Thu 15th September 2011

I texted Denise whilst going to collect a wine rack and a ladder from a local Freecycler. She's about to take up a job over the border, so I said "[Pet name], have I lost you to Yorkshire?" Almost; she's moving to Leeds tomorrow but said that when she's settled down a bit we should go to Opera North or West Yorkshire Playhouse, or perhaps somewhere a bit more cultural like The Angel, aka Invalidity Benefit Central, mine and Kim's old pub haunt and a booze-sodden second home to the most entertaining sots in Yorkshire. I slowed to a stop, getting turned on just by texting her.

I clanked home with the ladder. I rang Karen to confirm that we were still going out with Helen, as arrangements involving Helen can turn into somewhat moveable feasts. "Karen, I have in my hands a wine rack and a ladder. What woman would pass over the chance to met a man thus equipped?" Before we met, Helen said "I think you and Karen should get together." I wish I could meet someone locally rather than spending these hours on the train for even theoretical friskiness, but there's the problem of the Already Existing Boyfriend, and I've had enough of that to last me a lifetime.

I did my best to ignore my clenching hiatus hernia which sent me away to be privately sick a couple of times. When I mentioned a walk I had planned to do in the Languedoc with a blog friend, she knew about the Albigensian Crusade and the Cathars, which makes it even more surprising that the word "jewellery" is misspelt on more than one occasion on her website, but she's got nice tits so that's alright.

But I must arise now and go to Glasson Dock. A friend has offered to show me her big bush and told me to do what I like with it, so we're going to trim it and get a couple of gallons of elderberry wine going.

This weekend, I will mainly be on a dancefloor in Lytham at the Modern Soul Weekender, with a long-standing reader of this blog. If you can stay still to music like this you ought to see a doctor urgently because there's something seriously wrong with your central nervous system.

4 comments

Comment from: The Unbearable Banishment [Visitor]

Do you ever hang out with the boys to watch a football game or ogle women?

Off topic: I’ll bet the title of your blog generates a lot of unsavory search hits. You should post the keywords one day. Years ago I did a post about how I though the “Disney princesses” were too “sexy” for “children” and, to this day, I still get a lot of creepy search hits.

Thu 15th September 2011 @ 11:56

Comment from: ISBW [Visitor]

Have you read The Yellow Cross? Marvellous. I once stayed in a gite at the foot of the ancient Peyreperteuse castle. I swear at night you could hear the Cathar screams.

In fact, I probably know more about Catharism than I do about tits.

Thu 15th September 2011 @ 15:28

Comment from: [Member]

UB: Occasionally, but I tend to knock about with women. The idea of sitting around with men gorping salaciously at women does not appeal in the slightest. If I’m walking behind a woman with a nice arse, and I notice a man come alongside me, looking at her as well, I look at something else. If I’m in a pub and a man says something sexual about a woman, I just go “Hmm” and change the subject. It makes me feel uneasy. I’m not sure what I’m signing up to. Men are fucked up. You’re best off keeping a distance from them. Except me of course. I’m lovely.

On my stats recorder I can only have two week’s worth of search terms, but they have been:

school girl nickers
i hate greggs
blonde sex opendns guide no
“lynsey hanley”
guardianist
shelly nadashi
Labrini TV ad
woodlands hotel silverdale
lambrini girls
alexander thomson villas
Schoolgirl knickers
sex schoolgirl
schoolgirl knickers
pub croatia inurl:loobynet.co.uk

Pity the pervert who can’t spell.

Thu 15th September 2011 @ 23:44

Comment from: [Member]

ISBW: No, but a brief look at the Amazon reviews indicate it’s been enthusiastically received. I hope the screams were just a form of auto-suggestion, but that must be a very atmospheric gîte!

Thu 15th September 2011 @ 23:49

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

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.
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

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

Rummage in my drawers

The Comfort of Strangers

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

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