7th April 1852
Went to the Zoo.
I said to him -
Something about that Chimpanzee over there reminds me of you.
by Carol Ann Duffy
A poem that tickled The Dame.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
The Virginal
A friend of mine celebrates her birthday this Tuesday. She, like me, during our time at university together were both virgins. She’s one of the few that don’t know of the existence of this blog. She’d feel utterly betrayed that she didn’t feature in it, the way, say The Dame does.
Needless to say, my virginity is a distant memory that I enjoy recycling every now and again. As for her, she lost it last night, and her non-virgin status was probably cemented this morning.
She and her new (and only) boyfriend, came to London, booked themselves into a posh hotel and spent the evening with The Dame and myself as we ate at the Boulevard Brassiere. We then found some pub in Soho and took a taxi back to the hotel where we drank in the hotel bar up until the early hours.
That she was to lose her virginity last night was a fact known to us all. It proved surprisingly difficult to be able to talk to her separately and gage how much of this cock she had actually seen. As it transpired, she’s seen none of it.
Over dinner we discussed sex, as is completely normal wherever I’m around.
‘I don’t carry condoms around’ said the boy ‘it looks as though I was expecting sex if I pull one out easily’.
‘No’, I disagreed, ‘it shows you are careful and organised’.
Not sure what we settled on, though I’m positive I’m right.
Anyways, my friend was also without condom and so, we wondered how the virginity would be lost when taking into account her need (and rightly so) for protection. As yet, I have still to ascertain precisely what happened, although, rest assured we have an MSN appointment booked in half an hour to discuss the minutiae of the sacrifice.
Text I sent this morning. I know there were probably having yet more sex, but I couldn’t resist;
‘Hello you! Did you manage to tame the beast? The Dame and I are going out for an early luncheon, if sweet pea would care to join us.’
To which she replied
‘the beast is tamed. It was great. I will tell you all about it on msn later!’
During lunch earlier this afternoon I tried to look into her eyes for any sign of change. I looked forever. A light bulb turned on. A spark of orgasm left behind. Disappointingly, it all seemed pretty normal. I’m just glad that she , like me, gave it away when she could properly think about what she was giving.
Needless to say, my virginity is a distant memory that I enjoy recycling every now and again. As for her, she lost it last night, and her non-virgin status was probably cemented this morning.
She and her new (and only) boyfriend, came to London, booked themselves into a posh hotel and spent the evening with The Dame and myself as we ate at the Boulevard Brassiere. We then found some pub in Soho and took a taxi back to the hotel where we drank in the hotel bar up until the early hours.
That she was to lose her virginity last night was a fact known to us all. It proved surprisingly difficult to be able to talk to her separately and gage how much of this cock she had actually seen. As it transpired, she’s seen none of it.
Over dinner we discussed sex, as is completely normal wherever I’m around.
‘I don’t carry condoms around’ said the boy ‘it looks as though I was expecting sex if I pull one out easily’.
‘No’, I disagreed, ‘it shows you are careful and organised’.
Not sure what we settled on, though I’m positive I’m right.
Anyways, my friend was also without condom and so, we wondered how the virginity would be lost when taking into account her need (and rightly so) for protection. As yet, I have still to ascertain precisely what happened, although, rest assured we have an MSN appointment booked in half an hour to discuss the minutiae of the sacrifice.
Text I sent this morning. I know there were probably having yet more sex, but I couldn’t resist;
‘Hello you! Did you manage to tame the beast? The Dame and I are going out for an early luncheon, if sweet pea would care to join us.’
To which she replied
‘the beast is tamed. It was great. I will tell you all about it on msn later!’
During lunch earlier this afternoon I tried to look into her eyes for any sign of change. I looked forever. A light bulb turned on. A spark of orgasm left behind. Disappointingly, it all seemed pretty normal. I’m just glad that she , like me, gave it away when she could properly think about what she was giving.
Poem - Birth of a Drag Queen
And suddenly, the world is new
I’ve never seen it from this point view.
Amazing the difference a few inches can make
To change the reality which I now create.
And though my feet are squeezed like stumps
Inside these six-inch stiletto pumps
A testimonial I must profess
How wonderful it is to be a boy in a dress!
Teetering on the edge of insanity
Trying to find a center of gravity
Cutting off my circulation
In order to make this declaration
About my queen-born ability
To walk with such fabulosity
Though this gown’s a monstrosity
My hair, a curiosity
There’s much about this lofty gait
That I did not anticipate
Like how the swinging of my hips
Counters the sway of my fingertips
Who knew there would be such an orchestration
– A body in concert – a standing ovation!
And every step another encore
Deliriously shouting, “More! More! More!”
- By Jason (a member of the funnypoet society)
I’ve never seen it from this point view.
Amazing the difference a few inches can make
To change the reality which I now create.
And though my feet are squeezed like stumps
Inside these six-inch stiletto pumps
A testimonial I must profess
How wonderful it is to be a boy in a dress!
Teetering on the edge of insanity
Trying to find a center of gravity
Cutting off my circulation
In order to make this declaration
About my queen-born ability
To walk with such fabulosity
Though this gown’s a monstrosity
My hair, a curiosity
There’s much about this lofty gait
That I did not anticipate
Like how the swinging of my hips
Counters the sway of my fingertips
Who knew there would be such an orchestration
– A body in concert – a standing ovation!
And every step another encore
Deliriously shouting, “More! More! More!”
- By Jason (a member of the funnypoet society)
The Dame Edna Treatment
Dame Edna Everage is most certainly the man. I adore her. It’s not really a gay thing as much as a sucker for bitchy sharp humour thing.
I ended up going to see the purple haired minx with Adriana who, I must say, It was lovely to see after such a long time!
Miss methodical (her other name) talked me through her recent dating conquests and declared that she was five dates through with someone and that things were going well. If I say he’s a Project Manager it won’t be giving too much away. After all, every second person in London is a Project Manager of sorts, surely?
And to the show
Yes we had to clap on cue, but it was nowhere as near as bad as Charlotte Church.
Yes they made us do the Dame Edna Karaoke. YMCA, that sort of thing. Utterly pointless. I must admit, I didn’t quite know the YMCA dance. Ha! I think it’s the clear result of not enough cheesy summer holidays in places including Spain as Adriana quite rightly pointed out. Whether I’m ashamed of this remains a source of mystery.
The guests were k.d.lang (spelling it in lower case is imperative apparently. Pah), James Nesbit and Ivana Trumph. And, though not a guest, the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, Valmay, the Dame’s daughter. Have you ever met anybody who makes you laugh by merely existing? That’s her.
It was the final episode of the series and also a celebration of the Dame’s 50th year in showbiz. Now, there’s an achievement.
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable time.
And then to the Hummus bar in Soho. A very decent meal at very affordable prices. A friend had told me about this place and I must say, it was worth the money. Hummus with a topping of your choice accompanied by warm pitta bread. Well, I was impressed anyways.
I ended up going to see the purple haired minx with Adriana who, I must say, It was lovely to see after such a long time!
Miss methodical (her other name) talked me through her recent dating conquests and declared that she was five dates through with someone and that things were going well. If I say he’s a Project Manager it won’t be giving too much away. After all, every second person in London is a Project Manager of sorts, surely?
And to the show
Yes we had to clap on cue, but it was nowhere as near as bad as Charlotte Church.
Yes they made us do the Dame Edna Karaoke. YMCA, that sort of thing. Utterly pointless. I must admit, I didn’t quite know the YMCA dance. Ha! I think it’s the clear result of not enough cheesy summer holidays in places including Spain as Adriana quite rightly pointed out. Whether I’m ashamed of this remains a source of mystery.
The guests were k.d.lang (spelling it in lower case is imperative apparently. Pah), James Nesbit and Ivana Trumph. And, though not a guest, the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, Valmay, the Dame’s daughter. Have you ever met anybody who makes you laugh by merely existing? That’s her.
It was the final episode of the series and also a celebration of the Dame’s 50th year in showbiz. Now, there’s an achievement.
All in all, a thoroughly enjoyable time.
And then to the Hummus bar in Soho. A very decent meal at very affordable prices. A friend had told me about this place and I must say, it was worth the money. Hummus with a topping of your choice accompanied by warm pitta bread. Well, I was impressed anyways.
The Book Quiz
The Dame, much to her wrist-slashing misery, was unable to attend The Book Quiz the following day. I went on my own and, actually, had a jolly good time.
Unlike Charlotte Church, there was little laughter and silly behaviour required, and the subject matter, literature, is so far up my street it’s almost ringing the bell.
That said, the show comprises a series of rounds, each based on books and two panels are quizzed against each other.
Well, it was free. What more could I ask for? A complimentary meal?
Unlike Charlotte Church, there was little laughter and silly behaviour required, and the subject matter, literature, is so far up my street it’s almost ringing the bell.
That said, the show comprises a series of rounds, each based on books and two panels are quizzed against each other.
Well, it was free. What more could I ask for? A complimentary meal?
Rewinding to The Dame
Apologies for my distinct lack of entry on the blog. It’s simply been one of those weeks.
Rewind to last weekend.
Saturday - The Dame came down to London and we spent time in the glorious sunshine walking up and down the Southbank. The purpose behind our meeting was to participate in The Book Quiz, a BBC 4 production. Our desire to eat a nice lunch at Wagamama coupled with a ticking clock, meant however that we were one of the few who didn’t manage it in time to be seated. Everything happens for the best: Breathe.
Priorty tickets for the same show the following day in hand, we continued our walk and talk in the sunshine and just happened to go to the National Theatre where I’d seen the production ‘Rafta Rafta’ advertised.
WE bought the last two tickets and suddenly our evening was planned.
The play, about a joint Indian family and a newly married couple living in the Holy City of Bolton, was excellent. It was funny, quirky and entertaining, and most importantly wasn’t riddled with the clichés that often attach themselves to Indian drama. I suggest those of you who like something light-hearted which makes you laugh and think at the same time, should check this production out. It stared the ever dependable Meera Syal ( of the Goodness Gracious Me variety ) and Harish Patel (of the dripping bollywood variety).
That done, our attentions rested firmly on our stomachs and we made our way to the (ever dependable) Satsuma restaurant in Soho.
The Dame
-still looked sad and spent time pondering the demise of her relationship
-had her first portion of raw fish and, though she refused to say it was better than sex, happily dipped the fresh delicate pieces in soy sauce before eating them.
-told me that she had been set up on a blind date. Now this is more like it. As the story unfolds, I shall, as ever, let my blog fiends know.
-enjoyed Satsuma which now features in the ‘Slags list of Top Ten places to dine’.
