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Lose Weight This Weekend -- Guaranteed!

  Thu 9th January 2014

This feels a bit awkward. I am in the front room with Tom next to me and Ned opposite. I would be upstairs but Trina has gone to bed and I don't want to disturb her. We are all trying to concentrate on our own things at hand. There's some white music of Ned's execrable taste playing on his computer, because we all want to listen to music which is an argument against the existence of God--for surely, a benevolent, omnipotent being would not allow The Cranberries to exist.

There was only one full day clear after the party before Trina and I ironed our groove slacks and packed our vanity cases for the Modern Soul and House Music Weekender in Blackpool. (Anyone who well-meaningly but erroneously mentions Northern or Motown in the comments will be made to listen to the collected works of The Cranberries). It's a regular feature of my diary and is one of the friendliest and most enjoyable weekends of my year. I look forward to it immensely.

We checked into our fleapit hotel on Friday afternoon--we can't afford the deluxe package with accommodation in the venue--and then spent the weekend on the Pizza, Dancing and E Diet. It has yet to make it into Cosmopolitan but guarantees instant results over a mere weekend. I picked up our tickets--pleased with myself in front of Trina for getting them cheaper from a DJ I know--and then danced our way through till breakfast.

Update: I stopped writing downstairs as my toes were curling back onto my foot. I am now on a quiet bit at work, where one of the clients has just borrowed a book with the word "sex" printed in huge red letters on the front cover. You're supposed to ask them to show you the book so you can record the loan, but I'll just look up "sex" on our list of books in a minute.

On Saturday afternoon we budged up on the sofa to accommodate a couple of early 30s girls from Norfolk. The chattier and more attractive one told us that her mate had copped off last night, "so I'm spending my nights alone." Then we understood why. A large black man whose face looked like a relief map of the Lake District arrived at the table with a cold bottle of Taittinger; he generously poured some for me and Trina, producing, with what I thought was charming aplomb, two extra flutes for us. The girl from Norfolk, in turn, produced a vile, lukewarm "Blanc de Blanc" which was barely drinkable. As Leroy Bassenthwaite referred vaguely to a "business" in London, I remembered a more or less identical conversation with him last year, on the very same sofa.

In the foyer I meet two people from Morecambe, and I tell them about turning down a cloak-and-dagger proposal from a mutual friend, who wanted to get in for Saturday night for free. It involved meetings in car parks, scissors and double-sided sellotape. He's broke and he and his "wild Latino hellcat" as he calls her, want to get into the main night of the weekend for nothing. I told them that I wouldn't do that, and would pay for a pass for them both, at the discount rate from my DJ pal.

On Sunday we had to check out at 10am, so after three-and-a-half hours' sleep we were up to pack our things, before we fortified ourselves for one last push with a greasy spoon fry up. We got back to the Hilton and settled down into the dance room we liked the most. Before long the staff came round, turning the lights down and drawing the curtains, and the music got more housey. In a couple of hours Trina was somewhat away with the catnip and interrupted the dancing to tell various women in what ways they looked good, and all that somewhat false female camaraderie.

But then, the girl dancing next to us had helped Trina when the latter had a nosebleed the previous evening; more interesting to me though, was her dress, one of the sexiest in a weekend of sexy dresses. It had one long zip that started at the above-the-knee hem, snaked its way up to her cleavage then turned left to form a large asymmetrical collar. I couldn't help but imagine unzipping it all. She acknowledged Trina's compliment, but was in a similar situation to ourselves, and turned back to dance.

We lasted until 6pm. Trina drove us home through clouds of blinding lorry-rain, complaining about irresponsible drivers going at 80mph while she did 77. Back here, a letter showed that some people don't have much time off over Christmas and the New Year. Everyone was lively and chatty and curious, but I could hardly speak and was glad when they went to bed. Trina and I sat up drinking until 2am, stretching it out until we were fading in and out of sentences. We shouldn't have had three bottles of wine, but fuck it, it's only all the time once a year.

Since then, Trina has been here now for four days, and I am irritated with her. Her presence is too big; she sits and does a performance of patience if I have to get on with anything--which soon, of course, prevents me doing anything but court her. I want her to go away, for us to enjoy looking back on a fabulous weekend without this resentment in tail.

On Monday I suddenly took ill, and crawled to bed at midday, vomiting. At some point in the evening, Trina lumbered into bed, almost snapping my leg in half, then suffocating her desirable but inagile figure against me, making me groan with nausea as she threw a hand round my stomach, talking and asking me questions, stroking me with her hot, unwelcome hands. After a while she fell asleep and started snoring. I nudged her and told her she was doing so. She histrionically got out of bed, complaining "There's nowhere for me to go." I didn't have the energy to list the many things she could do in my house or out of it during my indisposition. She went off to her narrowboat and I moaned with a mixture of nausea and relief.

Last night I slept badly on the sofa to evade her snoring. I'm hoping she'll be generous enough to offer to sleep there herself tonight.


Comment from: furtheron [Visitor]

you lead such an interesting life compared to me…

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 11:00
Comment from: [Member]

That sounds like that ambiguous Chinese blessing :)

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 12:37

What about that notice? I’m constantly worried about that gigantic boulder dangling over your head.

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 14:11
Comment from: [Member]

Don’t worry M. Worrying about something doesn’t deal with the practical matter in hand. If you want to stop worrying send me a cheque for 1774.46 payable to Lancaster City Council.

