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I wear women's knickers in Brittany

  Fri 2nd August 2019

I spent much of the time in France wearing women's knickers, since I left my bag containing all my clothes and books on the train when we had to change at Wigan. Kirsty lent me hers, their firm support prettily counterposed with a little bow at their front. My daughter lent me some shirts, and I went sockless, à la mode Londrais.

We went to a cello recital held in an early C17th church. On enquiring as to the location of the toilets in the church, I was advised to have a discreet piss on the beach. When I came back the man on the door asked "est meilleur?" Bach's first and third suites bookended works by Britten, Bloch, and Mieczysław Weinberg, whose star seems to be rising -- at least, earlier this year I gazed longingly at the programme details for the complete string quartet cycle in Manchester from the Quatuor Danel. But mainly, it was eating butter-based products, drinking cider, swimming in the warm sea after nightfall, and games of cards round midnight.

Middle daughter, the actress, seemed to have it in for me for a while, making provoking remarks dressed up as jokes about my overall general failure as a man -- "a rather reductionist approach that Jenny," I bristled, "for someone who calls herself a feminist", before I realised that implementing the Wildeism about turning the other cheek (since nothing annoys one's enemies more), took the energy out of her in a better way than using pompous pseudo-academic twattery in a riposte. That, and undoing the U-bend under the sink to clear a blockage, worked.


I met Hayley after work. We sat outside the Wethers at Temple Meads on a warm, histamined evening. There was a table of three work colleagues a couple of yards away, the pub being next to a building where the lanyarded classes work on "projects". A man was becoming more and more loud, hectoring his female colleague. Hayley and I started mimicking his harangues.

"Look looby, I hope you would always come to me for support if you had any issues with your performance! And I say that vehemently! By jabbing my finger at your chest!" "Hayley, do you know what, the other night I went out with two boring colleagues from work and we talked shit all night and didn't notice that this couple at the next table were taking the piss out of our conversation, using the same phrases we were using! How about that? And I say that vehemently!" We got louder and louder, almost shouting, but he was impervious.

Conversation moved onto something more mundane. The other week we met the fish-importer-cum-crack dealer outside a club at 6am, with whom she went back and took both crack and cum. "Looby, I really need my hairdryer back." "Yes, I'll get it to you tomorrow." "Does my hair look awful?" "Hayley it looks great. You look like a right dirty bedhead. Looks like you've been fucking whilst on crack. Oh hang on, you have been."

2 comments

Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

When in doubt implement some Wilde advice.
Sadly, I don’t think your lanyarded classes knew they were implementing Wilde.
Sx

Sat 3rd August 2019 @ 06:35 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

We got bored with them after a while. They weren’t playing very nicely. Who wants to talk about work outside work anyway?

Sat 3rd August 2019 @ 07:41 Reply to this comment


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


M / 55 / 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

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