It’s been AGES, I know.
Fear not, not dead yet, still living and still fucking.
Ah, but so much has happened…and how are you? Still with that twatish boyfriend?
So…
In the time since we last properly spoke, I have had more threesomes than hot dinners, licked about four arseholes, bought some Vivienne Westwood boots and been to a Punjabi wedding (important though somewhat entirely unconnected).
The Dame (yes, she of eternal grace and beauty) insisted that I write again. The intention always was to, mind. And now I have.
About to move out of my current boudoir and into another which homes a cat.
And then there’s all that ‘culcha’; Rohinton Mistry, Tobias Woolf, ‘Her Naked Skin’ at the National, you know the sort. Things are going well.
Oh yes, and there have been two trips:
1) Prague – went with a homosexual and had lots of homosexual experiences. The thing about Prague is that the scene is slightly underground and there are ‘male only’ zones in the gay clubs. Of course I shall be championing the Freedom of Movement and insisting that Britain adopt a similar approach. Heaven and The Shadow Lounge simply aren’t cool enough
2) Vancouver – Bang in the centre of Homosexual street, however, this time travelling with my mother. Scenic, but mellow, if you see what I’m saying. Having said this, the saunas there are dead posh; carpeted floors and everything.
Oh! And Katerina has a new fella (think educated incense sticks), out with the old in with the new.
Othello and Desdemona have separated. Sigh.
The Dame is still with the Actress.
Arthur is still, well Arthur.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Council House and Violent
Went to University last week and met my super-talented friends, one of whom is a young, married (!) American poet.
‘Tell me’ he said, in his southern Oklahoma accent, ‘ I want to know about those people who wear Burberry’.
‘Oh, you mean chavs?’
‘Yes, I wanna know about chavs’.
‘What about them?’
‘Well what are they?’
‘I think one might describe them as poor, often Caucasian people who want to be rich black American rappers. It’s about ambition I suppose.’
‘And how do they interact with the folks in high society?’ he persisted.
‘Well, we avoid each other, innit?’
‘Tell me’ he said, in his southern Oklahoma accent, ‘ I want to know about those people who wear Burberry’.
‘Oh, you mean chavs?’
‘Yes, I wanna know about chavs’.
‘What about them?’
‘Well what are they?’
‘I think one might describe them as poor, often Caucasian people who want to be rich black American rappers. It’s about ambition I suppose.’
‘And how do they interact with the folks in high society?’ he persisted.
‘Well, we avoid each other, innit?’
Work
Six weeks into her ‘relationship’ with a man, Ms BoHo (friend and Patron Saint of Bohemians) declared
‘I don’t think my lover loves me any more’.
‘Why not? ‘ I asked, as I was supposed to.’
‘Well, I know I saw him only last night, but I’m abroad this weekend and then he’s abroad the week after and It’ll be quite a while before we see each other. He’s a boy and this probably won’t even occur to him, I know, i just wish he thought about these things more'.
‘Yes, he’s a 33 year old boy and that thought probably didn’t occur to him.’
‘I just wish he was more eager to see me. I know he likes me, but I wonder if it’s just at the right level’.
‘It’s been six weeks ducky, in normal circumstances, you’d have met twice and slept together once. Give him a break and stop being a bunny boiler’.
‘But I just want to eat him up’.
‘Oh’.
She laughed.
But seriously, how long must one wait before they can reasonably expect declarations of love from their lover? My personal view is at least one year. After all, it takes that much time to flirt, dance, shag, meet the family and go shopping for domestic products.
So…
On one side of my office we have Ms BoHo and on the other Miss e-Numbers.
One is greedy for attention and the other is asexual, used to propose to her Boyf twice a month and would never eat yogurt which wasn’t pro-biotic.
‘I think I’m in love with my BoyF again’ said Miss e-Numbers over lunch the other week. She’d been having problems.
When I say problems, I mean that when her BoyF went on holiday she came out drinking with us and realised that actually she didn’t really miss him as much as she should.
When compared to the plight of the African Elephant and world poverty, however, the girl’s realisation that perhaps she too could be independent seemed to somewhat pale in significance.
‘I don’t think my lover loves me any more’.
‘Why not? ‘ I asked, as I was supposed to.’
‘Well, I know I saw him only last night, but I’m abroad this weekend and then he’s abroad the week after and It’ll be quite a while before we see each other. He’s a boy and this probably won’t even occur to him, I know, i just wish he thought about these things more'.
‘Yes, he’s a 33 year old boy and that thought probably didn’t occur to him.’
‘I just wish he was more eager to see me. I know he likes me, but I wonder if it’s just at the right level’.
‘It’s been six weeks ducky, in normal circumstances, you’d have met twice and slept together once. Give him a break and stop being a bunny boiler’.
‘But I just want to eat him up’.
‘Oh’.
She laughed.
But seriously, how long must one wait before they can reasonably expect declarations of love from their lover? My personal view is at least one year. After all, it takes that much time to flirt, dance, shag, meet the family and go shopping for domestic products.
So…
On one side of my office we have Ms BoHo and on the other Miss e-Numbers.
One is greedy for attention and the other is asexual, used to propose to her Boyf twice a month and would never eat yogurt which wasn’t pro-biotic.
‘I think I’m in love with my BoyF again’ said Miss e-Numbers over lunch the other week. She’d been having problems.
When I say problems, I mean that when her BoyF went on holiday she came out drinking with us and realised that actually she didn’t really miss him as much as she should.
When compared to the plight of the African Elephant and world poverty, however, the girl’s realisation that perhaps she too could be independent seemed to somewhat pale in significance.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Miss e-numbers - ingredients for a healthy relationship
Miss e-numbers and I went for lunch the other day. On the table was discussion as to why she felt it necessary to wear her BoyF down with fortnightly marriage proposals. Now, having some experience of the perpetual bunny boiler, what she had to say didn’t impress me at all.
‘The thing is, I’ve been trying for a long time to get him to marry me. And before, it seemed he wouldn’t, but I think now that he might. I just need to wear him down until he says yes, get him drunk or something.’
‘Fabulous darling, I doubt anybody’s ever tried that one before’, I offered.
She began to laugh. It has sort of become an in joke at the office.
‘Oh, how was your evening?’ They all ask.
‘Oh, you know, had dinner, asked the boy to marry me, again.’
I dare say, the reality for the poor BoyF, living under the constant gaze of an e-number loathing bunny boiling sweet lass must be excruciatingly painful. But she doesn’t deter, this one. At least, not until yesterday.
‘Two weeks ago, the BoyF went away and I was moody that he hadn’t invited me. That Friday we all went for drinks after work, do you remember?’
Of course I remembered that Friday post-work binge where everybody thought it was funny to put flowers in their hair and take photos of us looking, er, Hawaiian. Of course I remember drinking three slippery nipples which were served to us in flute –like glasses, ever-so-pretty. Of course I remember that the night had ended with an overly serious conversation about the merits of performing oral sex on menstrual women. Of course I remember these things.
So, Miss e-numbers had great fun that night and began to realise just how much fun she used to have when she was single. So much fun that the following Monday she asked me to go for drinks again and then again on the Friday. But I was flu-ridden and told her to bugger off.
So, now Miss e-numbers isn’t sure whether she wants to pursue the relationship but feels that a lacking sex drive (the primary factor) is not reason enough to end a relationship. Thank goodness he hasn’t accepted her proposals yet.
‘I just don’t ever think about or want sex regularly. But there are other things which I’m very happy about in our relationship, and he seems to desire me constantly’.
Again, we’ve reached that age of dilemma. How much longer before the sex fizzles out completely.
Even asexual people eventually succumb to lust, it’s my modest opinion. Even they want to stick it in and have somebody moan in response. They just don’t know it yet, that’s all.
A positive to emerge from this deliberation is, however, that we’ve avoided talk of artificial colours and preservatives. And instead, we have lessons on how to wear down men enough for them to accept a marriage proposal, regardless of when they want to. If she wasn’t such a bunny boiler, I think I’d say Miss e-numbers has certain spunk.
‘The thing is, I’ve been trying for a long time to get him to marry me. And before, it seemed he wouldn’t, but I think now that he might. I just need to wear him down until he says yes, get him drunk or something.’
‘Fabulous darling, I doubt anybody’s ever tried that one before’, I offered.
She began to laugh. It has sort of become an in joke at the office.
‘Oh, how was your evening?’ They all ask.
‘Oh, you know, had dinner, asked the boy to marry me, again.’
I dare say, the reality for the poor BoyF, living under the constant gaze of an e-number loathing bunny boiling sweet lass must be excruciatingly painful. But she doesn’t deter, this one. At least, not until yesterday.