Rewind to last weekend.
Saturday - The Dame came down to London and we spent time in the glorious sunshine walking up and down the Southbank. The purpose behind our meeting was to participate in The Book Quiz, a BBC 4 production. Our desire to eat a nice lunch at Wagamama coupled with a ticking clock, meant however that we were one of the few who didn’t manage it in time to be seated. Everything happens for the best: Breathe.
Priorty tickets for the same show the following day in hand, we continued our walk and talk in the sunshine and just happened to go to the National Theatre where I’d seen the production ‘Rafta Rafta’ advertised.
WE bought the last two tickets and suddenly our evening was planned.
The play, about a joint Indian family and a newly married couple living in the Holy City of Bolton, was excellent. It was funny, quirky and entertaining, and most importantly wasn’t riddled with the clichés that often attach themselves to Indian drama. I suggest those of you who like something light-hearted which makes you laugh and think at the same time, should check this production out. It stared the ever dependable Meera Syal ( of the Goodness Gracious Me variety ) and Harish Patel (of the dripping bollywood variety).
That done, our attentions rested firmly on our stomachs and we made our way to the (ever dependable) Satsuma restaurant in Soho.
The Dame
-still looked sad and spent time pondering the demise of her relationship
-had her first portion of raw fish and, though she refused to say it was better than sex, happily dipped the fresh delicate pieces in soy sauce before eating them.
-told me that she had been set up on a blind date. Now this is more like it. As the story unfolds, I shall, as ever, let my blog fiends know.
-enjoyed Satsuma which now features in the ‘Slags list of Top Ten places to dine’.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Gumtree
Okay, so I couldn't resist. Have been at Gumtree yet again. And here's the pick of the lot...
#1
''Hi,
I am genuine, good looking, white straight guy. I want to come to your place, unbutton my jeans and have you bring me off expertly with your mouth. You must also swallow. I want my whole length to disappear.
You must be experienced as it is my first time and I don't want it to be disappointing.
I need to hear how you will do it and why you are so good at it.If I enjoy what you have done, I might be persuaded to fuck your arse and may return the favour. I want to see all types of pics, and if there is no pic - no reply.This is a genuine ad, so no timewasters. Look forward to hearing from you. Sx''
Sometimes arranging a blowjob can prove to be even more tedious than arranging a job; what with the application and portfolio to hand in two weeks before the interview. Sigh.
#2
''and sadly, back on here after having a serious attack of timewaster wanker problems. Pre-op TS (transexual), in need of firm discipline and control. I understand that in surrendering control I will be punished as my Master sees fit, be it with slipper, paddle or cane, will dress however he wishes, be it schoolgirl, demure secretary or whore, will expect him to use my sexually inert body for himself and also for others should he deem to make me available. I am looking for firm, hard control, not casual, not vanilla and any message I get looking for casual or vanilla will be ignored. All genuine replies will get a reply plus pic.''
Finally, a woman (stop it) who knows what she wants. There's hope after all. And...er... is the 'paddle' being refered to...er...an actual paddle? If i were older and firmer, I would, I really would.
#3
''I'm 28, 5'9" single, straight (never been with a guy), looking for an OLDER guy to introduce me to new experiences.To be honest I DON'T find men attractive, but like the thought of playing with cock. I'm looking for someone who'll be patient, maybe we could start by meeting for a beer, see how we feel... swap cock pics, or maybe cam at first? If I feel comfortable then we could meet again, I can't accommodate so you'd have to have your own place (would rather not meet at a sauna as some guys have suggested). And we can see where things go from there. I've placed an ad before and all I found was impatient guys who want to shag straight away... don't get me wrong, I want to shag too But this'll be my first time with a guy so want to make sure I'm doing the right thing I'm sure it was nerve wracking for you the first time?
Last few requests...
Must be OLDER!
Educated
Disease free a MUST!
DISCRETE!PATIENT!
NSA (no strings attached)
GENUINE!
A picture would be good. Although as I'm probably going to merit on personality rather than attraction (which probably won't be there as I don't 'fancy' men). Cock pictures very welcome. I'll send mine in return.''
so, the definition of 'straight' now means - never been with a guy. A straight man who comes with his own wish list. Can hardly wait! Sorry, PATIENCE!
#4
''Any guys into the thought of having a circle jerk with a few other lads? I'm only looking for blokes into wanking - nothing else - so if you are looking for blow jobs or fuck mates really don't bother replying as it's not what I'm looking for. I am 29 and email back now and I'll add you to msn so we can talk about arranging a group wank.''
What's a circle jerk? Sounds far too athletic for me. Might it include a trapeze?
#1
''Hi,
I am genuine, good looking, white straight guy. I want to come to your place, unbutton my jeans and have you bring me off expertly with your mouth. You must also swallow. I want my whole length to disappear.
You must be experienced as it is my first time and I don't want it to be disappointing.
I need to hear how you will do it and why you are so good at it.If I enjoy what you have done, I might be persuaded to fuck your arse and may return the favour. I want to see all types of pics, and if there is no pic - no reply.This is a genuine ad, so no timewasters. Look forward to hearing from you. Sx''
Sometimes arranging a blowjob can prove to be even more tedious than arranging a job; what with the application and portfolio to hand in two weeks before the interview. Sigh.
#2
''and sadly, back on here after having a serious attack of timewaster wanker problems. Pre-op TS (transexual), in need of firm discipline and control. I understand that in surrendering control I will be punished as my Master sees fit, be it with slipper, paddle or cane, will dress however he wishes, be it schoolgirl, demure secretary or whore, will expect him to use my sexually inert body for himself and also for others should he deem to make me available. I am looking for firm, hard control, not casual, not vanilla and any message I get looking for casual or vanilla will be ignored. All genuine replies will get a reply plus pic.''
Finally, a woman (stop it) who knows what she wants. There's hope after all. And...er... is the 'paddle' being refered to...er...an actual paddle? If i were older and firmer, I would, I really would.
#3
''I'm 28, 5'9" single, straight (never been with a guy), looking for an OLDER guy to introduce me to new experiences.To be honest I DON'T find men attractive, but like the thought of playing with cock. I'm looking for someone who'll be patient, maybe we could start by meeting for a beer, see how we feel... swap cock pics, or maybe cam at first? If I feel comfortable then we could meet again, I can't accommodate so you'd have to have your own place (would rather not meet at a sauna as some guys have suggested). And we can see where things go from there. I've placed an ad before and all I found was impatient guys who want to shag straight away... don't get me wrong, I want to shag too But this'll be my first time with a guy so want to make sure I'm doing the right thing I'm sure it was nerve wracking for you the first time?
Last few requests...
Must be OLDER!
Educated
Disease free a MUST!
DISCRETE!PATIENT!
NSA (no strings attached)
GENUINE!
A picture would be good. Although as I'm probably going to merit on personality rather than attraction (which probably won't be there as I don't 'fancy' men). Cock pictures very welcome. I'll send mine in return.''
so, the definition of 'straight' now means - never been with a guy. A straight man who comes with his own wish list. Can hardly wait! Sorry, PATIENCE!
#4
''Any guys into the thought of having a circle jerk with a few other lads? I'm only looking for blokes into wanking - nothing else - so if you are looking for blow jobs or fuck mates really don't bother replying as it's not what I'm looking for. I am 29 and email back now and I'll add you to msn so we can talk about arranging a group wank.''
What's a circle jerk? Sounds far too athletic for me. Might it include a trapeze?
A Letter from The Dame
''Hi everyone,
I'm sorry I've been a stranger recently but this week has easily been the worst of my life.
I appear to be in the thick of some dark place at the moment which seems very reluctant to release me. I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, demotivation and above all, sadness - and to be honest I'm not quite sure how to cope with it.
I have a wealth of mixed emotions continually racing around my head ranging from 'please let this not be true, contact me and tell me it was one big mistake', through to, every word that came from her mouth must have been a lie because how can you tell someone some of the things she told me only days ago, and then finish what we had for someone else you have slept with and ate with once?
My head keeps thinking of all the times and things that happened during my time with her, trying to piece together the lies to make myself feel worse than I already do - when in fact on her part it was all just one big lie in which I clearly meant absolutely nothing. It makes no sense to me at all and I'm finding it all very difficult to deal with.
It has been suggested to me that perhaps she took the course of action she did to protect/save me from herself. If this was the case, why not have spared me this nightmare and told me this was the case. We could have sorted it out together. More importantly though, perhaps I didn't need saving from a girl I was falling in love with and could quite easily have spent my life with.
Ultimately I do not know what to think. Though the one thing I do know is that I will never know the answers to these thoughts that plague me daily and as such I must somehow learn to accept her choice has been made and it wasn't me. Once again, I wasn't important enough. It was never going to be me. I just hope this cloud soon passes and I can either learn to be happy with myself again, or find someone who possesses the ability to both remain faithful and make me happy.
Thank you all so much for your support and time at the moment, I thought it would be easier to post this rather than text you all individually.
How about dinner in London sometime soon?
-The Dame-''
I'm sorry I've been a stranger recently but this week has easily been the worst of my life.
I appear to be in the thick of some dark place at the moment which seems very reluctant to release me. I am consumed with an overwhelming sense of emptiness, demotivation and above all, sadness - and to be honest I'm not quite sure how to cope with it.
I have a wealth of mixed emotions continually racing around my head ranging from 'please let this not be true, contact me and tell me it was one big mistake', through to, every word that came from her mouth must have been a lie because how can you tell someone some of the things she told me only days ago, and then finish what we had for someone else you have slept with and ate with once?
My head keeps thinking of all the times and things that happened during my time with her, trying to piece together the lies to make myself feel worse than I already do - when in fact on her part it was all just one big lie in which I clearly meant absolutely nothing. It makes no sense to me at all and I'm finding it all very difficult to deal with.
It has been suggested to me that perhaps she took the course of action she did to protect/save me from herself. If this was the case, why not have spared me this nightmare and told me this was the case. We could have sorted it out together. More importantly though, perhaps I didn't need saving from a girl I was falling in love with and could quite easily have spent my life with.
Ultimately I do not know what to think. Though the one thing I do know is that I will never know the answers to these thoughts that plague me daily and as such I must somehow learn to accept her choice has been made and it wasn't me. Once again, I wasn't important enough. It was never going to be me. I just hope this cloud soon passes and I can either learn to be happy with myself again, or find someone who possesses the ability to both remain faithful and make me happy.
Thank you all so much for your support and time at the moment, I thought it would be easier to post this rather than text you all individually.
How about dinner in London sometime soon?
-The Dame-''
Asia de Cuba and Crystal
People – an odd bunch with whom I study, most lawyers, a few bankers.
