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From behind

  Mon 30th July 2012

A bit of a disjointed this one. A bit of accelerant to make me fit for tonight's soirée at the house of The Girl Who Only Wears Secondhand Clothes. She was a bit cagey on the phone the other day (having an affair with a lecturer in her department?) and I don't get on with people who play their cards close to their chests, so I hope we won't just talk around things. I'll sever our connection if she stops being interesting.

Our men-only book group the other night was a lot more open. I draped the little purple Christmas tree lights over the fireplace and lit the tea lights. R was talking about his girfriend of two years-ish, and comparing her to his ex-wife. "It's like having a sister, but with outbursts of carnal activity." It was my choice for next time so I have set everyone to read The Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa, a thinly disguised novel about the repression, torture and bonhomie under Trujillo's dictatorship in the Dominican Republic; like Dorfman's Death and the Maiden, mainly (I thought) a story of how our self-flattering moral view of ourselves depends on the social conditions in which we can publicise it.


I took the rent round, just missing Seriouscrush, who was on her way up the street. She's still very attractive, even from several yards away, from behind. No-one wears what she calls "estuary colours" like her. Her greeny-grey (cord?) skirt to just below her knee, her thick fawn coloured tights, and an assymetrically-cut top angling down across her waist.

Kirsty came back from her weekend away with her fellah, in a beautiful dress, which cost five pounds. Inch wide shoulder straps, straight cut above the tits, a summery lilac flowery pattern, slightly in at the waist, straight and tight across her hips, before flaring out with box pleats starting at the top of her thighs. Pure cotton, probably, from the creases.


Trina tells me often that she loves me. I don't think I've ever been "in love". I've never had that overwhelming combination of physical, emotional and intellectual connection that the word seems to signify. I don't feel "in love" with Trina, since I wouldn't know what I'm agreeing to in saying that. It's just something that works, in practice. When I'm with her, it's a competition between competing desires: one, for sex--I want to be on her, in her, all over her; another, to talk--we talk and talk and talk, and even mid tit-fondle she sometimes makes me pause; and I also have half an eye on the strewn wine and food: I could never get close to a teetotaller or someone who only drinks infrequently.


I am bored with the Olympics. Melanie (youngest daughter) made me laugh today when we were watching some horses prissily prancing their way through a wood in Sussex. Affecting a posh accent, she said "'What do you like about horse riding?' 'That there's no common people in it'." As I left, all three of them were playing cricket in the street, with a coat hanger stuck in a jumper as the wickets.

4 comments

Being told “I love you” often is a dangerous game. It can become grinding after a while. At the very least it loses its meaning. It begins to weigh no more than being told “We’re out of laundry soap.”

Melanie made me laugh, too. Yacht racing is another one. Now, THERE’S a sport we can all get behind.

Mon 30th July 2012 @ 22:26
Comment from: [Member]

I agree–ILY quickly becomes a formula. It’s something to be used sparingly.

Dressage. I’ve seen such a risible excuse for a sport. There’s not even the possibility that someone will suffer a disfiguring, life-changing accident. In cricket you get at least several broken fingers a season, and if you’re lucky someone gets it in the nuts.

Tue 31st July 2012 @ 10:22
Comment from: [Member]

i rarely say it - casually. in fact, i’ve been conditioned to believe that after the words have been exchanged? it’s pretty much on the downslide. i can utter the words (when i genuinely mean them) on occasions where they need to be said/heard. but it isn’t often…

worst of all for me? at the end of every phone call with my mom and oldest sister. “Love you! Bye!” Right. That’s how it goes…

Tue 31st July 2012 @ 11:40

I liked a quote I heard in Yorkshire.
On their wedding day the new hubby turned to his wife and said:
“I do love you you know, but that’s the last time I’ll say it. If I ever change my mind I’ll let you know”

Also completely bored by the Olympics, mind you, when that young female weight-lifter dislocated her elbow on TV, it gave me a good laugh.

Tue 31st July 2012 @ 19:32


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M / 56 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

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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?
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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.
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The Comfort of Strangers

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