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Norwegian Wood

  Sat 30th April 2011

Girls watching Doctor Who. An hour to get this blog post done.

Kirsty and I took the girls to Ingleton Falls. The pleasures of the countryside are occasionally lost on me - I can feel myself suppressing the question "Are we nearly there yet?" after about half an hour, but it was a beautiful walk, along the steep-sided slate-bottomed River Twiss, onto the open striated limestone uplands where farmers don't bother with fences, and down again to the village alongside the River Doe. We lay on our stomachs and drank the water and tried a paddle. The water was delicious to taste and freezing, impossible to keep your feet in for more than a few seconds. I neither mentioned to the children that I'd noticed how much sheep poo there was higher up, nor speculated about what sort of diseases you can get from drinking diluted ovine waste.

Me in my best togs

The following day we went to Wray for the Scarecrow Festival. The village is beautiful, more or less one late 17th and 18th century street leading down to a meadow and river to which the local parents dispatch their children unsupervised. I would say the day was quintessentially English, but would mean that the publicity is illiterate and the food is terrible, when it was neither. It's a shame hardly any of the pictures came out from Kirsty's clapped out camera; I can't bring you the fine execution scene which was accompanied by a notice saying "Come the Wrayvolution!" The scarecrow in the picture danced, animated by a windscreen wiper mechanism. .

The Post Office, a freehold concern with a 2/3 bed maisonette above, is for sale. In one of those silly property-based fantasies, I had a look at the price: "offers are invited around £440,000."

When we got back to the mean and dirty streets of Lancaster, the local newsstand headline was "Local Teens Meet up On Web for Care Home Booze-Up."

Helen was over from Norway for a couple of days. We went out on Thursday and Friday with her partnered friend Katerina. She's got a successful jewellery business. Curvily good-looking, easy to talk to. A good line in three-quarter sleeves offwhite jackets.

We went down Crows, a bar in Lancaster, where the barman said "When you say Sauvignon Blanc, do you mean red or white?" He gave me my beer in a glass meant for Jacques cider.

Helen said "I've given Katerina the password for your blog." I was slightly taken aback but said "Good job I didn't publish the post last night then." "Why?," said Katerina. "Well, I was going to say that, in a parallel universe that doesn't exist, you're my physical type, and you're very well-dressed." Cards on table. The advice "always flirt first" is a lesson I wish I'd learnt years ago, thus avoiding a sexless decade spent twiddling my thumbs and being "a nice man", who women would "really like as a friend". She laughed and we talked about how great it would be if people were socially able to pay each other compliments as you walked through town.

We went to the Yorkshire House where the best one minute of the whole night happened. At some point, half-watching the band, Katerina put her arm round my waist and we had a conversation the words of which I do not remember. I do remember standing very close, feeling her close against me, her tits against my chest, pulling her very gently towards me, her lovely waist.


Comment from: [Member]

Did the barman not know, or did he think you were over-reaching yourself? If we buy you a webcam and pay the surgery, will you have it implanted in your forehead?

Sat 30th April 2011 @ 22:19
Comment from: [Member]

Maybe the barman was expecting “a glass of white please", which is about as specific as most English pub wine drinkers can manage, or dare hope for.

Sun 1st May 2011 @ 17:37
Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

My god, the one in red looks like you!

Tue 3rd May 2011 @ 10:53
Comment from: [Member]

Yes, that’s my youngest (by three minutes).

Tue 3rd May 2011 @ 11:05
Comment from: Jonathan [Visitor]

I was going to say, they all look just like you! (and I will resist the temptation to make any gag about the larger one in the hat on the far right looking a little like you after a hard night on the sauvignon blanc).

Tue 3rd May 2011 @ 18:35

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M / 59 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
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The Comfort of Strangers

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