Venue- The ever-so-posh Asia de Cuba in the St Martins Lane hotel.
The food – five appetisers, five mains and three sides for ten people.
The price - £40 per person minimum.
Worth it? – Not worth the money though absolutely delicious. Does that make any sense?
It was nice, going to dinner with people you’ve never really formed a solid friendship with. What was even nicer was meeting a friend of a friend who was incredibly beautiful looking. She did leave early, although the hope to meet her again has firmly been planted.
Now, the food really was very nice and the venue, despite the slightly odd décor was buzzing almost of the verge being noisy. That such a prestigious restaurant offered a share between people menu was also a novel factor one must address and this meant we had to reach across the table and fear a blob on mashed potato landing on our ever-so-lovely trousers.
And no desert, although the Mexican doughnuts did sounds pretty delicious. This is precisely the reason I seek financial independence. For with this, comes the ability to eat unashamedly at the top restaurants without the fear of running yourself into bankruptcy. Having said that, this is probably the most I’ve ever spent on a meal.
The (very) hot banker guy and his girlF were then off to a club. I wouldn’t have bothered them had it not been for my hearing the words ‘Crystal club’ as they were about to leave. It was more a reflex action than anything else as I asked them whether I could tag along.
Crystal club is a place Arthur has told me about on many previous occasions. The reason it stuck in my mind was for this alone. Arthur knows how to work his way up the social ladder and has done so quite successfully. Further, he knows which clubs are good, which ones are bad which ones provide the best experience.
After having been to Crystal himself I remember him saying it was the best club he’d ever been to. It’s true to say, I was expecting something pretty spectacular.
The Banker told me I was more than welcome to join them however nothing was guaranteed. This is London and guest list placings come before charm and wit anytime any day. I
Fine, I said, if I get in then that’ll be great and if not, then there’s always Soho.
A group of us, including Mr Tech (whose latest quest for modern technology has resulted in him building a generator which spits fire at the same temperature as the middle of the sun.) Now, I’m no Mr Tech myself, (In fact, my technological knowledge, I have concluded, allows me to check me emails, write this blog and watch copious amounts of pornography, and this is more than enough), however this sounds pretty impressive. In fact, he showed me a picture of the burning device he had taken on his telephone. Smile.
So, we managed it. It took very little persuasion in fact. And I was in.
What an amazing club this was. Imagine the sort of party Paris Hilton might attend. Even better, the sort of place that is an orgy of glamour, music and beautiful rich people. The prices are extortionate, I should clarify this from the outset. Whether it was the strength of my Lychee Martinee or my inbuilt budgeting device (which these days fails me miserably), that drink lasted me three hours.
So, I thought, this is what rich people with too much money and a free Friday evening do? Just watch them gulp down huge bottles of vodka at £200 each, or cocktails at £10 each. And then watch as they sprawl themselves up against any flat surface, and regardless of age or boogieing ability, jive into the early morning. That’s correct, it was actually like watching an MTV music video, minus P Diddy, although I’m sure he was around somewhere.
The décor of this place was awesome. At times it looked like a glacier, or underground ice cave. At other times it looked like Paris Hilton’s boudoir. At all times it looked ‘fabulous’.
It’s a shame I didn’t know more people there. That would have been perfect. Although, for £50 total, it wasn’t a bad, or even average night out, it was cool and has me hungry for more.
Venue- The ever-so-posh Asia de Cuba in the St Martins Lane hotel.
The food – five appetisers, five mains and three sides for ten people.
The price - £40 per person minimum.
Worth it? – Not worth the money though absolutely delicious. Does that make any sense?
It was nice, going to dinner with people you’ve never really formed a solid friendship with. What was even nicer was meeting a friend of a friend who was incredibly beautiful looking. She did leave early, although the hope to meet her again has firmly been planted.
Now, the food really was very nice and the venue, despite the slightly odd décor was buzzing almost of the verge being noisy. That such a prestigious restaurant offered a share between people menu was also a novel factor one must address and this meant we had to reach across the table and fear a blob on mashed potato landing on our ever-so-lovely trousers.
And no desert, although the Mexican doughnuts did sounds pretty delicious. This is precisely the reason I seek financial independence. For with this, comes the ability to eat unashamedly at the top restaurants without the fear of running yourself into bankruptcy. Having said that, this is probably the most I’ve ever spent on a meal.
The (very) hot banker guy and his girlF were then off to a club. I wouldn’t have bothered them had it not been for my hearing the words ‘Crystal club’ as they were about to leave. It was more a reflex action than anything else as I asked them whether I could tag along.
Crystal club is a place Arthur has told me about on many previous occasions. The reason it stuck in my mind was for this alone. Arthur knows how to work his way up the social ladder and has done so quite successfully. Further, he knows which clubs are good, which ones are bad which ones provide the best experience.
After having been to Crystal himself I remember him saying it was the best club he’d ever been to. It’s true to say, I was expecting something pretty spectacular.
The Banker told me I was more than welcome to join them however nothing was guaranteed. This is London and guest list placings come before charm and wit anytime any day. I
Fine, I said, if I get in then that’ll be great and if not, then there’s always Soho.
A group of us, including Mr Tech (whose latest quest for modern technology has resulted in him building a generator which spits fire at the same temperature as the middle of the sun.) Now, I’m no Mr Tech myself, (In fact, my technological knowledge, I have concluded, allows me to check me emails, write this blog and watch copious amounts of pornography, and this is more than enough), however this sounds pretty impressive. In fact, he showed me a picture of the burning device he had taken on his telephone. Smile.
So, we managed it. It took very little persuasion in fact. And I was in.
What an amazing club this was. Imagine the sort of party Paris Hilton might attend. Even better, the sort of place that is an orgy of glamour, music and beautiful rich people. The prices are extortionate, I should clarify this from the outset. Whether it was the strength of my Lychee Martinee or my inbuilt budgeting device (which these days fails me miserably), that drink lasted me three hours.
So, I thought, this is what rich people with too much money and a free Friday evening do? Just watch them gulp down huge bottles of vodka at £200 each, or cocktails at £10 each. And then watch as they sprawl themselves up against any flat surface, and regardless of age or boogieing ability, jive into the early morning. That’s correct, it was actually like watching an MTV music video, minus P Diddy, although I’m sure he was around somewhere.
The décor of this place was awesome. At times it looked like a glacier, or underground ice cave. At other times it looked like Paris Hilton’s boudoir. At all times it looked ‘fabulous’.
It’s a shame I didn’t know more people there. That would have been perfect. Although, for £50 total, it wasn’t a bad, or even average night out, it was cool and has me hungry for more.
Common Julie
I have great pleasure in introducing Common Julie (a dear friend of The Dame).
It’s always interesting to meet people who are common and witty in equal measures.
The last time The Dame came and visited me we ate noodles, if you recall. They were lovely. The funniest moments of that evening were however enshrined in a text conversation we had with Common Julie.
Common Julie (in a text to The Dame) - ‘What are you up to fart breath?’
To which we replied – ‘Hello Common Julie, we’re enjoying a meal in fact. Only the underclass is able to greet friends in such a vulgar fashion.’
2 minutes later…
Common Julie – ‘what are you eating? Pork sword and kebabs? You pair of queers. I’m in the shower, shaving my growler.
To which we replied – ‘Pork sword and kebabs? That’s more food for the commoner, to be fair. Anyways, careful not to shave it all off. Imagine a world without growler. Unthinkable.’
Yes friends, welcome to Common Julie.
It’s always interesting to meet people who are common and witty in equal measures.
The last time The Dame came and visited me we ate noodles, if you recall. They were lovely. The funniest moments of that evening were however enshrined in a text conversation we had with Common Julie.
Common Julie (in a text to The Dame) - ‘What are you up to fart breath?’
To which we replied – ‘Hello Common Julie, we’re enjoying a meal in fact. Only the underclass is able to greet friends in such a vulgar fashion.’
2 minutes later…
Common Julie – ‘what are you eating? Pork sword and kebabs? You pair of queers. I’m in the shower, shaving my growler.
To which we replied – ‘Pork sword and kebabs? That’s more food for the commoner, to be fair. Anyways, careful not to shave it all off. Imagine a world without growler. Unthinkable.’
Yes friends, welcome to Common Julie.
Slag meeting
‘I’m still not completely over the lesbian thing,’ declared Desdemona as she sat beside me and opposite Othello (her boyfriend) and we ordered food, after waiting for...er…ages at the bar that’s part and parcel of ‘Fire and Stone’ restaurant in Covent Garden.
So…she’d still quite like to sleep with a woman and it has long been decided that Desdemona finds woman far more attractive than men. Perhaps she’s a man eating lesbian. Now there’s a thought.
And, why wouldn’t she pursue these homosexual desires? Because she is attached? Probably.
A few entries earlier you may recall my entry on her, shall we say, dismal sex life. I believe it has improved. I believe they, as the most successful of couples do, ‘talked’. In fact, she used, as many women would, a reverse psychology approach.
‘I don’t think it’s working,’
(translation: I don’t want it to be over at all, however feel this is what I should say so that I can then be honest about the dismal sex life when you ask me what precisely is wrong)
‘I think we have become complacent in our relationship. We don’t do things together, we don’t go out, we don’t have sex and when we do it’s nothing above average’ (translation: The sex life is the aspect of this conversation which you know is true and which should now be highlighted in your mind. If we increase the passion and frequency of sex, our relationship will be better. If I am to continue our relationship and marry you eventually, I need the promise of a buzzing sex life, or at the least, a promise of your willingness to try).
Othello (on the subject of adultery and sexual ‘openness’) - ‘I wouldn’t mind watching Desdemona with another woman as this would turn me on’. I couldn’t however deal with her and another man as this would repulse me and she would be cheating.’
Hang on, hang on. I believe both of the actions described above fall within the definitions of adultery. Being with someone, anyone, other than your lover would be seen as cheating. So then, why does the sex of the person with whom your partner is having an affair cause such a distinct reaction?
What Othello was saying was essentially this:
I don’t want you to cheat, but if you do cheat I’ll forgive you as long as it’s with another woman as the negativity of the adultery is somewhat balanced by the levels to which I am turned on. If you cheat with a man, Ill have no pleasure, be racked with jealousy and dump you.
It was at this point that the scent of double standard made its way across my nose. If you think ‘cheating’ is wrong, then the fact that some cheating gives you an erection doesn’t justify your acceptance of it does it?
And what would happen is Desdemona said ‘I want to sleep with this girl and we want to be alone’ (ie. You can bugger off for a few hours). Would Othello like it? No. Would he let her do it? He says yes, though I say no! If she is alone, then he is not being turned on.
