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I have a substantial meal

  Mon 14th December 2020

Me and Mel meet up on the bus. We are stealing a few miles across the boundary into Bath and Northeast Somerset, where one can go to a pub, as long as one eats a "substantial meal".

The bus gets to Keynsham, (it's pronounced "cane-shum") where we have forty-five minutes to kill on a very cold evening.

In Sainsbury's, for want of anywhere warm, we walk ridiculously round the aisles, fingering objects we don't want until we get to the alcohol. I get a bottle of cider and she gets one of those mini bottles of wine. I am urgent for a piss so I go off to this tiered (sorry) garden area behind the now closed Sainsbury's cafe.

I get back and Mel has acquired company, with a teenage boy sat cosily next to her on the short bench. He's with a gang of yoof, who are admirably ignoring the harsh conditions by standing around eating takeaway food.

Me, Mel and him, pelvises in touch, are chatting away. He wants to return to his own though. I hear him say "yeah but you got to be fly or you don't get anywhere."

Suddenly two staff from Sainsbury's come out, looking busty and officious. The yoof scarper and we are suddenly alone.

After we'd finished our meals, we ask the waitress for another glass of wine each. We are not allowed, because we have stopped eating, which made me wish we'd left a morsel on the plate. It's a let-down of an evening, and my chivalrous gesture to pay -- for one course each and a bottle of wine -- set me back £60.

On Saturday Hayley came over. I met her at the bus stop, where she was in need. We went down the side of the Turkish supermaket where she pissed in the alley while I held my coat open like a gallant flasher.

We sat in the park drinking cider. An eighty-year-old man came up to us and started forcing out some fractured bits of Nessun Dorma. After a long ninety minutes of Hayley's complaints on a loop about her impotent boyfriend, the sparkling side of her came out. "The trouble with gay men is that they listen to you."

We had "arranged", in a Haylean sense, to meet up tonight for a dance and a drink at hers, but as you can see, dear reader, I'm writing this rather than sucking on a crack pipe with a sexy miniskirted younger woman.

I left Hayley kissingly, and made hurried preparations for another night across county lines: to Bath, where we were staying overnight with her friends.

The evening was dull work for me, listening to them talking about their years on a Greek island where they all used to live, and loud, prolix anecdotes from Neil, who hasn't heard of turn-taking. It dismayed me when the girls started talking together and I was cast as Neil's sounding board. On top of this, jarring pop-rock given a form of attention I find impossible to understand.

To attempt some noise abatement, I chewed and screwed up some paper and stuffed it into my ears. I excused myself to bed; Mel came up later and wanted sex, sighing as she gave up fiddling with a useless cock.

The morning was entirely different though, and it was only by stopping another wave of mutual arousal that we got downstairs before midday.

There was time for one last intimacy though. "Mel, I've got some paper stuck in my ear. I rolled it up last night because it was getting really noisy. Can you get it out with your fingernail?" Taking advantage of the well-prepared way in which women travel, I plucked it out with her tweezers.

Isla and Neil know a first-rate pub where a small bowl of chips counts as a substantial meal, your licence to drink to your heart's content. We were legislatively hungry though, and ordered pie and chips.

We got talking to the bloke at the next table; in the toilets, I got chatting to someone who was standing in the cubicle swigging from a bottle of whisky, which he started sharing with me. It was exhilerating to have the unpredictable company of strangers again.

Isla and Neil went home; me and Mel stayed for another pint, and more stroking, my fingers in her hair, the selfish shunning of others in a house made for society.

Three long texts to Mel at half past one this morning, full of sex. Sexy Ex-Boss has invited us round on Saturday to The Big House, Me and Mel are staying overnight. Mel's going to wear what I've bought for her. She doesn't seem to mind me using her like this. The lack of negotiation is a turn-on.


Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

Blimey, you Bristol/North Somersetters are letting the side down.
And stop fingering my mayonnaise!
*Goes into panic mode and starts wiping down fridge contents*

Tue 15th December 2020 @ 08:25 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

I know, its probably not helping but there’s q lot of covid tourism going on. I’ve run out of worry beads for it now.

Tue 15th December 2020 @ 09:05 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

You man about town you!! from one woman to the next like a modern day Casanova! ;)

I often wonder how i’d be handling the current situation if i was still hitting the bars or had it been the heyday of the dealing years, i’m sure not well, i confident i know a few pub owners who are keeping the shades drawn and the back door open for those in the know and i was always one in the know back then, a veritable moveable party from one pub to the next…

And i often wonder when the full on orgy is going to break out at the big house, maybe it’s my over-active imagination but something tells me…

Tue 22nd December 2020 @ 14:20 Reply to this comment
Comment from: monkey man [Visitor]

Happy Christmas Mr Looby!

Tue 22nd December 2020 @ 23:55 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Happy birthday to you and yours Monkey man and I hope they let you out of house arrest as soon as possible!

Wed 23rd December 2020 @ 10:29 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

In my pathetic defence, we did get put into tier 2 a few days after our trip to Bath so we were only illegal for a short time.

kono – I don’t hold out much hope for anything major taking off at the big house, and that would be a bit shit on Mel. A snog that no one found out about would be nice though.

Wed 23rd December 2020 @ 10:27 Reply to this comment

Thank you for the pronunciation guide. Much appreciated although I did have to Google ‘Nessun Dorma’. How are you, sir? Sending good wishes to you from across the great divide. I’m afraid if something untowardly happens to you I’ll not know what or when. This will just stop.

Tue 29th December 2020 @ 21:31 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Thank you for dropping in Exile, I do think about you over there in the cauldron.

Good point abiut ther terminal plan. Got to start thinking about funerals at some point :) Best wishes Mr E and I very much hope to be, at the very least, reading you, and at the best, visiting you, in 2021.

Tue 29th December 2020 @ 22:44 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.

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