we must.
I know the whole never-mix-business-with-pleasure theory. But a) this is The Dame exploring her avenues after a long time, b)an exciting prospect for The Dame if her gaydar is working correctly c) the path to great sex with somebody nice. And if you're both friends and grown up, I can't see why you'd not be able to nip it in the bud at some later stage...if the need ever arises.
This is interesting as only earlier this evening belle de bengal and I were discussing her own encounter with a fellow work colleague. The fact that she is in a higher position than he is and that she has control over his pay added a certain edge to our conversation and a certain glow to my face.
I guess I just think if you're going to get a job that's going to take up your life you might as well give yourself some self-made perks and enjoy a string of quickies once everybody's gone home. You see, the thing about London is that it is full of all consuming occupations. Work or life? Sex of celibacy? It's really as simple as that. We're all grown up enough to know that we can do and what we really really shouldn't.
WARNING: first sign of attachment and a) end it end it end it or b) find another job, find another job, read the Metro and find another job.
The Dame should exercise due caution however. You'd laugh out loud at this point, I'm sure, if you knew precisely what The Dame's purpose in life was.
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