On the topic of threesomes, Othello shies away and claims that he is traditional. It should just be you two and nobody else.
Of course, the good thing for Othello is that Desdemona appears to understand where he is coming from and what his definition of tradition encompasses. Given a partner who’d let her dip her nib, sot o speak, in the other ink, I think she’d happily take her chances. But, with Othello, she won’t. Probably because she equally wouldn’t be able to tolerate his straying, even though this may be their mutual decision.
It’s true, love makes us selfish. It fills us with greed and irrational behaviour. It tosses us into the air and, sometimes, catches us when we fall. Whether you fall into the arms of your lover, or of somebody else, is a matter, it would appear, of definitions.
And onto the food: Pizzas at ‘Fire and Stone’ are described so well that you can’t help but expect the world. Unfortunately, they don’t taste as nice as the description and mine was pretty bland. Also, it is a very popular and busy restaurant. Conequently, if you are impatient and hungry, you’d be better off across the road at ‘The gourmet burger kitchen’.
So…she’d still quite like to sleep with a woman and it has long been decided that Desdemona finds woman far more attractive than men. Perhaps she’s a man eating lesbian. Now there’s a thought.
And, why wouldn’t she pursue these homosexual desires? Because she is attached? Probably.
A few entries earlier you may recall my entry on her, shall we say, dismal sex life. I believe it has improved. I believe they, as the most successful of couples do, ‘talked’. In fact, she used, as many women would, a reverse psychology approach.
‘I don’t think it’s working,’
(translation: I don’t want it to be over at all, however feel this is what I should say so that I can then be honest about the dismal sex life when you ask me what precisely is wrong)
‘I think we have become complacent in our relationship. We don’t do things together, we don’t go out, we don’t have sex and when we do it’s nothing above average’ (translation: The sex life is the aspect of this conversation which you know is true and which should now be highlighted in your mind. If we increase the passion and frequency of sex, our relationship will be better. If I am to continue our relationship and marry you eventually, I need the promise of a buzzing sex life, or at the least, a promise of your willingness to try).
Othello (on the subject of adultery and sexual ‘openness’) - ‘I wouldn’t mind watching Desdemona with another woman as this would turn me on’. I couldn’t however deal with her and another man as this would repulse me and she would be cheating.’
Hang on, hang on. I believe both of the actions described above fall within the definitions of adultery. Being with someone, anyone, other than your lover would be seen as cheating. So then, why does the sex of the person with whom your partner is having an affair cause such a distinct reaction?
What Othello was saying was essentially this:
I don’t want you to cheat, but if you do cheat I’ll forgive you as long as it’s with another woman as the negativity of the adultery is somewhat balanced by the levels to which I am turned on. If you cheat with a man, Ill have no pleasure, be racked with jealousy and dump you.
It was at this point that the scent of double standard made its way across my nose. If you think ‘cheating’ is wrong, then the fact that some cheating gives you an erection doesn’t justify your acceptance of it does it?
And what would happen is Desdemona said ‘I want to sleep with this girl and we want to be alone’ (ie. You can bugger off for a few hours). Would Othello like it? No. Would he let her do it? He says yes, though I say no! If she is alone, then he is not being turned on.
On the topic of threesomes, Othello shies away and claims that he is traditional. It should just be you two and nobody else.
Of course, the good thing for Othello is that Desdemona appears to understand where he is coming from and what his definition of tradition encompasses. Given a partner who’d let her dip her nib, sot o speak, in the other ink, I think she’d happily take her chances. But, with Othello, she won’t. Probably because she equally wouldn’t be able to tolerate his straying, even though this may be their mutual decision.
It’s true, love makes us selfish. It fills us with greed and irrational behaviour. It tosses us into the air and, sometimes, catches us when we fall. Whether you fall into the arms of your lover, or of somebody else, is a matter, it would appear, of definitions.
And onto the food: Pizzas at ‘Fire and Stone’ are described so well that you can’t help but expect the world. Unfortunately, they don’t taste as nice as the description and mine was pretty bland. Also, it is a very popular and busy restaurant. Conequently, if you are impatient and hungry, you’d be better off across the road at ‘The gourmet burger kitchen’.
Friday, April 20, 2007
Poem - A Moments Indulgence by Rabindranath Tagore
I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards.
Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.
Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove.
Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing
dedication of life in this silent and overflowing leisure.
Anticipation
The email I've been waiting for has finally arrived. Farewell to far fetched masturbatory fantasies including Penelope Cruz, Ewan McGregor and Gael Garcia Bernal and hello to sordid realisation of my sordid (almost frightening) sexual fantasies.
''Hey,
Thanks for the mail. The sex party will start at 10pm Saturday 5 May. The address is X. The party will end at 4am, with last entry being 3:15am. There is a £5 admission just to cover the venue, you can bring your own drinks if you wish. You won't be required to do anything that you don't want to do, there are no rules, except to play safely! There will be a good mix of guys there so hopefully everyone will have a great time.
Look forward to seeing you on the 5th.
Cheers,
X
Of course, if any of you (men) are genuinely interested and would like to come along to this, a quick message and I'll send you the full details.
Aim: To get J to come with me. For, this is the sort of thing where moral support is most certainly a requirement. Also, I can think of no other way to divert his attention from the sadness of his recent heartbreak. Although the insertion of cock doesn't necessarily push out any sadness you may have inside your heart, it might just help disguise it for a few hours. When it comes to sex, can we really ask for any more?
J, if you're reading this, do get back to me won't you?
''Hey,
Thanks for the mail. The sex party will start at 10pm Saturday 5 May. The address is X. The party will end at 4am, with last entry being 3:15am. There is a £5 admission just to cover the venue, you can bring your own drinks if you wish. You won't be required to do anything that you don't want to do, there are no rules, except to play safely! There will be a good mix of guys there so hopefully everyone will have a great time.
Look forward to seeing you on the 5th.
Cheers,
X
Of course, if any of you (men) are genuinely interested and would like to come along to this, a quick message and I'll send you the full details.
Aim: To get J to come with me. For, this is the sort of thing where moral support is most certainly a requirement. Also, I can think of no other way to divert his attention from the sadness of his recent heartbreak. Although the insertion of cock doesn't necessarily push out any sadness you may have inside your heart, it might just help disguise it for a few hours. When it comes to sex, can we really ask for any more?
J, if you're reading this, do get back to me won't you?
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Clearing it up
Thinking about it now, I doubt that it is The Bunny Boiler who Pc X has returned to.
On Pc X's own blog, he posted many of the texts and comments that he had received from The Bunny Boiler. There was also a real confusion in Pc X as to why The Bunny Boiler said the cruel things he did. I do believe that he no longer found The Bunny boiler attractive.
Leading on from this, I don't believe it was in fact The Bunny Boiler that Pc X was referring to when he mentioned his ex.
I believe the ex he refers to is an Indian boy, although of this I cannot be sure. I mean, we never really discussed Exs and, after the Bunny Boiler incidents I made a point that I had no interest in Pc X's past, merely his present.
I feel well and truly over that episode now. There really isn't the room in my life, nor the patience to wait for this to ever resurrect itself. What's done is done.
Off home now to catch The Apprentice (getting better and better as the weeks progress), and am torn, as usual, between Grand Designs and Desperate Housewives. The choices we make as humans can sometimes be unbearable.
On Pc X's own blog, he posted many of the texts and comments that he had received from The Bunny Boiler. There was also a real confusion in Pc X as to why The Bunny Boiler said the cruel things he did. I do believe that he no longer found The Bunny boiler attractive.
Leading on from this, I don't believe it was in fact The Bunny Boiler that Pc X was referring to when he mentioned his ex.
I believe the ex he refers to is an Indian boy, although of this I cannot be sure. I mean, we never really discussed Exs and, after the Bunny Boiler incidents I made a point that I had no interest in Pc X's past, merely his present.
I feel well and truly over that episode now. There really isn't the room in my life, nor the patience to wait for this to ever resurrect itself. What's done is done.
Off home now to catch The Apprentice (getting better and better as the weeks progress), and am torn, as usual, between Grand Designs and Desperate Housewives. The choices we make as humans can sometimes be unbearable.
Monday, April 16, 2007
The end of The Doctor
I have never heard The Dame cry. Until today that is. An hour ago, to be precise. Over the telephone she told me how The Doctor had ended their relationship.
It was true, a few weeks ago, before The Dame’s relationship became ‘serious’ she had forgiven The Doctor a night of ‘crashing’ in someone’s bed once they’d declare themselves an item. By crash of course, I mean sleep, and so did she. The Doctor went to a ball, if my facts are correct, and spent the night with two girls. She said she ‘pulled’ one of these. Here we are, yet again, in the realm of ambiguous definition.
So The Dame forgave her, because this is in The Dame’s nature. For once she choose her own happiness and forgave lines of deceit that were creeping into her relationship. We both agreed that our definition of ‘pulling’ didn’t include mere crashing in a stranger’s bed. Our definitions included sex and tongues. There must be more to this, we thought. But no, if you’re going to attempt to forgive and forget, you have to do it wholeheartedly, and so she did.
Now it transpires that our definition ‘pulling’ was perfectly correct. The Doctor slept with the (let’s call her) plum. Further, when she should have been with The Dame, she went for dinner with the plum and, this afternoon, declared how strong her feelings for the plum were to The Dame. Let’s be thankful she came clean before anymore damage was done.
Now, I’ve always had such respect for people who follow their desires in the face of adversity. But, do we really have to trample over people in the process of it all. Can’t we be dignified in the approaches we take to our love lives?
So, The Dame is distraught. Because she laid herself bare, her insecurities, her fears to somebody she thought might understand her. And The Doctor ripped this respect to shreds and did the worst thing she possibly could. I won’t say that I hope that the plum is worth any of this, for I’m certain she won’t be. What I hope for instead is a day of reckoning where she comes to realise what she has lost with The Dame.
The more brains people have, it would appear, the less they know how to use them.
Of course, a part of me will always hope that The Doctor too will on day be ditched in favour of a lust filled thunderbolt. That she too will have to put up with deceit when she is perhaps at her most happy and most vulnerable. It seems only fair.
As for The Dame and myself, I suppose we’ve had enough. That people think they can trample over us and blame their private parts is shocking and, quite frankly, demoralising. Onwards and upwards, for there are bigger, better, cleverer fish in the sea.