‘Two weeks ago, the BoyF went away and I was moody that he hadn’t invited me. That Friday we all went for drinks after work, do you remember?’
Of course I remembered that Friday post-work binge where everybody thought it was funny to put flowers in their hair and take photos of us looking, er, Hawaiian. Of course I remember drinking three slippery nipples which were served to us in flute –like glasses, ever-so-pretty. Of course I remember that the night had ended with an overly serious conversation about the merits of performing oral sex on menstrual women. Of course I remember these things.
So, Miss e-numbers had great fun that night and began to realise just how much fun she used to have when she was single. So much fun that the following Monday she asked me to go for drinks again and then again on the Friday. But I was flu-ridden and told her to bugger off.
So, now Miss e-numbers isn’t sure whether she wants to pursue the relationship but feels that a lacking sex drive (the primary factor) is not reason enough to end a relationship. Thank goodness he hasn’t accepted her proposals yet.
‘I just don’t ever think about or want sex regularly. But there are other things which I’m very happy about in our relationship, and he seems to desire me constantly’.
Again, we’ve reached that age of dilemma. How much longer before the sex fizzles out completely.
Even asexual people eventually succumb to lust, it’s my modest opinion. Even they want to stick it in and have somebody moan in response. They just don’t know it yet, that’s all.
A positive to emerge from this deliberation is, however, that we’ve avoided talk of artificial colours and preservatives. And instead, we have lessons on how to wear down men enough for them to accept a marriage proposal, regardless of when they want to. If she wasn’t such a bunny boiler, I think I’d say Miss e-numbers has certain spunk.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Slag Meetings
There have been two Slag Meetings over the past two months. I should have written about this earlier, granted, but things are better late than never, are they not?
1) Slag Meeting held on 6 February – those in attendance Ophelia, Katerina, Adriana, The Dame and yours truly
We discussed, among other things, the importance of hiding the evidence which accumulates once somebody begins to cheat. One must keep a tab on text messages, voicemails, dirty knickers and the like, and stay one step ahead of the game. The clever whore knows how to cheat and also how to win without anybody ever knowing any better. Katerina appears to be perfecting this art more and more. Her ride on the dual carriageway has been on going for three months now and still neither The Boy nor The Dude appears to know any better. Throw into this another man who is lusting after Katerina and sends her photos of his erect penis over this phone, things become all the more complicated. As The Boy prepared to take Katerina for a drive the other night, she stood in the kitchen deleting as many of these messages as possible.
We talked a little about The Dame’s almost flourishing love life. The Dame who was at the end of her tether had finally met somebody who she thought might be what she was looking for. If I remember correctly, however, they hadn’t yet slept together. They were still at the ‘watching DVDs’ phase.
Details of the second and most recent slag meeting to follow…
1) Slag Meeting held on 6 February – those in attendance Ophelia, Katerina, Adriana, The Dame and yours truly
We discussed, among other things, the importance of hiding the evidence which accumulates once somebody begins to cheat. One must keep a tab on text messages, voicemails, dirty knickers and the like, and stay one step ahead of the game. The clever whore knows how to cheat and also how to win without anybody ever knowing any better. Katerina appears to be perfecting this art more and more. Her ride on the dual carriageway has been on going for three months now and still neither The Boy nor The Dude appears to know any better. Throw into this another man who is lusting after Katerina and sends her photos of his erect penis over this phone, things become all the more complicated. As The Boy prepared to take Katerina for a drive the other night, she stood in the kitchen deleting as many of these messages as possible.
We talked a little about The Dame’s almost flourishing love life. The Dame who was at the end of her tether had finally met somebody who she thought might be what she was looking for. If I remember correctly, however, they hadn’t yet slept together. They were still at the ‘watching DVDs’ phase.
Details of the second and most recent slag meeting to follow…
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Bollywood Nights
There's nothing I hate more than somebody who believes being a good Christian entails sucking and wanking and everything else except putting it directly in the hole. It makes me livid. After all, I'm sure Jesus wouldn't mind that somebody had their gob over your cock, so long as the vagina never really got close. Forfucksakes.
This brings me to yesterday when I hosted a Bollywood Party at my house. I say party when in fact it was only I, Belle de Bengal and Norah Rockers. Being the good Indian boy I am, I got up early and spent three hours in the kitchen making an assortment of Indian delicacies. And once they'd arrived, we watched a string of Indian films and drank cheap topical juice. Indian.
Belle de Bengal is currently 'seeing a boy'. By 'seeing', she means they sleep in the same bed once in a while, have oral sex and decide that full blown sex is something they really shouldn't do. Actually, this is him, all him. She wants to fuck him, but he won't.
'I'm going to break up with him' she declared.
'Hang on, I didn't even think you were going out?'
'Well, we're not'.
'So, what's there to break?'
'Oh, it's complicated. I don't want to stay with him when he's not giving me sex and I'm looking for it elsewhere'.
'So, what's there to break?'
I just don't get it. I mean, the whole point of 'seeing somebody' was that the element of exclusivity so important for so many people was removed from the equation.
If you ask me, she's doesn't owe anybody anything. A long term future is also far out of the equation. All in all, Belle de Bengal doesn't have much hope with this man, but if she wants to dump him, who am I to intervene. The voice of reason?
That said, our feast of Yash Chopra, Vishal Bharadwaj and Mira Nair films was wonderful. And the food, delightful. Even though I do say so myself.
This brings me to yesterday when I hosted a Bollywood Party at my house. I say party when in fact it was only I, Belle de Bengal and Norah Rockers. Being the good Indian boy I am, I got up early and spent three hours in the kitchen making an assortment of Indian delicacies. And once they'd arrived, we watched a string of Indian films and drank cheap topical juice. Indian.
Belle de Bengal is currently 'seeing a boy'. By 'seeing', she means they sleep in the same bed once in a while, have oral sex and decide that full blown sex is something they really shouldn't do. Actually, this is him, all him. She wants to fuck him, but he won't.
'I'm going to break up with him' she declared.
'Hang on, I didn't even think you were going out?'
'Well, we're not'.
'So, what's there to break?'
'Oh, it's complicated. I don't want to stay with him when he's not giving me sex and I'm looking for it elsewhere'.
'So, what's there to break?'
I just don't get it. I mean, the whole point of 'seeing somebody' was that the element of exclusivity so important for so many people was removed from the equation.
If you ask me, she's doesn't owe anybody anything. A long term future is also far out of the equation. All in all, Belle de Bengal doesn't have much hope with this man, but if she wants to dump him, who am I to intervene. The voice of reason?
That said, our feast of Yash Chopra, Vishal Bharadwaj and Mira Nair films was wonderful. And the food, delightful. Even though I do say so myself.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Mechanical Sex
A friend of mine was telling me the other night about an 'arrangement' he has with a Phillapino guy he met over the Internet.
'I haven't even got his number. He calls me on a withheld number, we arrange to meet and we fuck for a few hours before I come home' he explained.
'Lovely' I said.
'And he's married. And he's got a child', as you can imagine, the conversation got all the more interesting.
'So where do you hide the wife while you fuck?' I asked.
'oh she's a nurse, work's nights' he replied.
'Well, what about his child'.
'Whenever we meet, the child is asleep in the room next door'.
'Splendid'.
'And is he hot'?
'Not overly. I think it's just the convenience of it all. I like his voice and he likes my body. It works well for us.'
'And you don't feel guilty? I asked'
'Nope, not at all. The blame shifts to him, I'm doing nothing wrong'.
And at the end of this conversation I felt like I'd just been told the details of an arrangement which to my mind, was perfect. Enough lust, enough danger, enough attraction (although this could be better).
'Onwards and upwards old boy', I told him. Although, there was a part of me wondering whether the man's wife ever suspected anything? Or whether, like Katerina, Arthur and myself, he was a perfect liar.
Either way, this is something I want. I've decided.
'I haven't even got his number. He calls me on a withheld number, we arrange to meet and we fuck for a few hours before I come home' he explained.
'Lovely' I said.
'And he's married. And he's got a child', as you can imagine, the conversation got all the more interesting.
'So where do you hide the wife while you fuck?' I asked.
'oh she's a nurse, work's nights' he replied.
'Well, what about his child'.
'Whenever we meet, the child is asleep in the room next door'.
'Splendid'.
'And is he hot'?
'Not overly. I think it's just the convenience of it all. I like his voice and he likes my body. It works well for us.'
'And you don't feel guilty? I asked'
'Nope, not at all. The blame shifts to him, I'm doing nothing wrong'.
And at the end of this conversation I felt like I'd just been told the details of an arrangement which to my mind, was perfect. Enough lust, enough danger, enough attraction (although this could be better).
'Onwards and upwards old boy', I told him. Although, there was a part of me wondering whether the man's wife ever suspected anything? Or whether, like Katerina, Arthur and myself, he was a perfect liar.