I’m experienced at dealing with them and everything will be OK. What will now follow is the kind of labour I should expect to undertake given the way that I choose to live my life. Bailiffs in the UK have few legal rights at the moment, and largely rely on the intimidatory power of typography, and humiliation, often failing to put their faux-angry letters in envelopes.

(Going to change your spelling of “boulder” if you don’t mind.)

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 14:39
Comment from: sarah aka peach [Visitor]

Hmmm, having spent the Christmas and initial New Year period watching Sherlock, I can only presume (my dear fellow, as the original ACD Sherlock might have said) that you gave us the ‘ I picked up our tickets–pleased with myself in front of Trina for getting them cheaper from a DJ I know’ comment, to stimulate dialogue wherein we say ‘you clearly want her to like you and enjoy looking good in front of her, which means you like her liking you which means..x.. or ..y… or z’ ….so I will only say: I’m glad to read you still want to impress her… xx PS Hello, again, by the way, sorry I’m such a random and infrequent commentor and PPS I HAVE A BF OF 5 MONTHS NOW - this is truly amazing to me and I am a little bit braver in actually telling people… agh, I hate to tempt fate. AND PPPS WHEN are you coming to the bloody smoke, for chrissakes ? xx

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 20:45
Comment from: [Member]

I couldn’t care less what Trina thinks of me and wouldn’t be bothered in the slightest if she ditched me now. But I’m suffering from resource depletion–I’ll be back to normal soon.

But never mind that. I’ll happily come and pester you with a bottle of Prosecco and you can tell me all about the boyf, but please can you contact me again via the link on the RH side? That old email address for me doesn’t work any more, and as you’ve stopped blogging I have no way of contacting you.

Fri 10th January 2014 @ 21:13
Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

If I’m not allowed to get confused over music genres, I’m going to have insist on testing your knowledge of different flours and their uses; the occasions one would use bio, non-bio or colour detergent; and the merits of the various poodle crosses now being bred.

Sat 11th January 2014 @ 17:04
Comment from: [Member]

Fab. Now that, Homer, is real knowledge. Practical knowledge. Such as I would expect from someone from your county. You pull off a rare trick of domesticity, wit, intelligence and sexiness, with your individual details and things you say (plus your nice legs). If I can get down to MM Food Festival again, you’re coming with me.

Sat 11th January 2014 @ 19:21
Comment from: Hipster Yaya [Visitor]

Hating someone is feeling irritation by their mere existence, said a great Sandwichian phillosopher. In the case of Trina you subliminally replaced the word “existence” with “presence".

It doesn’t surprise me. I can’t stand a snoring bedmate.

Sat 11th January 2014 @ 20:52
Comment from: Leni Qinan [Visitor]

It’s all about the sense of hearing, Looby. Ned should use headphones instead of torturing his housemates with The Cranberries and you should definitely use earplugs instead of sleeping on the couch.

PS.- I have a book entitled “Sex".

Sat 11th January 2014 @ 21:34
Comment from: [Member]

Ned should use headphones of course, but he is a young man, full of his own pleasure and no sense of ego boundary.

The book I lent out was called “Sex in Loving Relationships". What about sex in unloving relationships? That’s when sex is best for me.

Sat 11th January 2014 @ 23:21
Comment from: [Member]

i’m quite happy in a relationship that is entering the 8th year. we do not live together, and rarely spend nights together. He’s good with it, as am i. Snoring (his) has become a factor. We both try to accommodate (one hits the couch if it’s a problem), but it will make me crazy… and it makes me feel terribly selfish as well.

Mon 13th January 2014 @ 03:30
Comment from: [Member]

You shouldn’t feel selfish about wanting a decent night’s sleep. Trina’s snoring is a big problem. I have lost count of the number of ruined nights’ sleep and then, irritation and tetchiness all the next day. The problem is that she only ever starts doing it when she’s really asleep, so now I just lay there awake and waiting for her to start roaring. Otherwise, you get woken up just at the point where you’re drifing off.

It’s best if we get two beds ready before we go to bed. It’s not satisfactory though. I don’t really sleep properly on the settee and it’s a little bit socially awkward because Tom leaves for work at 7.30ish and so has to walk through the living room where I am wrapped up in a duvet.

Mon 13th January 2014 @ 06:15
Comment from: Leni Qinan [Visitor]

My book is called just “Sex” (Erotic work from Cranach to Koone). Some positions are impossibly difficult and demand acrobatic capacities, but they’re worth trying. Variety is the spice of life, isn’t it?

Snoring bedmates? I don’t know what it is, we never sleep when we’re in bed :)

Mon 13th January 2014 @ 20:06
Comment from: Hipster Yaya [Visitor]

Are you a vampire perhaps, Leni?

Mon 13th January 2014 @ 20:46
Comment from: Chocolate Sandwich [Visitor]

I feel your pain: endless questions when you’re ill, excess ‘presence’ and staring at the ceiling as it sounds like someone is kick-starting an old Triumph Bonneville in the corner of the bedroom….

Tue 14th January 2014 @ 10:13
Comment from: [Member]

Leni and Hipster: I’ve never been one for trying out many sex positions: the sense of absurdity overcomes me and I start finding it funny. However, Frances was good at that–she’s a nutcase, but what a woman n bed (and the ktichen, etc.). She likes sex, is always in the mood, and always wants lots of it. I blogged about her introducing me to the Reverse Cowgirl. Fucking hell, I thought I was going to die with pleasure.

CS: Hello, very nice to see you here! I only want Trina around when we are doing something purposeful. She likes us to “spend time together", which is one of the most depressing phrases I know.

Thu 16th January 2014 @ 05:20

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

M / 60 / 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.
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The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
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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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