It was true, a few weeks ago, before The Dame’s relationship became ‘serious’ she had forgiven The Doctor a night of ‘crashing’ in someone’s bed once they’d declare themselves an item. By crash of course, I mean sleep, and so did she. The Doctor went to a ball, if my facts are correct, and spent the night with two girls. She said she ‘pulled’ one of these. Here we are, yet again, in the realm of ambiguous definition.
So The Dame forgave her, because this is in The Dame’s nature. For once she choose her own happiness and forgave lines of deceit that were creeping into her relationship. We both agreed that our definition of ‘pulling’ didn’t include mere crashing in a stranger’s bed. Our definitions included sex and tongues. There must be more to this, we thought. But no, if you’re going to attempt to forgive and forget, you have to do it wholeheartedly, and so she did.
Now it transpires that our definition ‘pulling’ was perfectly correct. The Doctor slept with the (let’s call her) plum. Further, when she should have been with The Dame, she went for dinner with the plum and, this afternoon, declared how strong her feelings for the plum were to The Dame. Let’s be thankful she came clean before anymore damage was done.
Now, I’ve always had such respect for people who follow their desires in the face of adversity. But, do we really have to trample over people in the process of it all. Can’t we be dignified in the approaches we take to our love lives?
So, The Dame is distraught. Because she laid herself bare, her insecurities, her fears to somebody she thought might understand her. And The Doctor ripped this respect to shreds and did the worst thing she possibly could. I won’t say that I hope that the plum is worth any of this, for I’m certain she won’t be. What I hope for instead is a day of reckoning where she comes to realise what she has lost with The Dame.
The more brains people have, it would appear, the less they know how to use them.
Of course, a part of me will always hope that The Doctor too will on day be ditched in favour of a lust filled thunderbolt. That she too will have to put up with deceit when she is perhaps at her most happy and most vulnerable. It seems only fair.
As for The Dame and myself, I suppose we’ve had enough. That people think they can trample over us and blame their private parts is shocking and, quite frankly, demoralising. Onwards and upwards, for there are bigger, better, cleverer fish in the sea.
The end of Pc X
What am I? fuming! Although, after this little rant, I'm sure i'll feel much better and able to benefit properly from the glorious sunshine outside.
So, I emailed Pc X, as you know, to no avail. I worried myself that all matter of things might have happened. I thought Pc X's declaration that he 'wasn't into meeting guys anymore', or that he had 'had some bad news' and wanted 'space' and to be 'left alone' might be an indication that he had great troubles. I even for a while, thought perhaps an HIV positive result may have lay on the cards. I thought, well it must be so difficult to come to terms with something so terrifying.
So, this afternoon, when I finally recieved the email I'd been waiting for, you'll fully appreciate why I had to post it on here and blow my fuse (a little), at this excuse for a man.
''Hey you,
I'm sorry to have left you in the dark like this but I felt it was the best way. I thought you would just forget about me and then get on with your life. I have decided to give it another go with my x and we both decided we would have a fresh start and I started by getting rid of my numbers and phone and anyone who might pop up and make things difficult for me and him in the future. Sorry to be like this but I need space. I need to concentrate on me and him. I have enjoyed your company and our chats. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best for your future. I'm sure you will meet a nice guy and get all the enjoyment and benefits it can offer. Please don't feel bad about any of this. you have done nothing wrong.
Take care mate,
Pc X.''
I suppose I should have listened to the bunny boiler whilst I had a chance. In fact, a part of me now wonders whether the 'x' is in fact that bunny boiler himself. Or perhaps he's the guy who keep swanning off to india in search of a bride.
Desdemona, 'welcome to the world of relationships' indeed. I'm here, and I don't like a damn thing. Whatever happened to being polite and understanding.
Anyways, I feel better. The sun is out, I have a delicious Red Leicester and Spring Onion sandwich in my bag, a whole load of work to do and time to forget about Pc X.
Mental note: before committing, make sure the baggage is fully out in the open, or that it's locked away tightly beneath some stairs, never to be recovered.
So, I emailed Pc X, as you know, to no avail. I worried myself that all matter of things might have happened. I thought Pc X's declaration that he 'wasn't into meeting guys anymore', or that he had 'had some bad news' and wanted 'space' and to be 'left alone' might be an indication that he had great troubles. I even for a while, thought perhaps an HIV positive result may have lay on the cards. I thought, well it must be so difficult to come to terms with something so terrifying.
So, this afternoon, when I finally recieved the email I'd been waiting for, you'll fully appreciate why I had to post it on here and blow my fuse (a little), at this excuse for a man.
''Hey you,
I'm sorry to have left you in the dark like this but I felt it was the best way. I thought you would just forget about me and then get on with your life. I have decided to give it another go with my x and we both decided we would have a fresh start and I started by getting rid of my numbers and phone and anyone who might pop up and make things difficult for me and him in the future. Sorry to be like this but I need space. I need to concentrate on me and him. I have enjoyed your company and our chats. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best for your future. I'm sure you will meet a nice guy and get all the enjoyment and benefits it can offer. Please don't feel bad about any of this. you have done nothing wrong.
Take care mate,
Pc X.''
I suppose I should have listened to the bunny boiler whilst I had a chance. In fact, a part of me now wonders whether the 'x' is in fact that bunny boiler himself. Or perhaps he's the guy who keep swanning off to india in search of a bride.
Desdemona, 'welcome to the world of relationships' indeed. I'm here, and I don't like a damn thing. Whatever happened to being polite and understanding.
Anyways, I feel better. The sun is out, I have a delicious Red Leicester and Spring Onion sandwich in my bag, a whole load of work to do and time to forget about Pc X.
Mental note: before committing, make sure the baggage is fully out in the open, or that it's locked away tightly beneath some stairs, never to be recovered.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Conclusions
“The bonds that unite another person to our self exist only in our mind.”-Marcel Proust
Perhaps this it true. Perhaps this is the reason I feel cheated by the end of my relationship with Pc X. By relationship I mean, of course, two meetings, one bunny boiler, half an episode of intimacy and many attempts at trying to find out what on earth’s gone wrong.
Was it all in my head that Pc X and I were just a tad more than mere ‘guys checking each other out’, for want of a far better phrase? The fact that things have ended so abruptly and without a formal conclusion being drawn suggests to me this is indeed the case. And what a stick in the mud this one has turned out to be.
When you enter a relationship it has always been my belief that we should keep a piece of ourselves firmly to ourselves for fear of losing our sleep and mind when things eventually crumble.
It’s not a good thing; to expect the worst in every situation. In fact, I am, more often that not, drawn to see the positive and firmly believe that whatever happens is for the best. Sometimes however, we’re faced with a dilemma from which there is no solution. Yes, Pc X wants me to ‘leave him alone’ and ‘give him some space’, all of which I would happily do, if I knew that after this space was given, I’d still have a friend available. It’s not so much why Pc X has said this, but it’s more how he has said it. Cutting off all ties with a series of text messages early one morning. Declaring he is not ‘interested in meeting guys anymore’. No reason why, just an expectation that I will leave him be. Of course there are issues, of which I am as yet unaware, but really, is it that difficult to explain why you want time out without going into the specifics of your sadness. Didn’t Pc X owe me at least this?
It’s difficult to write this because I know that Pc X, despite this, isn’t a bad person. Nor is this in his character. But the way he behaves with me is something most certainly within his control. And yet, at the end of all this, It will be me who will come across as obsessive and unjustifiably unreasonable in my endeavours to gage what the bleeding hell is going on.
The thing Is, when you like somebody and you talk most days with them, it’ll strike you as odd when all of a sudden you are required to stop.
So now, I’m left expecting the worst in every relationship. Treading on eggshells in very relationship, for fear of waking up to text messages declaring the whole episode over. Anything good to happen will then be a bonus, surely?
I’ve tried emailing (no reply), texting (the phone is now disconnected) and calling (something I really don’t enjoy doing and after being told that I should get the message, have deleted the number).
Then again, I myself probably have a part to play in this demise. Harping on about how good to sex was going to be, how he really turned me on more than other guys, allowing myself to become embroiled in it. I probably jinxed the damn thing myself.
And after it’s all over, all we can do is wait. Wait for a phone call. Wait for a text. Wait for somebody else as good looking and intelligent who’ll double your erection span within minutes.
When people need space, I guess they just need space. Although, I have promised myself this: if ever I find myself in a position where I receive bad news and need some time to think. I’ll explain it a whole lot better to people I’m in the process of ‘seeing’.
It’s ironic this, only the other day The Dame and I were discussing how much potential we saw in our newly sprung relationships. That buzzing feeling made its way over our conversation. And now, we’re both having difficulties. Sometimes you wish you could just say (and mean it), fuck the lot of them.
Perhaps this it true. Perhaps this is the reason I feel cheated by the end of my relationship with Pc X. By relationship I mean, of course, two meetings, one bunny boiler, half an episode of intimacy and many attempts at trying to find out what on earth’s gone wrong.
Was it all in my head that Pc X and I were just a tad more than mere ‘guys checking each other out’, for want of a far better phrase? The fact that things have ended so abruptly and without a formal conclusion being drawn suggests to me this is indeed the case. And what a stick in the mud this one has turned out to be.
When you enter a relationship it has always been my belief that we should keep a piece of ourselves firmly to ourselves for fear of losing our sleep and mind when things eventually crumble.
It’s not a good thing; to expect the worst in every situation. In fact, I am, more often that not, drawn to see the positive and firmly believe that whatever happens is for the best. Sometimes however, we’re faced with a dilemma from which there is no solution. Yes, Pc X wants me to ‘leave him alone’ and ‘give him some space’, all of which I would happily do, if I knew that after this space was given, I’d still have a friend available. It’s not so much why Pc X has said this, but it’s more how he has said it. Cutting off all ties with a series of text messages early one morning. Declaring he is not ‘interested in meeting guys anymore’. No reason why, just an expectation that I will leave him be. Of course there are issues, of which I am as yet unaware, but really, is it that difficult to explain why you want time out without going into the specifics of your sadness. Didn’t Pc X owe me at least this?
It’s difficult to write this because I know that Pc X, despite this, isn’t a bad person. Nor is this in his character. But the way he behaves with me is something most certainly within his control. And yet, at the end of all this, It will be me who will come across as obsessive and unjustifiably unreasonable in my endeavours to gage what the bleeding hell is going on.
The thing Is, when you like somebody and you talk most days with them, it’ll strike you as odd when all of a sudden you are required to stop.
So now, I’m left expecting the worst in every relationship. Treading on eggshells in very relationship, for fear of waking up to text messages declaring the whole episode over. Anything good to happen will then be a bonus, surely?
I’ve tried emailing (no reply), texting (the phone is now disconnected) and calling (something I really don’t enjoy doing and after being told that I should get the message, have deleted the number).