Either way, this is something I want. I've decided.
Flamenco
Alright, you’ve missed it now, but in order for me to show you where I, in my capacity as one of London’s major Culture Vultures, went last Thursday evening, you’ll have to click here.
That’s correct, I went to the Flamenco Festival at Sadlers Wells. It was awesome. Rivetting! Cheapo tickets, as I’m still officially a student, and company in the form of a Nepalese beauty with whom I used to work a while ago.
And if we were to rewind, I’d tell you that we met an hour early, had dinner at the Breakfast club in Angel whilst playing a game of scrabble – that’s correct, we played a board game and ate food in a quirky boho restaurant before we went for the show.
Let’s for a moment forget that language wasn’t an issue. I can’t speak Spanish but I know good music and flexible clapper bodies when I see them. Equally, I know that, from the looks of things, there was a narrative to the dance pieces which completely passed me by. And despite this, I’m telling you it was great. And let me not forget the amount of Spaniards in the audience shouting ‘Ole!’ I suppose that’s the Spanish equivalent of Bravo!, or Wah!.
And it finished at 9pm. Early. In time for drinks here.
The Dollar bar on Exmouth Market serves what are, in my opinion, quirky cocktails which, for the most part I haven’t seen anywhere else.
So…
A Pornstar martini, a pomegranate and lemongrass mojito and a cucumber and rosewater martini later, I was full. Full enough to talk freely. You may laugh, but even I require some sort of verbal lubricant at times. The drinks were delicious.
Alright, alright, I’m a posh, cultured, snob. Deal with it.
Let me tell you something. If I had enough money, I’d fulfil that dream of being a bohemian. I’d do arty farty things all day.
Who wants to work?
That’s correct, I went to the Flamenco Festival at Sadlers Wells. It was awesome. Rivetting! Cheapo tickets, as I’m still officially a student, and company in the form of a Nepalese beauty with whom I used to work a while ago.
And if we were to rewind, I’d tell you that we met an hour early, had dinner at the Breakfast club in Angel whilst playing a game of scrabble – that’s correct, we played a board game and ate food in a quirky boho restaurant before we went for the show.
Let’s for a moment forget that language wasn’t an issue. I can’t speak Spanish but I know good music and flexible clapper bodies when I see them. Equally, I know that, from the looks of things, there was a narrative to the dance pieces which completely passed me by. And despite this, I’m telling you it was great. And let me not forget the amount of Spaniards in the audience shouting ‘Ole!’ I suppose that’s the Spanish equivalent of Bravo!, or Wah!.
And it finished at 9pm. Early. In time for drinks here.
The Dollar bar on Exmouth Market serves what are, in my opinion, quirky cocktails which, for the most part I haven’t seen anywhere else.
So…
A Pornstar martini, a pomegranate and lemongrass mojito and a cucumber and rosewater martini later, I was full. Full enough to talk freely. You may laugh, but even I require some sort of verbal lubricant at times. The drinks were delicious.
Alright, alright, I’m a posh, cultured, snob. Deal with it.
Let me tell you something. If I had enough money, I’d fulfil that dream of being a bohemian. I’d do arty farty things all day.
Who wants to work?
Monday, March 03, 2008
Dinner parties
Aliena's cousin invited me to her flat a few weeks ago where we indulged in a semi-boofay and conversation ranging from Aliena's inability to speak her mother tongue to a more heated debate concerning Katerina's moral castle of relationship(s). And yes, it all was a larf.
So much so that this weekend just gone, I decided to invite them all to my house. Seven of us, four from Leicester, three from South London. People in finance, chartered surveyors, Maths Teachers, Lawyers and the like.
And for the menu:
To Start
Indian Fishcakes
Chilli Paneer
Mains
Chicken Biriyani
Desert (ala Katerina)
Amaretto Parfait with blueberry sauce
Well it was lush. LUSH.
And we drunk, and discussed bunions.
'Does anybody else have bunions?' asked Aliena, drawing everybody's attention to her stockinged leg.
'Oh, actually I think I have got one. i never used to, show me yours.'
'Is it hereditary? i think it is.' she concluded
'Well, i think it is'.
'And is it flesh or bone?'
That was it. The exact point at which i knew the evening was in fear of turning into a disaster.
'Er, can we stop talking about Bunions at MY dinner party?' I commanded. Of course it was met with giggling girls, but i was serious.
And then, being the host I am, i wanted to feed my friends warm food and spent a part of the evening slaving over the stove, only to return now and then to fill my glass. And when i did, much to my horror, talk of bunions was still rife.
It's not so much medical discussion I'm opposed to know. Knowledge is infinite after all.
But talking about crusty feet as the food is being prepared is difficult to swallow. Pun most certainly intended.
Things did improve however and soon we were eating, chatting about un-bunion related matters and playing games until 3 in the morning.
you know the game - where you stick a post it note on your head (or chin) that displays the name of a person, any person, and then we go around the group and everybody asks a question aimed at correctly guessing who it is who's stuck on your head. Of course, we ended up with two Dame Edna's and two Margaret Thatchers.not that I'm complaining.
All in all a great evening. That's the thing about being a Londoner, friends are so easy to find - dinner parties easy to host - fun easy to have. And thank the lord for dishwashers.
p.s. for those of you keen on chocolate see here for four delightful recipes
So much so that this weekend just gone, I decided to invite them all to my house. Seven of us, four from Leicester, three from South London. People in finance, chartered surveyors, Maths Teachers, Lawyers and the like.
And for the menu:
To Start
Indian Fishcakes
Chilli Paneer
Mains
Chicken Biriyani
Desert (ala Katerina)
Amaretto Parfait with blueberry sauce
Well it was lush. LUSH.
And we drunk, and discussed bunions.
'Does anybody else have bunions?' asked Aliena, drawing everybody's attention to her stockinged leg.
'Oh, actually I think I have got one. i never used to, show me yours.'
'Is it hereditary? i think it is.' she concluded
'Well, i think it is'.
'And is it flesh or bone?'
That was it. The exact point at which i knew the evening was in fear of turning into a disaster.
'Er, can we stop talking about Bunions at MY dinner party?' I commanded. Of course it was met with giggling girls, but i was serious.
And then, being the host I am, i wanted to feed my friends warm food and spent a part of the evening slaving over the stove, only to return now and then to fill my glass. And when i did, much to my horror, talk of bunions was still rife.
It's not so much medical discussion I'm opposed to know. Knowledge is infinite after all.
But talking about crusty feet as the food is being prepared is difficult to swallow. Pun most certainly intended.
Things did improve however and soon we were eating, chatting about un-bunion related matters and playing games until 3 in the morning.
you know the game - where you stick a post it note on your head (or chin) that displays the name of a person, any person, and then we go around the group and everybody asks a question aimed at correctly guessing who it is who's stuck on your head. Of course, we ended up with two Dame Edna's and two Margaret Thatchers.not that I'm complaining.
All in all a great evening. That's the thing about being a Londoner, friends are so easy to find - dinner parties easy to host - fun easy to have. And thank the lord for dishwashers.
p.s. for those of you keen on chocolate see here for four delightful recipes
Thursday, February 28, 2008
The Dude
Finally met The Dude a week ago when Katerina thought fit to bring him home. A nice chap, odd shoes but a nice chap we agreed. And very tactile I noted.
His hands were forever on Katerina, stroking her hair, massaging her back. Dainty.
He seemed clever, easy going and was great looking. Now that she has given herself a choice, it would make sense to set up a spread sheet and compare The Boy and The Dude in terms of their virtues and faults.
Having said this My Excel skills are fairly limited so perhaps I should leave this to Katerina herself for she is an Excel professional.
During the course of the evening I mentioned something about the attraction Katerina gains from an ocean of men every time she ventures out. The Dude asked whether he should be worried in this respect.
Needless to say, my lips were sealed.
Although, i now get the distinct impression that he is single. And that the text messages will slowly increase until he's a fully fledged boyfriend. And that's when Katerina's true test will begin dare i say it.
His hands were forever on Katerina, stroking her hair, massaging her back. Dainty.
He seemed clever, easy going and was great looking. Now that she has given herself a choice, it would make sense to set up a spread sheet and compare The Boy and The Dude in terms of their virtues and faults.
Having said this My Excel skills are fairly limited so perhaps I should leave this to Katerina herself for she is an Excel professional.
During the course of the evening I mentioned something about the attraction Katerina gains from an ocean of men every time she ventures out. The Dude asked whether he should be worried in this respect.
Needless to say, my lips were sealed.
Although, i now get the distinct impression that he is single. And that the text messages will slowly increase until he's a fully fledged boyfriend. And that's when Katerina's true test will begin dare i say it.
