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  Mon 1st November 2021

I've distanced myself from Hayley over the last few weeks. There's little in it for me. But she sent me pictures of a large diptych she's had commissioned and has executed for a posh restaurant in Cambridgeshire. She painted directly onto its concrete walls using yacht varnish. It was impressive, and I thought that maybe she was on her way to a more enjoyable life where she could enjoy things outside of her crackhead. So, after many calls and texts, I agreed to go round to hers (it's never to mine) after work.

It was a grim night; the wind throwing rain in my face. At hers it was freezing. All the windows were wide open, and my change of clothes remained unchanged into in my bag. I sat in my coat on and my hands thrust between my thighs. She showed me various marks on her legs and neck which she described as bruises, although they were more small red circular eruptions which didn't look like bruises to me.

She doesn't talk in complete sentences, let alone paragraphs. The very disjointed story was that the windows were open because her boyfriend had come into her flat -- presumably wearing a gas mask -- and wiped all the surfaces down with chloroform, before shutting it up and waiting for her to faint on returning home. The marks on her body, she claimed, were the results of a rape or an assault.

I sat there shivering, disappointed that despite such a significant and well-executed commission, nothing has changed.

It is Mel's birthday.

We meet outside a dull but central pub mid-afternoon. She's in my favourite dress and I surge with smiling delight as I walk up to her. She's sitting cross-legged in my favourite dress of hers, which shows her sexy figure off, and is taut against her blackly-tighted thighs.

The Japanese restaurant was on the harbour side and is one of a series of foodie places housed in former shipping containers. The waiter took a photo, which gives me pleasure every time I look at it, magnifying it to look at Mel. I send it to Kitty, Wendy, Kim, and my eldest. The compliments roll in for her. Every man likes having a trophy wife.

Kitty: "Oh wow! What a gorgeous pic. Mel is bloody beautiful. Truly. Gorgeous. That warms the cockles of my heart, looby. You look so happy together... This is fab. Keep the pics coming."

Wendy: "Mel is very attractive," and both my eldest and Kim repeated the bit about us looking happy together.

Back at hers, I achieve my highest ever score at Scrabble, 254, still not enough to defeat her.

I'm not sure how it started, but I tell her about when I used to take my mum's catalogue to my bedroom and wank looking at the bra models. Talking about the Grattan catalogue circa 1980 gets my cock hard. "Do you want me to...?" she says, and we stay on the sofa. "I could see all those images passing in front of your eyes, so I thought I'd better do something about it."

I tell her about sitting in my local and getting talking to groups of girls up from Wigan or Preston, one of whom will eventually pat my hand, saying "well it's been lovely chatting to you, you're so nice to talk to and I hope your daughter gets on OK in Moscow" before perking up and twiddling their hair when someone more with a more masculine carriage walks in.

I never felt more than momentarily disappointed to lose the Wigan girls. I just accepted my market value, which was somewhere between a flat cap and a pint of bitter. But it gives me a calm, not to be part of that economy.

At work, we have this godawful radio station playing 70s hits in the kitchen. I turn it off when the boss leaves, but the songs persist in auditory hallucinations from the noise of the machinery, and it sounds as though the Stylistics have locked themselves in the fridge.


Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

Sorry to read about Hayley, she sounds like she’s losing the plot completely. That’s the problem with art commissions - you get something juicy and then nothing. I’m pleased she did a good job though.
Glad you’re still happy with Mel!

Mon 1st November 2021 @ 17:17 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Looby [Visitor]

She needs a website and more motivation to promote herself, but that’s so easy for someone else to say.

Mon 1st November 2021 @ 23:27 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

It’s a pity we can’t get her addicted to social media and marketing herself.
It is a tough gig - all the self promotion - especially if it doesn’t float your boat.

Tue 2nd November 2021 @ 06:44 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Yeah, she just waits for commissions to come in. She’s had a couple of enquiries as a result of the restaurant work but hasn’t followed them up because she says it’s not the sort of work she’s interested in. Which is understandable, if you don’t mind turning money down.

It’s very easy nowadays with wordpress, wiz, etc. Even farce book would be a start. It’s absolutely pointless trying to get Hayley to do something she doesn’t want to do herself though.

Tue 2nd November 2021 @ 10:38 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Mel sounds absolutely lovely, just a smashing woman with questionable taste in men, lol! You know i love you looby i just like to take the piss ;)

Hayley on the other hand… as i’ve said before i know the type well… run do not walk away from her… the most important people in her life are her dealers and while i understand the horrible soul-sucking dance of self-promotion and why one wouldn’t want to do it i don’t think that has a thing to do with it… as long as she has dosh to score she doesn’t care about her art, once the dosh is gone then she’ll think about it…

and in the world of being shite at replying to comments i’m sure i have you beat my good man, lol! no worries and great tales as always!

Wed 3rd November 2021 @ 17:03 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

She is indeed kono, and I’m definitely fishing from upstream with her!

Hayley – I remember once meeting her at the main railway station here, “be there at 7″ – and she was bang on time. That *never* happens. Surprise, surprise, she was waiting for her man.

It’s a beautiful day down here and I’ve got a day off, so I feel I must go and support local breweries and follow government advice to stay hydrated. All the best!

Thu 4th November 2021 @ 09:36 Reply to this comment

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

M / 59 / 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?
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