Then again, I myself probably have a part to play in this demise. Harping on about how good to sex was going to be, how he really turned me on more than other guys, allowing myself to become embroiled in it. I probably jinxed the damn thing myself.
And after it’s all over, all we can do is wait. Wait for a phone call. Wait for a text. Wait for somebody else as good looking and intelligent who’ll double your erection span within minutes.
When people need space, I guess they just need space. Although, I have promised myself this: if ever I find myself in a position where I receive bad news and need some time to think. I’ll explain it a whole lot better to people I’m in the process of ‘seeing’.
It’s ironic this, only the other day The Dame and I were discussing how much potential we saw in our newly sprung relationships. That buzzing feeling made its way over our conversation. And now, we’re both having difficulties. Sometimes you wish you could just say (and mean it), fuck the lot of them.
Friday, April 13, 2007
Tickets available
Being the social butterfly I am (yes, that's correct), there is nothing more pleasing than recieving a number of free tickets to attend television recordings. Charlotte Church saw the beginning of this and the following two shows will probably symbolize the end:
If any of you are interested in attending, post me a message and we can go from there.
Show 1 - The Book Quiz - 21st April 2007 - doors open at 2.15pm - 3 tickets available
The Book Quiz is a new BBC4 panel game about literature in which two teams of book-loving guests face questions on all things literary, from classic works to the contemporary works we're all reading and talking about. This will be an informed, entertaining panel game aimed at the tv audience who already enjoy programmes such as QI, Late Review and Have I Got News For You.
Hosted by David Baddiel, the guest panellists this series will include Joan Bakewell, Simon Hoggart, Daisy Goodwin, Toby Young, Val McDermid and India Knight.
Show 2 - The Dame Edna Treatment - 19th April 2007 - doors open at 6.45pm -3 tickets available
Hello Possums!
Everyone's favourite global 'gigastar', Dame Edna Everage is back where she belongs in a brand new ITV Saturday night prime time chat show! The Dame Edna Treatment finds Dame Edna running a high-class, exclusive treatment centre to care for stressed out superstars in need of some pampering. Each week a host of huge names will join Dame Edna in her resort to de-stress and be carefully looked after using Dame Edna's 'unique' methods. They'll also be gently grilled about their lives - but will they survive the Dame Edna Treatment?
If any of you are interested in attending, post me a message and we can go from there.
Show 1 - The Book Quiz - 21st April 2007 - doors open at 2.15pm - 3 tickets available
The Book Quiz is a new BBC4 panel game about literature in which two teams of book-loving guests face questions on all things literary, from classic works to the contemporary works we're all reading and talking about. This will be an informed, entertaining panel game aimed at the tv audience who already enjoy programmes such as QI, Late Review and Have I Got News For You.
Hosted by David Baddiel, the guest panellists this series will include Joan Bakewell, Simon Hoggart, Daisy Goodwin, Toby Young, Val McDermid and India Knight.
Show 2 - The Dame Edna Treatment - 19th April 2007 - doors open at 6.45pm -3 tickets available
Hello Possums!
Everyone's favourite global 'gigastar', Dame Edna Everage is back where she belongs in a brand new ITV Saturday night prime time chat show! The Dame Edna Treatment finds Dame Edna running a high-class, exclusive treatment centre to care for stressed out superstars in need of some pampering. Each week a host of huge names will join Dame Edna in her resort to de-stress and be carefully looked after using Dame Edna's 'unique' methods. They'll also be gently grilled about their lives - but will they survive the Dame Edna Treatment?
Thursday, April 12, 2007
A day with The Dame
A day with The Dame
Every once in a while I meet The Dame for food and conversation. Yesterday was such a day, the only difference being our geographical location. Rather than meet in London she drove up north to come and visit me at home.
We sipped apple and mango smoothies beneath the midday sun and dissected our lives, the way we always do. I should mention here, that the smoothies I refer to were in fact made by myself with the help of a juicer and blender. It’ll take a long time to forget the look of marvel in The Dame’s eyes as she watched the apples disappear into the contraption and reform into liquid. Perhaps the debate over whether the best invention was in fact that juicer as opposed to the toasted sandwich maker, will continue. M’s theory that once could juice easily without the aid of a juicer leads me to ask..show me exactly how you’d juice a carrot without the use of a juicer?
Pizza, chilli chips, coleslaw and chilli paneer for lunch. We can eat rather a lot between us, The Dame and I. Did feel full. Sort of understood how Michelle McManus feels on the daily basis.
We then watched a film. At this point, it seems most appropriate to lower our heads and thank the Lord for Orange Wednesdays. Although, more often than not, this subjects us to a gruelling jostle from outside the cinema as we make our way to the tickets stalls. And as much as I hate to admit this, the increased Asian population in Leicester is solely to blame. Tight fisted buggers we can be, honestly.
The benefits of a tight fitting leather jacket…
You can bury two bottles of alcopops inside and fold your arms giving off the impression that you’re cold and perhaps slightly odd. Though, on an Orange Wednesday, nobody really has the time to pay any attention.
As The Dame and I sipped our bottled drink (purchased from the pub next to the cinema) we settled down to watch the film ‘Provoked’ starring Aiswariya Rai, Miranda Richardson and Naveen Andrews. Miss Rai was perfect in her depiction of a victim turned victor in this true life story of domestic violence, murder and the English law. I think people should see this film for the very fact that it shows courage. In today’s word, there seems to be a lack of it wherever we turn.
And in the evening, food. ( don’t look at me like you knew that was coming). We went to a noodle bar in the city centre and ordered rather a large quantity of food for two people.
Oh and let’s not forget my trying to harass The Dame into listening to some of my beloved Indian music. Yes, she grew to like it, and yes, she too, sang away quite happily.
Every once in a while I meet The Dame for food and conversation. Yesterday was such a day, the only difference being our geographical location. Rather than meet in London she drove up north to come and visit me at home.
We sipped apple and mango smoothies beneath the midday sun and dissected our lives, the way we always do. I should mention here, that the smoothies I refer to were in fact made by myself with the help of a juicer and blender. It’ll take a long time to forget the look of marvel in The Dame’s eyes as she watched the apples disappear into the contraption and reform into liquid. Perhaps the debate over whether the best invention was in fact that juicer as opposed to the toasted sandwich maker, will continue. M’s theory that once could juice easily without the aid of a juicer leads me to ask..show me exactly how you’d juice a carrot without the use of a juicer?
Pizza, chilli chips, coleslaw and chilli paneer for lunch. We can eat rather a lot between us, The Dame and I. Did feel full. Sort of understood how Michelle McManus feels on the daily basis.
We then watched a film. At this point, it seems most appropriate to lower our heads and thank the Lord for Orange Wednesdays. Although, more often than not, this subjects us to a gruelling jostle from outside the cinema as we make our way to the tickets stalls. And as much as I hate to admit this, the increased Asian population in Leicester is solely to blame. Tight fisted buggers we can be, honestly.
The benefits of a tight fitting leather jacket…
You can bury two bottles of alcopops inside and fold your arms giving off the impression that you’re cold and perhaps slightly odd. Though, on an Orange Wednesday, nobody really has the time to pay any attention.
As The Dame and I sipped our bottled drink (purchased from the pub next to the cinema) we settled down to watch the film ‘Provoked’ starring Aiswariya Rai, Miranda Richardson and Naveen Andrews. Miss Rai was perfect in her depiction of a victim turned victor in this true life story of domestic violence, murder and the English law. I think people should see this film for the very fact that it shows courage. In today’s word, there seems to be a lack of it wherever we turn.
And in the evening, food. ( don’t look at me like you knew that was coming). We went to a noodle bar in the city centre and ordered rather a large quantity of food for two people.
Oh and let’s not forget my trying to harass The Dame into listening to some of my beloved Indian music. Yes, she grew to like it, and yes, she too, sang away quite happily.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Infidelity - The rules
‘Infidelity doesn’t mean a thing. It’s like having a wank, except a wo(man)’s body happens to be involved’ - The Dame (who no doubt pinched it from someone higher ranking)
Now, I’ve never had much time for people who happily go about fucking anything that moves and then declare themselves ‘hurt’ when it’s done right back to them.
The strength and dignity that comes with being able to stop a relationship in favour of another is something people so easily forget. It’s all too easy to have your cake and eat it.
A number of recent discussions I have had with friends of mine (all circling the maze that is infidelity) have posed a few interesting questions.
What actually constitutes infidelity? Take the example of two friends, one of who has a partner, sharing a bed and getting quite passionate. No kissing, no cumming and no touching of privates. Nevertheless, very intimate. Perhaps even, I would suggest, the most lethal type of intimacy. Are they cheating? Does there have to be sex in order to cheat? Does it all depend on ones own definition? And if it does, how do we ever catch a cheater?
And if you are the one who has been cheated on, under what grounds is it okay to welcome somebody back into your duvet? Are we back to the relative definitions category where the phantom stupid ponce is forgiving and forgetting more than they really should be?
Once is a mistake, twice is a habit? Two times and the relationship is over? Is this correct?
On the face of things, I suppose it is easy to forgive. By that same token it is also impossible to forget. Though, I do wonder, if you can’t forget, can you truly forgive?
One thing I’m firm on is this:
If you are the person doing the forgiving, make the utmost effort to forget. And if you’re making the decision to forgive, don’t use the infidelity as a weapon throughout the course of your relationship..
(Boyfriend and girlfriend five years after infidelity took place)
Boyfriend – ‘I hope nothing’s going on with you two.’ (refering to GirlF and some other boy)
Girlfriend – ‘Don’t worry, I’m not like you.’
Boyfriend- (saying anything that goes against the girlfriend)
Girlfriend – ‘But you’re the one who cheated five years ago.'
This is neither forgiving nor forgetting. Holding past infidelities the way you might ammunition isn’t a good idea. If you decide to put up, you should also learn to shut up. This is why, when faced with an adulterous lover, you need to think carefully before you let them back. Sometimes loneliness is far better than spiralling regret and misery.
Now, I’ve never had much time for people who happily go about fucking anything that moves and then declare themselves ‘hurt’ when it’s done right back to them.
The strength and dignity that comes with being able to stop a relationship in favour of another is something people so easily forget. It’s all too easy to have your cake and eat it.
A number of recent discussions I have had with friends of mine (all circling the maze that is infidelity) have posed a few interesting questions.
What actually constitutes infidelity? Take the example of two friends, one of who has a partner, sharing a bed and getting quite passionate. No kissing, no cumming and no touching of privates. Nevertheless, very intimate. Perhaps even, I would suggest, the most lethal type of intimacy. Are they cheating? Does there have to be sex in order to cheat? Does it all depend on ones own definition? And if it does, how do we ever catch a cheater?