THe Dame
Alas The Dame has taken the plunge! Alas The Dame has bitten the bullet! Alas The Dame has had a fanny fiddle! Alas!
If I were able to decorate this entry with e-tinsel and e-glitter I would.
Three days ago it happened. An internet date.
‘We’d been talking for ages and had a date arranged. One night we were speaking and I said I couldn’t wait until Tuesday to see, let’s meet up now. She felt the exact same thing, she said. I drove down to London that night and we got along well enough to spend the entire evening and indeed most part of the early morning making out on her bed’.
‘Did you have a proper fiddle?’ I asked, barely unable to control my excitement.
‘No’.
Mind you, an oven that hasn’t been utilised for half a decade is most certainly going to require pre heating before you can pull out a fluffy soufflé. And with this thought I was satisfied. The Dame had made efforts, and been successful in meeting a girl she liked who liked her in return. She was happy and so was I.
If I hadn’t been so caught up in her tale, I’d have asked for a formal written report, goodness knows her jobs has provided her enough skills to do this with.
And it came as little surprise, though enough to produce an inner scream, when The Dame text me whilst I was on the train, saying:
‘Ok. So I spent all night last night having hot sex. U should be proud of me.’
Of course I was proud of her. Although we all knew this was well overdue.
A toast on this auspicious occasion. Long live The Dame!
If I were able to decorate this entry with e-tinsel and e-glitter I would.
Three days ago it happened. An internet date.
‘We’d been talking for ages and had a date arranged. One night we were speaking and I said I couldn’t wait until Tuesday to see, let’s meet up now. She felt the exact same thing, she said. I drove down to London that night and we got along well enough to spend the entire evening and indeed most part of the early morning making out on her bed’.
‘Did you have a proper fiddle?’ I asked, barely unable to control my excitement.
‘No’.
Mind you, an oven that hasn’t been utilised for half a decade is most certainly going to require pre heating before you can pull out a fluffy soufflé. And with this thought I was satisfied. The Dame had made efforts, and been successful in meeting a girl she liked who liked her in return. She was happy and so was I.
If I hadn’t been so caught up in her tale, I’d have asked for a formal written report, goodness knows her jobs has provided her enough skills to do this with.
And it came as little surprise, though enough to produce an inner scream, when The Dame text me whilst I was on the train, saying:
‘Ok. So I spent all night last night having hot sex. U should be proud of me.’
Of course I was proud of her. Although we all knew this was well overdue.
A toast on this auspicious occasion. Long live The Dame!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Colleagues
A change of job equals a change of people. Let me introduce you to some of my work colleagues:
'Miss e-numbers' - in the queue at the work canteen we passed the mushy peas, as you do. 'What do you thinks in those peas that make them so green?' she asked.
'Hmm, crushed emeralds?' i volunteered. She wasn't impressed.
'Peas aren't usually so green' she persisted ' they're probably full of additives and preservatives.
'Probably, shall we just get some anyways? i suggested and helped myself to a big dollop, seen as it was Fish n Chip Friday and everything.
She must be a careful eater I concluded. Good for her. Goodness knows too many people eat too much shit these days, most without even realising it.
And on the second date she took my bag of Percy pigs and began to read the ingredients.
'Well the flavourings aren't artificial which is good but there are still e numbers which are bad for you' she said.
'Are there?' i said, noticing that my pace was quickening as i ate them growing more and more fearful that she was going to chuck them in the dustbin.
On day three we had training. Training with bottles of sparkling and still water placed neatly on the desks.
'Is fizzy water bad for you?' she asked. 'How do they put the air in the water?'
'Do i look like Delia? I asked. A wasted joke considering she's a Kiwi.
And if i recall correctly, that entire lunch time was spent discussing what sort of air was used to make carbonated water. None of us were quite sure and to my surprise, far too many people were bothered about this issue.
And then yesterday she told me that i was far better off drinking full fat fizzy drinks. Diet drinks (which I happen to loathe), she said, were full of crap, just full of it.
'Well, they're too sweet for me' i said, trying to form an opinion.
Of course E numbers are horrid things. Of course we'd all love to buy pots of fruit and organic yogurt with our money.
Can't we simply eat it instead of talking about it? It would seem the answer is no.
My Percy Pigs are now forever hidden in my bag.
Other than that, she's adorable - this Kiwi of mine.
And then there are the fully fledged Australians with whom I work.
'Tell me something,' I said to one of the Ozzy's sitting opposite me, 'why don't Australians say strewth sheila more often'.
Now, every time he sees me he says ' Strewth, what are those Sheilas up to?'
And each time it makes me happy. Strewth it's great!
'Miss e-numbers' - in the queue at the work canteen we passed the mushy peas, as you do. 'What do you thinks in those peas that make them so green?' she asked.
'Hmm, crushed emeralds?' i volunteered. She wasn't impressed.
'Peas aren't usually so green' she persisted ' they're probably full of additives and preservatives.
'Probably, shall we just get some anyways? i suggested and helped myself to a big dollop, seen as it was Fish n Chip Friday and everything.
She must be a careful eater I concluded. Good for her. Goodness knows too many people eat too much shit these days, most without even realising it.
And on the second date she took my bag of Percy pigs and began to read the ingredients.
'Well the flavourings aren't artificial which is good but there are still e numbers which are bad for you' she said.
'Are there?' i said, noticing that my pace was quickening as i ate them growing more and more fearful that she was going to chuck them in the dustbin.
On day three we had training. Training with bottles of sparkling and still water placed neatly on the desks.
'Is fizzy water bad for you?' she asked. 'How do they put the air in the water?'
'Do i look like Delia? I asked. A wasted joke considering she's a Kiwi.
And if i recall correctly, that entire lunch time was spent discussing what sort of air was used to make carbonated water. None of us were quite sure and to my surprise, far too many people were bothered about this issue.
And then yesterday she told me that i was far better off drinking full fat fizzy drinks. Diet drinks (which I happen to loathe), she said, were full of crap, just full of it.
'Well, they're too sweet for me' i said, trying to form an opinion.
Of course E numbers are horrid things. Of course we'd all love to buy pots of fruit and organic yogurt with our money.
Can't we simply eat it instead of talking about it? It would seem the answer is no.
My Percy Pigs are now forever hidden in my bag.
Other than that, she's adorable - this Kiwi of mine.
And then there are the fully fledged Australians with whom I work.
'Tell me something,' I said to one of the Ozzy's sitting opposite me, 'why don't Australians say strewth sheila more often'.
Now, every time he sees me he says ' Strewth, what are those Sheilas up to?'
And each time it makes me happy. Strewth it's great!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Food and Politics
You want me to what? Talk about Delia? Oh, alright then.
The Queen of cookery, she who taught us how to boil an egg, is now insisting that some eggs should be reared in battery farms so that poor people can eat them.
And this week there has been an awful lot said about battery farms and their neccesity compared with the distress they cause to millions of chickens.
All said and doen, however, it's the mothers I feel sorry for.
The mothers of young children who not only have to worry about whether their children will grow to be intelligent, good looking, wise and intellectual; but also whether that dress will make them look fat so that their husbands' eyes never venture beyond the waist; or whether the bath is running for the children, or whether they have enough time to make dinner and fit that yoga class in before the children come back from school. Yes, now these women have one more thing to worry about. Whether that chicken they picked up at the supermarket is actually cornfed.
Battery farms and wrong and miserable chickens don't taste nice - fact. Organic food is expensive and therefore only a realistic option for the middle class or highly ambitious working class - fact.
Food should be about food and not about politics - fact
I'll never dislike Delia because she taught me how to make super roast potatoes - fact.
The Queen of cookery, she who taught us how to boil an egg, is now insisting that some eggs should be reared in battery farms so that poor people can eat them.
And this week there has been an awful lot said about battery farms and their neccesity compared with the distress they cause to millions of chickens.
All said and doen, however, it's the mothers I feel sorry for.
The mothers of young children who not only have to worry about whether their children will grow to be intelligent, good looking, wise and intellectual; but also whether that dress will make them look fat so that their husbands' eyes never venture beyond the waist; or whether the bath is running for the children, or whether they have enough time to make dinner and fit that yoga class in before the children come back from school. Yes, now these women have one more thing to worry about. Whether that chicken they picked up at the supermarket is actually cornfed.
Battery farms and wrong and miserable chickens don't taste nice - fact. Organic food is expensive and therefore only a realistic option for the middle class or highly ambitious working class - fact.
Food should be about food and not about politics - fact
I'll never dislike Delia because she taught me how to make super roast potatoes - fact.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Wedding gifts
Had dinner with Cordelia last night.
She and her BoyF have been threatening marriage for a long time, much to my horror.
