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It is a relief to see Kim again

  Wed 28th December 2016

On Christmas Eve, my daughters turned eighteen. One of their cards read "Congratulations! You're eighteen. Now you can legally do what you've been doing since you were fifteen," but as much as I keep waiting for them to go off the rails, it hasn't happened.

There have been some cautious experiments with pot, and the youngest will have the odd tin of lager; middle daughter once brought home a sixth form boy from the Grammar School. There was some ceremony and I was warned not to say anything "too jokey". He told her afterwards that he enjoyed the muddle in Kirsty's house, and that he thought I was "cool". Meeting his precise, impeccably-mannered Dad as he came to pick his son up, I could imagine their house in the countryside, all spotless white walls and espadrilles at the door for visitors; two cars, both with stickers about green energy and cyclists.

In the afternoon Kirsty's boyfriend took them all out for afternoon tea. As neither Kitty nor I had finished our Christmas shopping, and the shops were going to close in a couple of hours, we thought the best plan was to call into the Sun for a couple of glasses of wine. Afterwards, I joined a small group of guilty-looking last-minute men in a jewellery shop.

Christmas Day, and no-one was up until 11am. Later I went round to Kitty's to see her and Wendy for a couple of drinks and to get stoned swap presents. They gave me books by Margaret Drabble and Bukowski, and these two charming little knitted creatures I was cooing over at a craft fair in October. I gave Wendy an anthology of poems called "Out of Fashion," poems about being dressed, and undoing that state.

Back at Kirsty's, we started making Christmas dinner. I felt giddy, and lucky to be with her and the girls; all day I kept having those little moments of happiness which still you for a moment and where the light becomes brighter.

It's midday and Kim's asleep upstairs. She came over on Boxing Day and it's been easy, long, hours of talking; up until 9am the first night and half past three yesterday, sustained by a healthy and varied diet of things you can't buy in a supermarket. As we were talking about sex -- the conversation always ends up there -- I was getting quite turned on (as was she). "Kim, I'm going to have to sort myself out in a minute," I said. She nodded and gave a little shrug, which I took as my licence to add some actions to our words. After I'd come we looked at each other, and I laughed at now normal we were making it.

She's in a relationship now, with someone she met on one of those social occasions well-known for crackling with sexual desire -- an organised dog walk. She showed me his picture, which was testament to the admirable tolerance most women have when considering a man's looks. He's older than her, but dresses older still, like a cellared local government official. She, in Kitty's words, is "dazzlingly gorgeous", and was looking so yesterday afternoon in the pub, in a black minidress and black boots. I had immense difficulty in keeping my eyes off her tits, and was quite looking forward to getting back to mine, putting the coal fire in, then "sorting myself out" with her again.

This afternoon, we are going to attempt an hour down the pub, where my three favourites will be together for the first time. There's always a risk that one's friends won't get on with each other, but all three of them play such important roles in my life, that I would like to risk a couple of bottles of Prosecco on it.


When my daughter’s first boyfriend came around for the first time (she was 17) I showed him my framed set of Victorian Gelding knives.
Sounds like you had a nice Christmas.

I’m getting mixed up with Kirsty, Kim and Kitty.
Do you have some un-named obsession with the 11th letter of the Alphabet?

Thu 29th December 2016 @ 18:45
Comment from: [Member]

Yes but they’re going to start having sex at some point aren’t they? Better off showing them where the free pill clinic is.

Kirsty = mum of our girls

Kim = friend I met seven years ago through the dating site. Our first meeting, in which I turned up with white globular stains all over my shirt, and ended up with her slapping me sharply on the arm when I went to kiss her on platform 14 of Leeds station, is detailed here.

Kitty = someone I noticed as the fittest, best-looking woman at a poetry reading at our Literature Festival several years ago, because as you know I initially assess women on their intellectual merits and the depth of their character before noticing such shallow and disgustingly sexist details like how fit they look and how they dress.

Anyway, afterwards I was on my way home and thought nothing more of it/her. I noticed it was only 10.15 or something, so wanting an immediate drink, popped into the “pub” I was passing, the one where timid, frightened, middle class people go, and my eyes lit up when I saw her there.

Went up to her, and said that I thought the question she’d asked in the Q&A was interesting. Got on straight away, and despite being immediately classified into that sexless semi-gay category that women I fancy slot me into within seconds, she’s become a confidente and one of my best friends.

To explain why their pseudonyms all start with K would be giving too much away about the complex algorithm I use to conceal people’s real names.

I’ve told you all this before. You’re clearly not paying attention. D- See me.

Thu 29th December 2016 @ 20:13
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

There’s nothing like a good “sorting of one’s self out", i quite like this Kim woman… and are your girls triplets? those little moments of happiness, gorgeous things those, that rush of euphoria is one of the best drugs we’ll ever take…

Sat 31st December 2016 @ 13:50
Comment from: [Member]

Yes, I’ve got triplet daughters; and yes, Kim’s lovely. Not many friends you can get up to what we do together.

Blessings, in different ways, both of them. Happy New Year kono.

Mon 2nd January 2017 @ 00:51

Which Bukowski books!? I’m interested. I don’t picture him being your cup of tea. Let me know.

Thu 5th January 2017 @ 18:49
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

It’s his book Women. Wendy gave it to me and said I should read it, then write one of my own.

Thu 5th January 2017 @ 21:34

Ha! She’s RIGHT! You COULD write your own book in the same vein.

Thu 5th January 2017 @ 21:54
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Well yes, she was saying I could condense the eleven years of this blog into a set of related short stories, and one way of giving it coherence would be to organise it around Women I Have Known and Loved (Known, anyway – love’s getting a bit too aereated).

Thu 5th January 2017 @ 21:59

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

M / 57 / 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.
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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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