And if you are the one who has been cheated on, under what grounds is it okay to welcome somebody back into your duvet? Are we back to the relative definitions category where the phantom stupid ponce is forgiving and forgetting more than they really should be?
Once is a mistake, twice is a habit? Two times and the relationship is over? Is this correct?
On the face of things, I suppose it is easy to forgive. By that same token it is also impossible to forget. Though, I do wonder, if you can’t forget, can you truly forgive?
One thing I’m firm on is this:
If you are the person doing the forgiving, make the utmost effort to forget. And if you’re making the decision to forgive, don’t use the infidelity as a weapon throughout the course of your relationship..
(Boyfriend and girlfriend five years after infidelity took place)
Boyfriend – ‘I hope nothing’s going on with you two.’ (refering to GirlF and some other boy)
Girlfriend – ‘Don’t worry, I’m not like you.’
Boyfriend- (saying anything that goes against the girlfriend)
Girlfriend – ‘But you’re the one who cheated five years ago.'
This is neither forgiving nor forgetting. Holding past infidelities the way you might ammunition isn’t a good idea. If you decide to put up, you should also learn to shut up. This is why, when faced with an adulterous lover, you need to think carefully before you let them back. Sometimes loneliness is far better than spiralling regret and misery.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Pc X
Oh, there really isn’t much sordid going on in my humble existence. This is due, in equal measures, to my being at ‘home’ over Easter and away from Pc X who was, over the weekend, in Paris.
Why Paris? Well, it was a Da Vinci Code trip. That’s correct, I am in anticipation for Pc X returning with the Holy Grail. And of course, there is hope that my personal ties to Jesus Christ are unveiled. I have, as yet, to badger Pc X into giving me the minutiae of his trip. Though, I’m sure Paris was thrilling, because, well it’s Paris.
I have been so horny over the past few days. Waking up with an erection. Always ridding myself of an erection before I fall asleep. The anticipation of Pc X seems to be working wonders (for Methinks this longing is what he probably wanted all along). I now believe the lust that forms a part of anticipation is the purest form. It grips you from inside and this, coupled with my overactive and fluid imagination has made me want it even more.
Prior to Paris however the conversations between Pc X and myself were flourishing. Dissecting his profession is always rather fun. Capital punishment and Police Powers were also highly debated areas of discussion. It’s nice to be able to fuck the mind and have it fucked, wouldn’t you agree? I get the impression Pc X is very good at his job. I also quite enjoy making poor jokes about him arresting and searching me. Any opportunity to flash his badge and I’ll be at him. Our conversations comprise a heavy dose of flirting, me taking the Michael out of his Estuary English (yea mate innit) and him calling me a geek and threatening to arrest me. Well, where would I be without hope.
Why Paris? Well, it was a Da Vinci Code trip. That’s correct, I am in anticipation for Pc X returning with the Holy Grail. And of course, there is hope that my personal ties to Jesus Christ are unveiled. I have, as yet, to badger Pc X into giving me the minutiae of his trip. Though, I’m sure Paris was thrilling, because, well it’s Paris.
I have been so horny over the past few days. Waking up with an erection. Always ridding myself of an erection before I fall asleep. The anticipation of Pc X seems to be working wonders (for Methinks this longing is what he probably wanted all along). I now believe the lust that forms a part of anticipation is the purest form. It grips you from inside and this, coupled with my overactive and fluid imagination has made me want it even more.
Prior to Paris however the conversations between Pc X and myself were flourishing. Dissecting his profession is always rather fun. Capital punishment and Police Powers were also highly debated areas of discussion. It’s nice to be able to fuck the mind and have it fucked, wouldn’t you agree? I get the impression Pc X is very good at his job. I also quite enjoy making poor jokes about him arresting and searching me. Any opportunity to flash his badge and I’ll be at him. Our conversations comprise a heavy dose of flirting, me taking the Michael out of his Estuary English (yea mate innit) and him calling me a geek and threatening to arrest me. Well, where would I be without hope.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
The tale
There was a time. A time when my sordid fantasies manifested themselves in various weird and wonderful ways. There was also a time when Desdemona and decided to write an erotic tale together. This is the beginning I wrote. I wonder if Desdemona has something to add a year down the line...
Ten years ago, Sister Beatrice, the nun whose convent I was raised in, took me aside after having caught me with my fingers dug deeply inside my panties, and told me that the pleasure I sought to consume was dirty, a sin, something that good little catholic girls would never do. More than her words, it was the look in her eyes that made me question whether in fact she right.
Despite this, I remember turning greedily, night after night, in my bed and gently invading the maze between my legs, pressing down firmly. I remember those moments fondly, I remember it feeling good, and for those few moments every night I was lost, and happily so.
As time moved on, I came to realise that what I felt wasn’t in fact strange or wrong as I had been led to believe, in fact, I came to learn that most of the girls in the convent had found a way of manifesting their desires. One girl would in fact find love in a priest and divulged the details of what went on beneath his robe as we lay in our dorms at night. At first I remember feeling shocked and repulsed. But really, there was no difference between Mary Jane and myself. We were both exploring our desire, doing what makes us happy. In fact I came to admire Mary Jane for grabbing her desire by the bollocks and allowing it to fill her to the brim with lust, quite literally.
It was perhaps this realisation that desire was in fact a desirable thing, these many years ago that led me to accept an invitation, ten years later, to a blind date whilst I was a student in London.
And it was this longing for excitement that kept my lips closed as my date, a handsome banker with the most addictive eyes I had ever seen, wrapped a silk scarf tightly around my eyes and led me into the back of his sleek black Lexus.
I have little idea why I obliged the way I did, but I did and my lips remained closed as he locked the door to his car. Nor did my lips open as he begun to drive the car, or as it slowly came to a halt twenty minutes later, or even as I stepped outside of the car, his firm hand pressed against the base of my spine. I could feel his breath wash against my ear as he told me we had ‘arrived’. That this, he hoped, would be a night to remember.
Slowly, he undid the blindfold and ran his finger over my eyelids until I had opened my eyes fully. I recall being surprised by what seemed an acre of moist green lawn which grew beneath my feet, the wet blades working their way between my exposed toes. I wondered how we had managed to get so far from central London in what seemed such a short space of time…
Only once I’d been standing for five minutes did I fully absorb that we were in fact at the foot of a mansion lit by a number of floodlights. Taking my hand, James guided me to the front door where he pressed a button on the intercom machine. There was a slight crackle at which he leaned forward and whispered the word ‘blackcurrant’. As soon as the word had escaped his lips the front door opened and we were welcomed into what was perhaps the most astonishing house I had ever seen. People were walking with their flutes filled with champagne in and around the various rooms, making their way up the vast spiral staircase. The butler came and took my coat and handing me a glass of champagne, left James and I to explore. It was only once we’d climbed the stairs to the first floor of this mansion that I begun to realise what this place was. At the time I had no idea, but that night would become a part of my life, and what a night it would turn out to be….
Ten years ago, Sister Beatrice, the nun whose convent I was raised in, took me aside after having caught me with my fingers dug deeply inside my panties, and told me that the pleasure I sought to consume was dirty, a sin, something that good little catholic girls would never do. More than her words, it was the look in her eyes that made me question whether in fact she right.
Despite this, I remember turning greedily, night after night, in my bed and gently invading the maze between my legs, pressing down firmly. I remember those moments fondly, I remember it feeling good, and for those few moments every night I was lost, and happily so.
As time moved on, I came to realise that what I felt wasn’t in fact strange or wrong as I had been led to believe, in fact, I came to learn that most of the girls in the convent had found a way of manifesting their desires. One girl would in fact find love in a priest and divulged the details of what went on beneath his robe as we lay in our dorms at night. At first I remember feeling shocked and repulsed. But really, there was no difference between Mary Jane and myself. We were both exploring our desire, doing what makes us happy. In fact I came to admire Mary Jane for grabbing her desire by the bollocks and allowing it to fill her to the brim with lust, quite literally.
It was perhaps this realisation that desire was in fact a desirable thing, these many years ago that led me to accept an invitation, ten years later, to a blind date whilst I was a student in London.
And it was this longing for excitement that kept my lips closed as my date, a handsome banker with the most addictive eyes I had ever seen, wrapped a silk scarf tightly around my eyes and led me into the back of his sleek black Lexus.
I have little idea why I obliged the way I did, but I did and my lips remained closed as he locked the door to his car. Nor did my lips open as he begun to drive the car, or as it slowly came to a halt twenty minutes later, or even as I stepped outside of the car, his firm hand pressed against the base of my spine. I could feel his breath wash against my ear as he told me we had ‘arrived’. That this, he hoped, would be a night to remember.
Slowly, he undid the blindfold and ran his finger over my eyelids until I had opened my eyes fully. I recall being surprised by what seemed an acre of moist green lawn which grew beneath my feet, the wet blades working their way between my exposed toes. I wondered how we had managed to get so far from central London in what seemed such a short space of time…
Only once I’d been standing for five minutes did I fully absorb that we were in fact at the foot of a mansion lit by a number of floodlights. Taking my hand, James guided me to the front door where he pressed a button on the intercom machine. There was a slight crackle at which he leaned forward and whispered the word ‘blackcurrant’. As soon as the word had escaped his lips the front door opened and we were welcomed into what was perhaps the most astonishing house I had ever seen. People were walking with their flutes filled with champagne in and around the various rooms, making their way up the vast spiral staircase. The butler came and took my coat and handing me a glass of champagne, left James and I to explore. It was only once we’d climbed the stairs to the first floor of this mansion that I begun to realise what this place was. At the time I had no idea, but that night would become a part of my life, and what a night it would turn out to be….
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
The Desdemona Dilemma
There are fewer things in life, let it be said, than good food and good conversation. The coupling of Desdemona and a highly individualistic Japanese restaurant provide ample support for this theory.
The Venue: Benihana restaurant in Piccadilly. Diners are seated in groups of 7 around a semi circular table, the middle of which is taken up by a grill. A chef then personally cooks an assortment of vegetables/fish/meat in front of you, culminating in a constant stream of eating. Small portions of food over a long period of time. 6 courses to be precise (excluding deserts). It wasn’t the cheapest meal despite a booking through top table. The money is essentially for some good healthy food and the experience of having a chef prepare it a metre away from your eyes. A personal chef, divided by seven if you will.