During our meal, she told me something her BoyF had told her previously.
'When we get married, instead of accepting gifts, let's ask people for money which we will send to Africa where they can build a well' he said.
I couldn't control myself any longer. And neither could she.
'But I want a fridge and kettle', she declared.
Too bloody right. I'm all for charity, but wedding's are selfish. Fact. Deal. With. It. Well in Africa my arse.
She and her BoyF have been threatening marriage for a long time, much to my horror.
During our meal, she told me something her BoyF had told her previously.
'When we get married, instead of accepting gifts, let's ask people for money which we will send to Africa where they can build a well' he said.
I couldn't control myself any longer. And neither could she.
'But I want a fridge and kettle', she declared.
Too bloody right. I'm all for charity, but wedding's are selfish. Fact. Deal. With. It. Well in Africa my arse.
Tales of Katerina
So there was The Boy, Katerina's boyF, (who incidentally happens to like me a little more, for now, I appear to him to be 'cool').
And now we have The Dude.
The Dude met her on the escalators at Oxford Street, asked if she was trendy and whether she would mind accompanying him to Topman where she proceeded to advise him that red cardigans weren't as gay as he may have imagined. And so he bought it, took her hand the entire way, purchased a few other items, managed to get her number and left it at that.
The next time they met was a week later. He took her to a bar and they had some food. At the bar he felt an urge to show her how to taste wine properly. Of course, this is no easy feat and requires further proximity. Close enough to feel his breath on he neck, perhaps.
' A glass of wine and I'm anybody's' she declared, has declared for a long time.'
And they did kiss. Lots of kisses in that bar that night. Though, nothing more.
And when she returned, I was mysteriously no longer tired and beckoned her into my bedroom. There she sat on the edge of my bed and told me details of that evening.
'If The Boy asks, I was with you and Belle de Bengal watching the premiere'.
'Of course. And what was you opinion on the film?' I asked.
And since that time there was another date, perhaps the most productive of the lot.
'I'm perfectly happy with The Boy, I really hope The Dude doesn't call. In fact, if he does I won't pick up' she said, the night before.
In fact, If I'm honest, I began to doubt whether she would go out with The Dude again.
A text later that day:
'He asked me to Salsa, how I could I refuse?' Indeed, how could she?
Where The Boy kept her indoors and away from his friends, The Dude showed her off and taught her to salsa. Where The Boy calls and calls and doesn't tire, despite the mundane conversation, The Dude hardly ever communicates. In this respect, they are similar, both he and Katerina. Playing the unclingy game is something both are apt are - thorough professionals.
So, that night, when Aliena and I returned from our night and the flat was dark and silent I'd assumed she had returned back to his.
This was until the door went and down she came, wrapped in a turquoise towel, hair dishevelled, wearing glasses, all the better to see us I'm sure.
'Do you want a condom?' I asked
'I don't need a condom to suck' she replied, and off she went, aqua to the wind.
And the morning after, as soon as I heard the door bang shut I scrambled to the window and peered out for the first sight of The Dude. Misery! They'd already gone!
On the night of fumbling, Katerina declared that his bum was too soft.
'The Boy has a great bum, a better bum' she said.
Alas, i am pleased. Pleased that she now has choices. Comparisons to make, different bums to compare, cocks to compare.
Where The Boy walks behind her, The Dude holds her hands, and for those moments they are together, they are each others.
Riding the dual carraigeway like this, it must be thrilling.
And now we have The Dude.
The Dude met her on the escalators at Oxford Street, asked if she was trendy and whether she would mind accompanying him to Topman where she proceeded to advise him that red cardigans weren't as gay as he may have imagined. And so he bought it, took her hand the entire way, purchased a few other items, managed to get her number and left it at that.
The next time they met was a week later. He took her to a bar and they had some food. At the bar he felt an urge to show her how to taste wine properly. Of course, this is no easy feat and requires further proximity. Close enough to feel his breath on he neck, perhaps.
' A glass of wine and I'm anybody's' she declared, has declared for a long time.'
And they did kiss. Lots of kisses in that bar that night. Though, nothing more.
And when she returned, I was mysteriously no longer tired and beckoned her into my bedroom. There she sat on the edge of my bed and told me details of that evening.
'If The Boy asks, I was with you and Belle de Bengal watching the premiere'.
'Of course. And what was you opinion on the film?' I asked.
And since that time there was another date, perhaps the most productive of the lot.
'I'm perfectly happy with The Boy, I really hope The Dude doesn't call. In fact, if he does I won't pick up' she said, the night before.
In fact, If I'm honest, I began to doubt whether she would go out with The Dude again.
A text later that day:
'He asked me to Salsa, how I could I refuse?' Indeed, how could she?
Where The Boy kept her indoors and away from his friends, The Dude showed her off and taught her to salsa. Where The Boy calls and calls and doesn't tire, despite the mundane conversation, The Dude hardly ever communicates. In this respect, they are similar, both he and Katerina. Playing the unclingy game is something both are apt are - thorough professionals.
So, that night, when Aliena and I returned from our night and the flat was dark and silent I'd assumed she had returned back to his.
This was until the door went and down she came, wrapped in a turquoise towel, hair dishevelled, wearing glasses, all the better to see us I'm sure.
'Do you want a condom?' I asked
'I don't need a condom to suck' she replied, and off she went, aqua to the wind.
And the morning after, as soon as I heard the door bang shut I scrambled to the window and peered out for the first sight of The Dude. Misery! They'd already gone!
On the night of fumbling, Katerina declared that his bum was too soft.
'The Boy has a great bum, a better bum' she said.
Alas, i am pleased. Pleased that she now has choices. Comparisons to make, different bums to compare, cocks to compare.
Where The Boy walks behind her, The Dude holds her hands, and for those moments they are together, they are each others.
Riding the dual carraigeway like this, it must be thrilling.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Birthday Celebrations
A year older, a year wiser. If only there were an extra inch, or an extra mile of potential suitors. Alas, we've got to have some patience.
For my posh birthday meal we went here
And then, for posh drinks we went here
All in all it was a case of good company (all slags minus Common Julie and The Dame were present), as were all of my other slutty troopers/cultural boffins. And the food....the food! Lovely (Even though they did have Mango Chutney, and you know what i think about Mango Chutney).
Anyhow, woke up the following morning sandwiched between Ophelia and Aliena on my king sized bed. It's not often this happens. Both ladies were wearing my clothes and sleeping in my bed. And both of them had the audacity to ask me not to touch them. It was rather a predicament then, waking early in the morning with an erection and absolutely no side I could turn for fear of causing mass destruction. Fear not, I controlled it and before long it had subsided. And, until now, nothing was mentioned.
A big thank you to all of you who attended the par-tay.
p.s Desdemona bought me a tub of cock rub, a stress willy and a copy of Belle de jour's DVD. The girl certainly knows how to please a man.
For my posh birthday meal we went here
And then, for posh drinks we went here
All in all it was a case of good company (all slags minus Common Julie and The Dame were present), as were all of my other slutty troopers/cultural boffins. And the food....the food! Lovely (Even though they did have Mango Chutney, and you know what i think about Mango Chutney).
Anyhow, woke up the following morning sandwiched between Ophelia and Aliena on my king sized bed. It's not often this happens. Both ladies were wearing my clothes and sleeping in my bed. And both of them had the audacity to ask me not to touch them. It was rather a predicament then, waking early in the morning with an erection and absolutely no side I could turn for fear of causing mass destruction. Fear not, I controlled it and before long it had subsided. And, until now, nothing was mentioned.
A big thank you to all of you who attended the par-tay.
p.s Desdemona bought me a tub of cock rub, a stress willy and a copy of Belle de jour's DVD. The girl certainly knows how to please a man.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Ghetto
Me and the Notorious BIG - Nasty Girl.
'I go, on and on and on and
Don't take 'em to the crib unless they bonin
Easy, call 'em on the phone and
Platinum Chanel cologne and (oooh-WEE)
I stay, dressed, to impress
Spark these bitches interest
Sex is all I expect'
Whilst it's true that I don't usually take people back to mine, there's almost certainly a greater possibility of them making it back to the Tainted Towers if talk of Chaucer is on the cards rather than sex. Whilst my crib may be nice and big, it's just not the place I want to bring numerous lovers (perhaps due to my being over protective about my bedding). For this reason, I go to saunas, where wipeable mattresses are already laid out for me. Yes, I dress to impress. Yes, i like to 'spark these bitches interest'. No, I don't use Platinum Chanel Cologne.
