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My position is supported by Kant

  Thu 8th May 2014

Forgot that I didn't have the girls this weekend and so didn't know what to do with myself. Bumped into Erica in the pub. "What are you doing tonight?" she said. "I don't know." "Well, there's a party tonight --- if you'd like to come along."

"I'm going to be alright here, aren't I?" I said in the taxi. "No invite I mean?" "Fine," said Erica. Don't worry." In their house, they've converted the basement, and have put a sound system and lights down there. They'd also set up a yurt on the village green for people who wanted to get away from the music.

There were more women than men there. I got talking to a pretty, slightly Italian-ish looking woman a bit younger than me--although when she said that she was looking for someone "driven and ambitious" I knew that it was game over. She gave me her card and asked me to get in touch. Next day, I was with Trina in the pub and saw Erica and her husband, and then, Italian-looking woman, who was with some friends on another table. Her friend was wearing a pale green, almost khaki dress tunic with a high open collar and buttons down the front, spaced evenly, so that there was that gorgeous little kink of openness as the fabric goes over her tits. It looked like a good-quality thin cotton, as it creased, pulling over her tits, with little fabric ridges spanning out to her shoulders and back.

Trina went to the loo. I said to Erica, "I'm not sure if I'm reading too much into this, but I thought ILW was quite keen last night. I don't know, probably putting two and two together and making five." "Well, she said 'Is your friend single?'" Strange, all this attention now. There was nothing like this in my twenties.

On Bank Holiday Monday we went to Wray Scarecrow Festival, travelling up on a careering, bouncing, nauseous, bus. It's a gorgeous village, mainly C18th and C19th century houses on a street leading down to a riverbank where the locals abandon their children. The scarecrows are imaginative, politicised, and sometimes mechanised.

The local hairdresser sometimes slips up

But everything gets recycled locally

England is known for its compassionate treatment of the elderly
["You may be old and wrinkly but I care passionately for each and every one of you, I really do -- Wray Scarecrow Homes"]

The Tour de France is beginning near Wray this year (really), so this is the kind of poivrot that will litter our streets this summer

One can always rely on a Scot to lower the tone and raise the bar at the same time. The sign under his kilt says "boo" but it's not really the kind of village where you can take upskirt shots

We went for a wander in a bluebell wood--a good place for outdoor sex, we both agreed. Back in the village, we saw some salacious old German beermats for sale, depicting a nude fat-bottomed woman bent over stoking a wood stove, admired by two standing male observers.

Then to the pub for a couple of pints. The last time I was in that pub was on Valentines Day when I delivered my Valentines card made out of a pile of tiny post-it notes, for Daniella, a regular there, to the woman who served us on Monday, but fortunately we didn't bump into her. The waitresses wore these black, tube-like minidresses, a sexless hypersexuality.

Half of Lancaster was there, and another review of the Festival can be found at fellow local's site Unicycle Emptiness.

Got in tonight to a bit of a bombshell. Tess came in and told me she's moving out in a month's time as she's been offered free accomodation through where she works. Only the other day I was saying to Trina that I'll have Tess in the house for another fifteen months, until her course ends, so will have nothing to worry about for a while. Every time I think this house is settled and stable, it all changes. But there you, such is the life of the landlord, and I can't afford to live here alone. Or rather, I refuse to do the work that would enable me to live here alone. And I like having other people around. The stairs echo too much otherwise.

One of the legs on my futon has broken and I've had to prop one corner of it up with some books, including the Critique of Pure Reason and Beardsley's tome on Aesthetics.


Comment from: Bex [Visitor]

This is the difference between your blog and mine… you actually bothered to post pictures of actual scarecrows, rather than small children ha ha! Shame we missed you in Wray, although you could probably do without Connie/me chewing your ear off to be honest.

Sorry about Tess - that just leaves you with Poo Boy. Perhaps your next tenant should be someone with a love of cleaning?! ;)

Sat 10th May 2014 @ 14:49
Comment from: [Member]

Well, I’ve had a massive total of 0 enquiries about it so far! I’ll have to put some notices around. Usually, the online site I use is quite good, but it couldn’t be a worse time of the year to be looking for people. Hey ho, it’s Eurovision tonight so my worries about it will be drowned in a sea of kitsch for a while.

Sat 10th May 2014 @ 15:08

I can sometimes become completely entranced by the subtle shift of a woman’s breasts under a shirt. I prefer the gentle ambiguous uncertainty of a loose cotton/linen mix to the taught cotton T-shirt look. Although I must say the ration of nipple-protrusion has its good points.

That Scot has the worst legs I’ve ever seen.

I think you missed your chance with ILW, better luck next time.

Sat 10th May 2014 @ 18:30

Women who are looking for driven and ambitious men are inevitably tedious and impossible to please, imho.

I really do admire your steadfast conviction to not burden yourself with a conventional 40-hour a week job. I wish I had the resolve but I’m burdened with too many obligations to consider it. Next lifetime, perhaps.

Mon 12th May 2014 @ 11:57
Comment from: [Member]

TSB: “Taut” my dear–unless your teaching responsibilities are taking on a somewhat personal turn.

I’m not interested in ILW. She’s pretty, but I can’t do with all that striving and ambition.

EoPS: I think you’re right about that kind of woman. And I don’t want a full-time job ever again. Well, unless it was something fabulously enjoyable and well-paid, but I can’t see what that would be in Lancaster.

Mon 12th May 2014 @ 12:16
Comment from: smallbeds [Visitor]

There’s an Oxfordshire tradition of scarecrow competitions too. Out in the middle of nowhere, someone always puts one on an abandoned bench technically in Yelford.

It scares the fucking willies out of me every time until it falls to pieces in late winter, but not as much as the one time that a friend actually sat on the same bench one spring, and then *moved*.

Wed 21st May 2014 @ 20:49
Comment from: [Member]

Single scarecrows where they shouldn’t be… that’s a good idea.

My brother ran into the house white as a sheet once because he sat on a “log” that was actually a tramp.

Fri 23rd May 2014 @ 15:24

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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.
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.
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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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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.
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The Comfort of Strangers

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