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What if it's really small?

  Tue 17th June 2014

I go for a coffee with Italian Looking Woman. She was wearing a scoop-necked tight green vest, over which was a low V-necked shirt in a flowery lilac, yellow and green pattern, with a sewn-in black tie round her waist. She couldn't have shown her lovely tits off any better; but she makes a great deal of eye contact, and so the opportunities to enjoy them were limited.

We got talking about the awkwardness of first-time sex. She said she worries about it and imagines scenarios in which it will be a disaster. "I mean, what if when he takes his pants off... and it's really small?" Another reason not to pursue her.

At the party, Wendy came up to my room. "Oh," she said, as she walked through the door. "It smells... drinky." Wendy's a relative of Kitty's and we've stayed in touch since the New Year's Eve party. She was looking at my books, and urging me to read The Wind-up Bird Chronicles by Murakami. We started talking about sex, and I said that on the appropriately-termed comedown from speed I feel possessed by a sexual drive and sometimes feel depraved in my ways of sorting it out. The following day she texted, hoping both that we can meet up again and that "the wankfest was a good one."

She was a great dancer too, in her gorgeous dress that was tight right down to her thighs, but had a loose, V-neck with lots of narrow folds. When I told her it was a great dress, I couldn't help a tiny look down, and we both laughed. "Yes, thought you'd like that, looby," said Kitty, who was standing close by.

At one point, with an Underworld album on, (Wendy's choice), Trina was jabbering incessantly on, and I started trying to manoeuvre her out of the circle in which Chris, Wendy and I were trying to create with dancing. "Shall we just dance?" I told asked her.

There was another girl there I took a bit of a shine too, one of Erica's friends who (like me) was at her wedding. "Well, we sleep in separate rooms now," she said. "In the evening we can be sitting on the sofa and he just gets his penis out and says 'So are you going to suck it or are we going to have sex?'" That's something you say when things are going very well, not when you're sleeping apart. She was lovely and chatty and smashed a bottle of wine, part of which turned up in my foot this morning.

Helen was there, very tired, but doing her best. She asked me to put Car Wash on but couldn't dance to it and for one moment I thought she might fall over. After she'd left, Erica -- off her tits on Fruit Salad and Smarties -- said, "your friend Helen. I found her attention-seeking and self-pitying." I nearly burst into laughter. It was accurate -- for that particular evening -- and was said entirely without malice. My friend from teaching practice turned up dressed as a nun and as she left, saying she had church in the morning, another guest was respectfully nodding. He thought she was a real nun.

On Sunday morning, me and Trina were in bed. I turned my phone on and went still and quiet, and ignored Trina asking me "what's the matter?" It was a text from Donna.

I'm in the back of a car. I think it's a silver Audi. I've been taken from my home against my wishes. I think I've been kidnapped. It feels like we are driving north. Please alert the authorities but tell them to act with caution as I think my captors might be armed.

I rang her friend, and got the two long dial tones which means she's cut off by fog in Europe somewhere. "Hi Beth, sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning but I've just had a text from Donna saying she's been kidnapped. I don't know if you could ring me back and tell me if that's something her sense of humour would cause her to write, or whether we need to do something?"

Trina, as I knew she would, got into a strop, useless in a crisis as ever, which is why she'd be the last person I'd tell if I were in trouble. "There's more to this than meets the eye. There's another girl to worry about now. Who's this Donna anyway?" "I've told you. She's the girl I went to the Soul Festival with, with Erica and Jo and boyf and the girls."

She stormed out of bed. I couldn't care less what she said or did. I got up and texted Donna, and received a phone call from Beth, who was in a hotel in Germany, attending a beer festival. It emerged that it was a joke about having to come up north to see her sister, whom she doesn't like.

I explained it to Trina, who said it was "disgusting". I said I thought it was a clever, articulate and convincing joke. As gently as I could, because she can't help her upbringing, I told her that her reaction explained why I wouldn't tell her about anything about it, and that it was an example of why I say she's a natural conservative.

It's lovely having the city back to yourself, now that the students have gone back to the places where RP is the unlocal accent. I'm in the pub, and occasionally I wonder why it isn't jammed with shouty men in banana suits and women in sexless dresses, putting all that effort into a fucking curry night down a cheap chain pub. It's just the locals now, and the marooned Chinese who can't afford to go home, and who always seem to laugh a lot.


Comment from: Suzy Southwold [Visitor]

“In the evening we can be sitting on the sofa and he just gets his penis out and says ‘So are you going to suck it or are we going to have sex?’”

Let the record reflect that I would chop the fucking thing off in her situation.

Tue 17th June 2014 @ 13:29

I just finished a Graham Greene book–I love him–and those last two sentences of yours would fit very nicely in the Greene book. Minus the vulgarity, of course. Greene was a proper depressive.

Wed 18th June 2014 @ 03:55
Comment from: [Member]

Suzy – I agree. It’s not pretty. There’s a time to talk filthy but that’s just horrible.

Exile – thanks! I like Graham Greene too. Our book club did Our Man in Havana and I loved it.

Wed 18th June 2014 @ 04:15

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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.
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

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