'If they watch TV in the Lex, they know
They know, quarter past fo'
Left the club tipsy, say no mo'
Except how I'm gettin home, tomorrow
Caesar drop you off when he see his P.O. (heyyy)
Back of my mind I hope she swallow
Man she spilled a drink on my cream Wallows'
First and foremost, watching the tele in a Lexus is something I have yet to accomplish. And, Nissan Micras just aren't big enough to accommodate a plasma screen. Although, it has to be said, many of my sexual fantasises do involve cars, gear sticks and handbrakes. At four in the morning, a little tipsy, one can really feel very horny. That, and a little cautious - where can I take them that's warm and without leaves and twigs coming in the way? How the frig am I to get up and go to work tomorrow morning for my ten o clock? Yes, I know, for such a whore, I'm such a prude. So sue me. Although it isn't always at the back of my mind whether the other person is going to swallow, it's always something that turns me on. At least, the willingness to do it turns me on. And no, I don't have a single wallow in my car.
'Reach the gate, hungry just ate
Riffin, she got to be to work by eight
This must mean she ain't tryin to wait
Conversate, sex on the first date
I state, "You know what you do to me"
She starts off, "But I don't usually" (let's go)
Then I, whipped it out, rubber no doubt
Step out, show me what you all about'
Well, we all know how I'm partial to a slice of dodgy pizza after a night out on the lash. Uh huh. And yes, working in the morning does mean that people get down to business quicker than you can say, well...cum. 'You know what you do to me' - not a line I'd use, but nevertheless I know what the man's saying. That said, he could easy say nothing and still get whatever he wants. That, my friends, is why he's notorious. Let me also say, people who, once outside your door, try and redeem themselves by saying that they don't usually do this, can kiss my arse (in the most non-literal sense). And condoms are a must.
'Fingers in your mouth, open up your blouse
Pull your G-string down South (aoowww)
Threw that back out, in the parking lot
By a Cherokee and a green drop-top
And I don't stop, until I squirt
Jeans, skirt, butt-naked - it all work'
And as for the sex, do whatever you will. Fill every orifice, enter each hole and have the best sex you've ever had. Mind you, it's not imperative that I always cum. Sometimes that's unimportant. And if the man isn't tight enough, then I'm more looking forward to going, let's just say that.
'I go, on and on and on and
Don't take 'em to the crib unless they bonin
Easy, call 'em on the phone and
Platinum Chanel cologne and (oooh-WEE)
I stay, dressed, to impress
Spark these bitches interest
Sex is all I expect'
Whilst it's true that I don't usually take people back to mine, there's almost certainly a greater possibility of them making it back to the Tainted Towers if talk of Chaucer is on the cards rather than sex. Whilst my crib may be nice and big, it's just not the place I want to bring numerous lovers (perhaps due to my being over protective about my bedding). For this reason, I go to saunas, where wipeable mattresses are already laid out for me. Yes, I dress to impress. Yes, i like to 'spark these bitches interest'. No, I don't use Platinum Chanel Cologne.
'If they watch TV in the Lex, they know
They know, quarter past fo'
Left the club tipsy, say no mo'
Except how I'm gettin home, tomorrow
Caesar drop you off when he see his P.O. (heyyy)
Back of my mind I hope she swallow
Man she spilled a drink on my cream Wallows'
First and foremost, watching the tele in a Lexus is something I have yet to accomplish. And, Nissan Micras just aren't big enough to accommodate a plasma screen. Although, it has to be said, many of my sexual fantasises do involve cars, gear sticks and handbrakes. At four in the morning, a little tipsy, one can really feel very horny. That, and a little cautious - where can I take them that's warm and without leaves and twigs coming in the way? How the frig am I to get up and go to work tomorrow morning for my ten o clock? Yes, I know, for such a whore, I'm such a prude. So sue me. Although it isn't always at the back of my mind whether the other person is going to swallow, it's always something that turns me on. At least, the willingness to do it turns me on. And no, I don't have a single wallow in my car.
'Reach the gate, hungry just ate
Riffin, she got to be to work by eight
This must mean she ain't tryin to wait
Conversate, sex on the first date
I state, "You know what you do to me"
She starts off, "But I don't usually" (let's go)
Then I, whipped it out, rubber no doubt
Step out, show me what you all about'
Well, we all know how I'm partial to a slice of dodgy pizza after a night out on the lash. Uh huh. And yes, working in the morning does mean that people get down to business quicker than you can say, well...cum. 'You know what you do to me' - not a line I'd use, but nevertheless I know what the man's saying. That said, he could easy say nothing and still get whatever he wants. That, my friends, is why he's notorious. Let me also say, people who, once outside your door, try and redeem themselves by saying that they don't usually do this, can kiss my arse (in the most non-literal sense). And condoms are a must.
'Fingers in your mouth, open up your blouse
Pull your G-string down South (aoowww)
Threw that back out, in the parking lot
By a Cherokee and a green drop-top
And I don't stop, until I squirt
Jeans, skirt, butt-naked - it all work'
And as for the sex, do whatever you will. Fill every orifice, enter each hole and have the best sex you've ever had. Mind you, it's not imperative that I always cum. Sometimes that's unimportant. And if the man isn't tight enough, then I'm more looking forward to going, let's just say that.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
(Belated) Chronicles of The Dame
Note to readers: This entry has been written by a slag other than myself.
I turned a woman down the other day. We had seen a lot of one another and she was offering me it all, love, warmth, sex and a relationship. What did I do? Turn it down.
"I don't want you to be alone forever" said Mummy Dame "it terrifies me".
All my friends are well on their way to pairing off. Life partners? Who knows, but they are happy and the (majority) of them aren't interested in ditching their friends in favour of a toad in the hole. My mother is fully aware of this situation and chose to say the above with a quizzical look on her brow over a cheese toastie and a bowl of soup of all things. I find something has shifted between me and my mother, I can talk to her a little more than I used to be able too. Not a complete shift you understand but its a start.
My reply (although not verbatim) was something along the lines of: I am not choosing to stay single forever mum, its not something I desire but equally I don't see why I should settle for something that is not quite right when I believe that something magical is out there. I mean, I have been trying, I just always seem to pick wrong uns... I followed this up (bravely in my opinion) with: And I know its out there because I've experienced it.
Because of course I have, with The Doctor. I loved her, in fact nearly a year on and I still love her (much to Tainted's disgust), a fact I realised upon seeing her at the hospital just before Christmas. And more to Tainted's disgust I don't think I'll ever lose hope of her contacting me again asking if we could try again, I believe I'd do it because despite her being happy with someone else, never before have I known someone to get to me as she has Does that mean I'm stupid? Probably. Does the heart know when someone is your One? I think so. Is it the right thing to settle for just anyone if you can't find what you are looking for? Absolutely not. And, more importantly, are we wrong for taking the gamble in life and holding out for that something special (which we know exists), at the risk of never finding it and staying single forever? Yes, because at least we can say we have tried.
My mother seemed happy with the explanation given. For the time being anyway.
Yours,
-The Dame-
I turned a woman down the other day. We had seen a lot of one another and she was offering me it all, love, warmth, sex and a relationship. What did I do? Turn it down.
"I don't want you to be alone forever" said Mummy Dame "it terrifies me".
All my friends are well on their way to pairing off. Life partners? Who knows, but they are happy and the (majority) of them aren't interested in ditching their friends in favour of a toad in the hole. My mother is fully aware of this situation and chose to say the above with a quizzical look on her brow over a cheese toastie and a bowl of soup of all things. I find something has shifted between me and my mother, I can talk to her a little more than I used to be able too. Not a complete shift you understand but its a start.
My reply (although not verbatim) was something along the lines of: I am not choosing to stay single forever mum, its not something I desire but equally I don't see why I should settle for something that is not quite right when I believe that something magical is out there. I mean, I have been trying, I just always seem to pick wrong uns... I followed this up (bravely in my opinion) with: And I know its out there because I've experienced it.
Because of course I have, with The Doctor. I loved her, in fact nearly a year on and I still love her (much to Tainted's disgust), a fact I realised upon seeing her at the hospital just before Christmas. And more to Tainted's disgust I don't think I'll ever lose hope of her contacting me again asking if we could try again, I believe I'd do it because despite her being happy with someone else, never before have I known someone to get to me as she has Does that mean I'm stupid? Probably. Does the heart know when someone is your One? I think so. Is it the right thing to settle for just anyone if you can't find what you are looking for? Absolutely not. And, more importantly, are we wrong for taking the gamble in life and holding out for that something special (which we know exists), at the risk of never finding it and staying single forever? Yes, because at least we can say we have tried.
My mother seemed happy with the explanation given. For the time being anyway.
Yours,
-The Dame-
Monday, January 14, 2008
Charlie Wilson's War
Belle de Bengal is my ticket to the world of celebrity. Let this be known.
