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'Tis pity she's a smoker

  Mon 17th August 2020

Cath's in the garden, and suggests a smoke inside. Obvious sexual tension, about which I do nothing. As I was stroking the cat, she said out loud, in a curious dope-induced muddle of persons, "he's only stroking her because he wants to get me into bed."

She runs out of patience with my inaction, and takes herself off to bed.

The following evening, we are watching something on the telly, both sat on the settee, when she gets up to sit on the armchair. "What's up Cath?" She tells me that I smell of drink. I currently have a fifty-minute cycle ride to and from work. I tell her that I'll never be teetotal and I think I deserve a pint of cider after my arduous journey home on a hot day. She gets up in a huff and goes to her room, all the pleasure and promise of the previous evening screwed up and thrown away. I take it as a translation of her irritation over my passivity of the previous evening.

With Mel, however, it ends more happily.

I met Mel during my brief time working at Parks and Carks.

I am lugging a copy of the two volumes of the Shorter Oxford English Dictionary, which I purchased on the way there from a curio shop, and my burdensome jacket, which repeatedly ejects my cards onto the pavement.

I'm early in the pub, and a man wearing a T-shirt with some regimental badge on it can't open his packet of peanuts. I was going to make a comment about not relying on the British military in a crisis, but ex-Army people are sensitive souls.

We went to the garden, where the SOED became a conversation piece. We joined tables with these window fitters and their boss ("no, I own the company, I just watch them work"). We started a game where we had to give the meanings of words picked out randomly from my volumes. Peart: clever, sharp, intelligent.

They shared their joints round, which got me and Mel gigglingly stoned. At the bus stop I said "go on, give us a snog," and we did.

Yesterday in the same pub, we were adopted by three women and a bloke from the Dictionary Game. It was good, raucous, sexualised banter. I told one of the women "you've got fucking lovely tits you have." She said I looked a bit like Dirty Den -- a murderer in real life.

The author yesterday

The light was fading. Mel draped herself across me and took my hand. Her soft fingers stroking a small thrill into my palm, my arm around her shoulders close to her breasts.

At the bus stop, we start kissing. She unbuttons her shirt, takes my hands and put them on her tits. But she wants an unmediated touch, and pushes her bra up over them.

The bus arrives suddenly, and I withdraw, leaving a disarranged sixty-year-old woman on a high street.

My youngest texts. "I'm reading a book about cults, and I'm more and more glad that we had an effeminate ninny for a father rather than some mad patriarch. Love you x"


Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Look at you mate, women veritably throwing themselves at you!! Snogging at the bus stop boobies in hand, i need a bit of your luck, lol!!

and a few posts back on the lounge there’s a post entitled I’ll be Your Mirror, it gives an interesting view of our hero from the eyes of a former lover. I can say he’s not changed much lol!

Mon 17th August 2020 @ 12:45 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Yes it’s been quite a good week, although I’m a bit wary of Cath in the cold light of day – she’s moody and controlling. But never say never.

And it’s not bad to have someone write something like the Mirror to you!

(Wont’ let me post the direct link to the Mirror but people can use the search thing).

I agree about the short and intense relationships sometimes being the ones that affect you the most. I think of Donna 2 often. She changed me – I’ve never experienced anything like that with anyone else. I miss her.

Mon 17th August 2020 @ 12:57 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Jonathan [Visitor]

A definite likeness with the famed 80s actor/murderer there Looby*. Although I do think that the actual day-to-day events of your life would be rejected by self-respecting soap opera scriptwriters as just too outlandish and unlikely…as well as unsuitable for pre-watershed viewing. That busstop scene though…quite the showstopper!

*As in, I do know it’s a picture of him! But I can see the likeness with you (don’t let it go to your head though!)

Tue 18th August 2020 @ 17:47 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Well, I was delighted at the comparison, even if I have to strain slightly to see it.

Thu 20th August 2020 @ 00:59 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

You look like Dirty Den? Well that explains a lot.
I think Cath is just waiting for you to make a move… I wonder if she is having long in-depth conversations with her closest friends about you? She should start her own blog.

Tue 18th August 2020 @ 21:38 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Yes, I think she’s irritated at me not taking the initiative. I’m just a bit wary of Cath – I don’t know whether my desire for her might be used later as a weapon against me in some way.

Thu 20th August 2020 @ 01:02 Reply to this comment
Comment from: daisyfae [Visitor]

i’ve just spent a lovely hour or so catching up with your posts from the past few months. i’m fucking exhausted! good lord, looby! constitution of a nuclear-irradiated cockroach indeed!

quick observation on Cath - some hints of Trina seeping through. The moodiness, un-verbalized, indirect expectations. But she’s been a true friend, it seems.

And lastly, let’s hear it for elder-titties! Between the woman on the street, and Mel at the bus stop, i’m encouraged to hear that there can still be appreciation for the seasoned breast!

Wed 19th August 2020 @ 05:15 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Hello DF, long time no see, and thank you for ploughing through it all. Wendy and Kitty call me The Cockroach :)

You’ve hit it on the head with Cath. I don’t quite trust her. She’s not straightforward.

And yes, I am blessed with finding women around my age attractive. Men who won’t look at women over 60 are purblind and really missing out. Somewhere back in the archives is the story of the 70-y-o neighbour I was physically attracted to when we found ourselves together in the pub on New Years Day. It doesn’t matter. Women can be attractive at any age.

Thu 20th August 2020 @ 01:07 Reply to this comment

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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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