I hadn’t seen Desdemona in a long time and it was, as usual, a pleasure to meet with her. The thing is, and we both agreed on this matter, true friendship is the sort that can leave two friends as comfortable with each other two months after their previous meeting the same as had it been a day earlier. With true friends, it’s almost as though you were never apart.
And now for the sex…
‘We’ve only had sex five or six times in the past few months.’(Desdemona on the subject of her sex life once my sexual probing was in full swing)
For those of you familiar with Desdemona, this is indeed, for want of a better word, a shocker. For somebody whose sexual antics were and remain a great source of inspiration to me, to reveal something so, wrong, caught me completely off guard.
The problem, as far as I understand it, is that their sexual synchrony is completely conflicting. Hardly ever wanting it at the same time, coupled with complacency at being in a ‘secure’ relationship with a dash of the predictable thrown in for good measure. That Desdemona and Othello are on the verge of marriage is unsettling.
I don’t know whether it is me who is placing too much emphasis on sexual fulfilment, or whether, as Desdemona pointed out, sex isn’t really the be all and end all of a relationship. I know that we are very different in terms of our experience and that whereas I am greedy for kinky experimental sex, she has experienced rather a lot in terms of sexual gratification.
I think sex is important in any relationship and I think a life without it might be lacking in something quite fundamental. If the love is there and the intentions are there, is sex (or lack of exciting sex) enough to justify the end of a relationship? Why can’t we, at least when we’re young and excited, have it all? Is it really an impossible feat?
Issue No 1) She compares her present sex to that she was having with her ex, who was the best sex she’s ever had. Is this wrong? How does one put an end to the comparison?
Issue 2) Othello doesn’t seem interested in what turns her on, isn’t particularly good at sex (according to Desdemona) and she is faced with the decision between frequent sex of an average nature, or no sex at all.
Issue 3) the lack of pleasurable intercourse has meant that Desdemona has lost her libido.
I’m worried. Suggestions from you, dear readers, might be highly interesting in this matter.
How important is sex really, in the grand scheme of things. Can love and comfort compensate for an unfulfilling sex life. When your lover has the sexual potential ( as Othello does), is it right to be annoyed when he refuses to nurture this to your benefit?
The Venue: Benihana restaurant in Piccadilly. Diners are seated in groups of 7 around a semi circular table, the middle of which is taken up by a grill. A chef then personally cooks an assortment of vegetables/fish/meat in front of you, culminating in a constant stream of eating. Small portions of food over a long period of time. 6 courses to be precise (excluding deserts). It wasn’t the cheapest meal despite a booking through top table. The money is essentially for some good healthy food and the experience of having a chef prepare it a metre away from your eyes. A personal chef, divided by seven if you will.
I hadn’t seen Desdemona in a long time and it was, as usual, a pleasure to meet with her. The thing is, and we both agreed on this matter, true friendship is the sort that can leave two friends as comfortable with each other two months after their previous meeting the same as had it been a day earlier. With true friends, it’s almost as though you were never apart.
And now for the sex…
‘We’ve only had sex five or six times in the past few months.’(Desdemona on the subject of her sex life once my sexual probing was in full swing)
For those of you familiar with Desdemona, this is indeed, for want of a better word, a shocker. For somebody whose sexual antics were and remain a great source of inspiration to me, to reveal something so, wrong, caught me completely off guard.
The problem, as far as I understand it, is that their sexual synchrony is completely conflicting. Hardly ever wanting it at the same time, coupled with complacency at being in a ‘secure’ relationship with a dash of the predictable thrown in for good measure. That Desdemona and Othello are on the verge of marriage is unsettling.
I don’t know whether it is me who is placing too much emphasis on sexual fulfilment, or whether, as Desdemona pointed out, sex isn’t really the be all and end all of a relationship. I know that we are very different in terms of our experience and that whereas I am greedy for kinky experimental sex, she has experienced rather a lot in terms of sexual gratification.
I think sex is important in any relationship and I think a life without it might be lacking in something quite fundamental. If the love is there and the intentions are there, is sex (or lack of exciting sex) enough to justify the end of a relationship? Why can’t we, at least when we’re young and excited, have it all? Is it really an impossible feat?
Issue No 1) She compares her present sex to that she was having with her ex, who was the best sex she’s ever had. Is this wrong? How does one put an end to the comparison?
Issue 2) Othello doesn’t seem interested in what turns her on, isn’t particularly good at sex (according to Desdemona) and she is faced with the decision between frequent sex of an average nature, or no sex at all.
Issue 3) the lack of pleasurable intercourse has meant that Desdemona has lost her libido.
I’m worried. Suggestions from you, dear readers, might be highly interesting in this matter.
How important is sex really, in the grand scheme of things. Can love and comfort compensate for an unfulfilling sex life. When your lover has the sexual potential ( as Othello does), is it right to be annoyed when he refuses to nurture this to your benefit?
Tanya
First things first. Tanya, I miss you too. And the news of your engagement is wonderful. You’re still so very young though!
Ensure the following checklist is ticked won’t you?
1) Conversations can last for hours on end and cover a diverse range of topics.
2) Most important fetishes have been disclosed.
3) There are still parts of your being that you know he’ll never know.
4) He makes you the happiest.
If all four are ticked, you’re probably onto a winner I suspect.
As for the pic n mix, I’m glad to see you have remembered! Yes, think fruity flavours, unusual flavours and maybe a fizzy one or two. And for those of you who are wondering whether I’m referring to pic of mix sexual contraptions (which is quite understandable), I’m not. Think Woolworths. Think Haribo. Hong Kong is the best place for pic n mix. Delicious.
Also, I think this is a good time to introduce J into my seedy equations. J is a friend of mine who studies with me. So witty it puts me to shame. Currently with parents in Australia. Humping an ozzy bloke, or even better, a kangaroo, I hope. This might prove to be insightful blog fodder. I shall question him on his return, fear not.
Ensure the following checklist is ticked won’t you?
1) Conversations can last for hours on end and cover a diverse range of topics.
2) Most important fetishes have been disclosed.
3) There are still parts of your being that you know he’ll never know.
4) He makes you the happiest.
If all four are ticked, you’re probably onto a winner I suspect.
As for the pic n mix, I’m glad to see you have remembered! Yes, think fruity flavours, unusual flavours and maybe a fizzy one or two. And for those of you who are wondering whether I’m referring to pic of mix sexual contraptions (which is quite understandable), I’m not. Think Woolworths. Think Haribo. Hong Kong is the best place for pic n mix. Delicious.
Also, I think this is a good time to introduce J into my seedy equations. J is a friend of mine who studies with me. So witty it puts me to shame. Currently with parents in Australia. Humping an ozzy bloke, or even better, a kangaroo, I hope. This might prove to be insightful blog fodder. I shall question him on his return, fear not.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Factory Girl - The Movie
Was she really acting? Sienna Miller? In the film ‘Factory girl’?
A part of me wonders whether the English press (who are currently being very unfair to Miss Miller), are scuppering her chances of success too early on after the film’s release. I also wonder whether, if the press are to be believed, Sienna Miller is an out-and-out party girl who doesn’t actually do much work, is a bit naïve, and a bit famous? If so, her portrayal of Eddie Sedgwick seems a little too easy a part a play.
If she is different, a reputable actor who just happens to be funky and famous (as I expect), she plays this role, of an emotionally vulnerable fame hungry minor celebrity, exceedingly well. I don’t think she the most stunning actress to look at, although a host of people I know would heartedly disagree. I think she is unconventionally attractive, but nothing extraordinary and nothing to merit the pages and pages that fashion magazines seem to dedicate to her.
A part of me does imagine her life to be a somewhat watered down version of the part she was playing.
Without giving too much of the story away, this is a film that delves head first into the relationship between Eddie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol and (in part) Bob Dylon. How they find each other, are inspired by each other, choose between each other and ultimately betray each other. That the central point of this film is very much about Eddie’s slow crumble into the depths of drug addiction makes for interesting viewing.
And to be fair, and oppose those people who thought Andy Warhol was portrayed as a cold manipulator, I think he was played fantastically by Guy Pearce. I came away thinking he was a man so messed up yet so still, and thus very stagnant throughout the entire movie. The homosexual man builds a great friendship, only for the friend to be a female. Her sexual void is filled by another, hugely successful man, who he becomes jealous of. The control shown by Guy Pearce, in what was a very complex character, should earn him his fair share of roses.
The film was shot very well. The insular world of art, Warhol’s infamous factory, the funk-art movement and the almost carefree poise that so many artists possess was shown to perfection. And, not forgetting, the claustrophobia of it all.
I’d recommend this one to those of you who are interested in art. Who, given half the chance, would run up the social ladder and become the next IT girl or boy. For those of you who like a slice of funky reality. Creativity and ambition come at a price, let us not forget.
A part of me wonders whether the English press (who are currently being very unfair to Miss Miller), are scuppering her chances of success too early on after the film’s release. I also wonder whether, if the press are to be believed, Sienna Miller is an out-and-out party girl who doesn’t actually do much work, is a bit naïve, and a bit famous? If so, her portrayal of Eddie Sedgwick seems a little too easy a part a play.
If she is different, a reputable actor who just happens to be funky and famous (as I expect), she plays this role, of an emotionally vulnerable fame hungry minor celebrity, exceedingly well. I don’t think she the most stunning actress to look at, although a host of people I know would heartedly disagree. I think she is unconventionally attractive, but nothing extraordinary and nothing to merit the pages and pages that fashion magazines seem to dedicate to her.
A part of me does imagine her life to be a somewhat watered down version of the part she was playing.
Without giving too much of the story away, this is a film that delves head first into the relationship between Eddie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol and (in part) Bob Dylon. How they find each other, are inspired by each other, choose between each other and ultimately betray each other. That the central point of this film is very much about Eddie’s slow crumble into the depths of drug addiction makes for interesting viewing.
And to be fair, and oppose those people who thought Andy Warhol was portrayed as a cold manipulator, I think he was played fantastically by Guy Pearce. I came away thinking he was a man so messed up yet so still, and thus very stagnant throughout the entire movie. The homosexual man builds a great friendship, only for the friend to be a female. Her sexual void is filled by another, hugely successful man, who he becomes jealous of. The control shown by Guy Pearce, in what was a very complex character, should earn him his fair share of roses.
The film was shot very well. The insular world of art, Warhol’s infamous factory, the funk-art movement and the almost carefree poise that so many artists possess was shown to perfection. And, not forgetting, the claustrophobia of it all.
I’d recommend this one to those of you who are interested in art. Who, given half the chance, would run up the social ladder and become the next IT girl or boy. For those of you who like a slice of funky reality. Creativity and ambition come at a price, let us not forget.
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