So it came as little surprise (though with very much excitement), that she informed me that we had tickets for a screening of Charlie Wilson's War.
She hadn't a clue that it was the premiere, or that Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts were due to make an appearance. Fine, because I did.
For purposes of clarity, the thing we did once we'd met is something neither of us are proud of.
We ate a Burger King meal(!) and attempted to make our way to the bit where they let ticket holders in.
Little did I know that, as they accepted us, we'd have to walk the red carpet ourselves.
The part which pains me the most is however, the fact that I walked a red carpet which had previously been graced by Miss Robert's presence, with an empty burger king wrapper.
For a moment I was speechless before the courage entered me to ask if there was a bin anywhere. The paparazzi gave me a look of puzzle which may, on a bad day, be confused for one of disgust. Sigh. If I'd have been them, I'd have snapped the commoner and sold the picture to the Herald Tribune.
Yes, the cinema was lovely, yes, the seats were clean, yes there was a bottle of water for everybody AND a bar of, OMG, Organic Chocolate on our seat arms.
And the film was great. Funny in the right places and a great depiction of a man of whom I knew very little. Tom and Julie did well, playing their parts with verve and interest.
If it wasn't for the Burger King Fiasco, it may have been perfect.
So it came as little surprise (though with very much excitement), that she informed me that we had tickets for a screening of Charlie Wilson's War.
She hadn't a clue that it was the premiere, or that Tom Hanks and Julia Roberts were due to make an appearance. Fine, because I did.
For purposes of clarity, the thing we did once we'd met is something neither of us are proud of.
We ate a Burger King meal(!) and attempted to make our way to the bit where they let ticket holders in.
Little did I know that, as they accepted us, we'd have to walk the red carpet ourselves.
The part which pains me the most is however, the fact that I walked a red carpet which had previously been graced by Miss Robert's presence, with an empty burger king wrapper.
For a moment I was speechless before the courage entered me to ask if there was a bin anywhere. The paparazzi gave me a look of puzzle which may, on a bad day, be confused for one of disgust. Sigh. If I'd have been them, I'd have snapped the commoner and sold the picture to the Herald Tribune.
Yes, the cinema was lovely, yes, the seats were clean, yes there was a bottle of water for everybody AND a bar of, OMG, Organic Chocolate on our seat arms.
And the film was great. Funny in the right places and a great depiction of a man of whom I knew very little. Tom and Julie did well, playing their parts with verve and interest.
If it wasn't for the Burger King Fiasco, it may have been perfect.
Lunch
We'd barely ordered our Chicken Katsu Curry when she started:
'Tainted, Tainted, Tainted! I've been dreaming about that man with the big dick. I just keep thinking about him, and how he filled me up.'
'Well why don't you go and fuck him then?' I asked, knowing full well that my friend was currently seeing another boy.
'The sex with the Boy isn't bad, she continued, but a big dick just fills you up.'
At this point, I'm sure I could see her salivating, and her eyes big and open imagining his big black joint right there in front of her.
Later on, when asked what it was about me that made her want to tell me that, she concluded that it must be because I'm somebody who would never judge her. All of her other friends, I'm led to believe, would spit and call her a slag.
Now, I'm sure this wouldn't be the case. Other people, it's my experience, are always far more open minded that people give them full credit for. Friends especially aren't there to judge you. They are there to accept you for who you are - otherwise we'd never be friends with anybody would we?
Anyhow, the Boy, at the time of this lunch, had another girlfriend abroad.
'Fuck him and FUCK him', I told her.
'Tainted, Tainted, Tainted! I've been dreaming about that man with the big dick. I just keep thinking about him, and how he filled me up.'
'Well why don't you go and fuck him then?' I asked, knowing full well that my friend was currently seeing another boy.
'The sex with the Boy isn't bad, she continued, but a big dick just fills you up.'
At this point, I'm sure I could see her salivating, and her eyes big and open imagining his big black joint right there in front of her.
Later on, when asked what it was about me that made her want to tell me that, she concluded that it must be because I'm somebody who would never judge her. All of her other friends, I'm led to believe, would spit and call her a slag.
Now, I'm sure this wouldn't be the case. Other people, it's my experience, are always far more open minded that people give them full credit for. Friends especially aren't there to judge you. They are there to accept you for who you are - otherwise we'd never be friends with anybody would we?
Anyhow, the Boy, at the time of this lunch, had another girlfriend abroad.
'Fuck him and FUCK him', I told her.
Monday, January 07, 2008
The Land of Lesbo
Two minutes after I'd seen her and as we made our way up the escalators at St Pauls tube station, The Dame asked me if I'd 'been drinking'.
I'd come straight from work and there was nothing alcoholic within a two mile radius of me that whole day, or even the day before. And here she was, telling me I 'smelt like I'd had a couple'.
No I hadn't.
So, an hour later and we were back at the Maison de Tainted where I cooked Her Majesty a supper of hand battered (that's correct) Fish and Chips. And this was followed by Cheesecake (Tesco bought).
And then we got dressed; The Dame distraught at having forgotten her hair gel but savvy enough to include her hair straighteners in her travel rucksack. I swear she's becoming more of a woman day by day.
And finally we embarked on our gay parade, in the rain and the cold. Because she was 'up for it'.
The first stop of the evening was Rush Bar in Soho. The second most well known Lesbian joint (Candy Bar ranks a little higher), its a first floor and basement bar and disco area.
To be fair, there wasn't really a butch lesbian in sight.
'I'm the most butch one here', declared The Dame, corona in hand, as we sat side my side on soft leather padding, oogling at the other gay women that were there.
'Look at that stunning girl over there' she continued, ' you can't tell me she's a lesbian'.
'Well, this is quite openly a gay bar isn't it, so why would she be straight?'.
'You can just tell' she concluded, a marked tone of disappointment seeping out with the words.
This is something that riles me about The Dame. She seems to think that only ugly women are gay. The pretty ones all have to be straight. But why? Just as there are gay men who look incredible, there are gay women who look equally incredible. What i fear The Dame suffers from is a devastating lack of self esteem.
'Let's dance', I said, barely unable to control my hips and shoulders any longer, but again she refused and said 'not yet!'.
And the one girl she did like, she hadn't the courage to talk with.
'If I see that girl again tonight, I'll consider it my fate and ask her out'.
What bollocks, I thought.
Now, as we have seen, there are some people in this world who have never pulled, and, chances are, will never have to. Katerina and Cassandra are, however, limited edition. For the rest of us, it can prove a long slog up the many rungs of the dating ladder. For some of us, we have to try if ever we want the chance of finding somebody sexy and potentially dateable.
With this in mind, I firmly believe that there is nothing wrong in making the first move and that, more than this, failure is something that we must all experience and learn from. The guts it often takes to say that first word is an indicator of great courage. And to imagine, had The Dame plucked up a little courage, she may have herself a date this evening with, let's call her, that girl in green jumper.
Stop 2 - It was a toss up between Candy Bar and G.A.Y and we chose the latter.
It was shyte.
Talent - Nil
Music - Campest of Camp 80s and 90s (we didn't know! Honest)
Wake me up, before you go go! Well there was no danger of that. We were go go pretty early.
I'd come straight from work and there was nothing alcoholic within a two mile radius of me that whole day, or even the day before. And here she was, telling me I 'smelt like I'd had a couple'.
No I hadn't.
So, an hour later and we were back at the Maison de Tainted where I cooked Her Majesty a supper of hand battered (that's correct) Fish and Chips. And this was followed by Cheesecake (Tesco bought).
And then we got dressed; The Dame distraught at having forgotten her hair gel but savvy enough to include her hair straighteners in her travel rucksack. I swear she's becoming more of a woman day by day.
And finally we embarked on our gay parade, in the rain and the cold. Because she was 'up for it'.
The first stop of the evening was Rush Bar in Soho. The second most well known Lesbian joint (Candy Bar ranks a little higher), its a first floor and basement bar and disco area.
To be fair, there wasn't really a butch lesbian in sight.
'I'm the most butch one here', declared The Dame, corona in hand, as we sat side my side on soft leather padding, oogling at the other gay women that were there.
'Look at that stunning girl over there' she continued, ' you can't tell me she's a lesbian'.
'Well, this is quite openly a gay bar isn't it, so why would she be straight?'.
'You can just tell' she concluded, a marked tone of disappointment seeping out with the words.
This is something that riles me about The Dame. She seems to think that only ugly women are gay. The pretty ones all have to be straight. But why? Just as there are gay men who look incredible, there are gay women who look equally incredible. What i fear The Dame suffers from is a devastating lack of self esteem.
'Let's dance', I said, barely unable to control my hips and shoulders any longer, but again she refused and said 'not yet!'.
And the one girl she did like, she hadn't the courage to talk with.
