Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« LindaWhilst I am a man who drinks perry, I am not a Lambrini girl »

My kind of woman wears a minidress and drinks pints

  Thu 1st September 2011

I checked my charity shop chic in the mirror. Shirt (British Heart Foundation, Middlesbrough), £3.99; jacket (Tatty Bon, Glasgow), £5.00; trousers (Save The Children, Kendal), 4.99. Shoes, model's own. I stylishly caught the train to Glasgow, to meet The Architect.

I texted her from my seat in The Horseshoe pub. "I don't have much of an idea what you look like Hazel, so we might be in for a slightly surreal chase round the pub." "I'm mainly in black and I've got a large bronze bag." A large bronze bag? Was I about to make an appearance in Scotland's most stylish city in the company of a woman who carries a chav-bag?

Her blonde hair was in a bob, and she was dressed in a black and grey wool minidress which distractingly stretched across her thighs when she sat down, a wide black belt, tan coloured tights and black boots to just below the knee. Her bag was a relief, muted and with nothing metallic about it. She was a pleasure to look at. All afternoon I was searching for a way to convey this to her, failing every time to find words with which I was happy.

The conversation inevitably started with architecture. Handily, I have recently read Lynsey Hanley's Estates: An Intimate History and I once went to an exhibition about the history of the architectural practice which built the Barbican, which she studied for her dissertation. "I'd love to live in the Barbican. You can rent one of the smaller flats for about three hundred pounds a week, which isn't too much." Isn't it?

As we got pleasantly lost trying to find the notable Alexander Thomson villa we were looking for, we started exchanging dating stories. "I think you can tell within five minutes if it's going to work romantically," she said, which made me feel a bit uneasy. Why would you say that unless it's understood that it isn't going to work romantically?

Walking back through the Merchant City she spotted a wine bar and suggested another drink. Just as I was wondering if it would be overdoing it to suggest we have a bottle, she ordered one. It turned out to be a dreadful Barbera with initial notes of jam and a long finish of Vimto. It was served by two self-conscious, incompetent twentysomething girls who made a pretentious palaver of giving the wine to Hazel to try first and who seemed to hang around the table for ages before finally taking their ridiculous painted faces away with them.

We chatted about the tyranny of having to declare your age on dating sites and how it makes sense for women to deduct a few years, given that many men are as prejudiced about wanting someone younger than themselves as many women are about wanting someone taller. I like older women, an impression reinforced recently having spent a year or so being fucked to the point of almost excruciating pleasure by someone ten years older than myself, although I spared her that detail.

It was getting a little chilly on the terrace so I suggested a final drink in the Blackfriars. Hazel was knowledgeable about whisky and spent some time in its rituals. At Glasgow Central, we found that she'd got the train times wrong and we'd have to wait another forty minutes; we went next door for another final drink. "I wish I'd met you earlier," she said, without the slightest romantic implication. Back in the station, we parted with her saying "Let's keep in touch. Send me drunken emails!"

She's inconsiderately landed a job in New York with a well-known architectural firm. She's clever. She's a good drinker. And she's fit.

No feedback yet


Form is loading...

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 56 / 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.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Crinklybee
Eryl Shields Ink
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll defunct, but retained for its quality
George Szirtes ditto
Guitars and Life
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
London's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

5:4
Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
Golden Pages for Musicologists
Lauren Redhead
NewMusicBox
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained


  XML Feeds

Social CMS
 

©2020 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog skin by Asevo | Multiblog engine