'If I see that girl again tonight, I'll consider it my fate and ask her out'.
What bollocks, I thought.
Now, as we have seen, there are some people in this world who have never pulled, and, chances are, will never have to. Katerina and Cassandra are, however, limited edition. For the rest of us, it can prove a long slog up the many rungs of the dating ladder. For some of us, we have to try if ever we want the chance of finding somebody sexy and potentially dateable.
With this in mind, I firmly believe that there is nothing wrong in making the first move and that, more than this, failure is something that we must all experience and learn from. The guts it often takes to say that first word is an indicator of great courage. And to imagine, had The Dame plucked up a little courage, she may have herself a date this evening with, let's call her, that girl in green jumper.
Stop 2 - It was a toss up between Candy Bar and G.A.Y and we chose the latter.
It was shyte.
Talent - Nil
Music - Campest of Camp 80s and 90s (we didn't know! Honest)
Wake me up, before you go go! Well there was no danger of that. We were go go pretty early.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Resolutions
I have at least a couple every year, targets achieve performance yada yada...
1) To whole heartedly attend an orgy. Or should that be, as is more usually the case, find an orgy, apply for a place on the orgy, cross fingers for success of application and then attend.
2) Dedicate much more time to that which is important. Sex and writing. Write more of my novel and maintain this blog with a view to further increasing the readership. Writing about sex often involves having it, so I intend to. Place myself in the path of slags and try to become one.
3) Do things which are odd and quirky. Rock climbing is top of the list here.
4) Attempt to learn a musical instrument. The piano, more specifically.
5) Attempt to date somebody. Try and think, at times, outside of the realms of sex, for something, dare I say it, a little more satisfying.
6) Attend only saunas which I haven't visited previously. Try not to give into temptation merely because one place has a jacuzzi and another one doesn't.
7) Try my hardest to secure the loyalty and cock of a fuck buddy.
8) Attend more award winning restaurants and maintain, as far as possible, a rampant social life.
9) Purchase that cock-ring I've been on about for, what seems, all of eternity. I mean, really!
1) To whole heartedly attend an orgy. Or should that be, as is more usually the case, find an orgy, apply for a place on the orgy, cross fingers for success of application and then attend.
2) Dedicate much more time to that which is important. Sex and writing. Write more of my novel and maintain this blog with a view to further increasing the readership. Writing about sex often involves having it, so I intend to. Place myself in the path of slags and try to become one.
3) Do things which are odd and quirky. Rock climbing is top of the list here.
4) Attempt to learn a musical instrument. The piano, more specifically.
5) Attempt to date somebody. Try and think, at times, outside of the realms of sex, for something, dare I say it, a little more satisfying.
6) Attend only saunas which I haven't visited previously. Try not to give into temptation merely because one place has a jacuzzi and another one doesn't.
7) Try my hardest to secure the loyalty and cock of a fuck buddy.
8) Attend more award winning restaurants and maintain, as far as possible, a rampant social life.
9) Purchase that cock-ring I've been on about for, what seems, all of eternity. I mean, really!
The New Year
Happy New Year!
I'm sure many of you reading this probably don't recall much of what happened on New Years Eve. Or should I say, what happened after midnight on New Years Day.
Yes, me too. I remember the most important parts however, and that's always most important, nuh?
It seems to me that South of the river is where all the trendy people are moving. A lot of my friends have moved into my own area over the past few months. This fills me with joy. Joy at the sheer number of dinners and cocktail-drinking sessions which are undoubtedly on the cards.
And for once, I didn't have to trek into Central London to have a good time. A ten minute bus ride and I was at Lady Capulet's flat, ready to claim the house party.
Miss Best Boobs was also present, looking fitter than ever. As was Aliena who spent the night at my flat.
Whilst it may surprise some of you to know this, I haven't really been to many house parties; in fact, this was my second. That said, the loss of my House party virginity was indeed a merry occasion.
Our contribution was a bottle of Vodka and two beers. Needless to say, this paled into insignificance once we saw the drinks table - enough booze to open an offy of our very own.
Having an unmanned bar can be a disaster. You never really know how much to pour, whether the drink you are pouring has been tampered with by the local druggy (a must have for every party) and a single shot can become a double in a matter of mili seconds. And once all the mixing is done, what often remains is a muddle of shivering and (often) giggling flesh on the (by now messy) floor.
And then there was the war of the DJs. Aliena insisting on Britney Spears whilst the others preferring something a little more Indy. Having said this, once the alcohol consumption described above had taken place, any music was good music. Any music could be danced to, and we did. To the point where everybody formed a drunken circle and pushed me into the centre. Now, you know how I hate being the centre of attention don't you?
At the important hour we went outside, party-poppers in one hand and a bottle of champagne (almost each) in the other.
And when it was time, there was hugging and singing and I'm sure somebody thought it hilarious and festive to shower me in Champagne thereby ruining my hair and my newly acquired shirt. Thankfully by this point I was beyond caring and well caught up the festive mood. I recall thinking there were far worse liquids to shower under.
And this is when it all starts - the flirting, the singing, the dancing, the drinking (yes, even more of it), the running around and kissing inappropriate people and the giggling. It strikes me that when drunk, an awful lot of people would laugh at just about anything.
In terms of romantic liaisons, New Years Eve belongs undoubtedly to Aliena who had a vast number of men wrapped around her finger. Some told her she was incredibly hot, others asked for a ciggy and casually placed their hand over her bum. That said, she didn't really reciprocate any of their flirtatious behaviour. Probably because they both had partners. And this is something Aliena would not, ordinarily, do.
This hang up over attached people is something Aliena needs to get over quickly. The idea of banging your way into the new year is sexy and liberating. Who cares that he might have a girlfriend. The chances are, the day after, you probably won't ever remember his face.
As much as I love the idea holding my own house party, my love of Beige carpets would always prevent me from doing so. Unless of course, I taped bin liners all over the floor. That might work
I'm sure many of you reading this probably don't recall much of what happened on New Years Eve. Or should I say, what happened after midnight on New Years Day.
Yes, me too. I remember the most important parts however, and that's always most important, nuh?
It seems to me that South of the river is where all the trendy people are moving. A lot of my friends have moved into my own area over the past few months. This fills me with joy. Joy at the sheer number of dinners and cocktail-drinking sessions which are undoubtedly on the cards.
And for once, I didn't have to trek into Central London to have a good time. A ten minute bus ride and I was at Lady Capulet's flat, ready to claim the house party.
Miss Best Boobs was also present, looking fitter than ever. As was Aliena who spent the night at my flat.
Whilst it may surprise some of you to know this, I haven't really been to many house parties; in fact, this was my second. That said, the loss of my House party virginity was indeed a merry occasion.
Our contribution was a bottle of Vodka and two beers. Needless to say, this paled into insignificance once we saw the drinks table - enough booze to open an offy of our very own.
Having an unmanned bar can be a disaster. You never really know how much to pour, whether the drink you are pouring has been tampered with by the local druggy (a must have for every party) and a single shot can become a double in a matter of mili seconds. And once all the mixing is done, what often remains is a muddle of shivering and (often) giggling flesh on the (by now messy) floor.
And then there was the war of the DJs. Aliena insisting on Britney Spears whilst the others preferring something a little more Indy. Having said this, once the alcohol consumption described above had taken place, any music was good music. Any music could be danced to, and we did. To the point where everybody formed a drunken circle and pushed me into the centre. Now, you know how I hate being the centre of attention don't you?
At the important hour we went outside, party-poppers in one hand and a bottle of champagne (almost each) in the other.
And when it was time, there was hugging and singing and I'm sure somebody thought it hilarious and festive to shower me in Champagne thereby ruining my hair and my newly acquired shirt. Thankfully by this point I was beyond caring and well caught up the festive mood. I recall thinking there were far worse liquids to shower under.
And this is when it all starts - the flirting, the singing, the dancing, the drinking (yes, even more of it), the running around and kissing inappropriate people and the giggling. It strikes me that when drunk, an awful lot of people would laugh at just about anything.
In terms of romantic liaisons, New Years Eve belongs undoubtedly to Aliena who had a vast number of men wrapped around her finger. Some told her she was incredibly hot, others asked for a ciggy and casually placed their hand over her bum. That said, she didn't really reciprocate any of their flirtatious behaviour. Probably because they both had partners. And this is something Aliena would not, ordinarily, do.
This hang up over attached people is something Aliena needs to get over quickly. The idea of banging your way into the new year is sexy and liberating. Who cares that he might have a girlfriend. The chances are, the day after, you probably won't ever remember his face.
As much as I love the idea holding my own house party, my love of Beige carpets would always prevent me from doing so. Unless of course, I taped bin liners all over the floor. That might work
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
