Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« I receive thirty pounds anonymouslyBlack angel »

Falling in

  Fri 18th February 2022

One of my New Year's resolutions for 2022 was to work fewer hours, yet I worked fifty-two hours last week over six days.

However, whatever storm we're up to now has blessed me. I do a bit of dinner ladying, and yesterday afternoon, the headmistress sent everyone home. An emissary came into the kitchen to tell us that our week had ended, after a section of the roof, which appeared to have weathered the gusty conditions on Wednesday, fell in. The engineers they called in said that they would have to do a complete structural survey of the whole school, so couldn't guarantee the safety of any part of it. Result!

I was summoned to an interview with the Universal Credit people yesterday. I took my last two weeks' timesheets with me in case they think I am doing what I would prefer to do.

A security guard told me I couldn't bring my scooter into the job centre. I told him that I need it to get to work and that I'm not letting it out of my sight. (I live in an unfashionable suburb of Bristol full of scoundrels.) He said "well put it over there, but you're not allowed to bring it in next time."

In an open plan office, which almost caused nightmarish flashbacks to when I used to be employed by a computer, I sat behind a screen facing a remarkably painted woman. With great precision, she had put pink lipstick on her lips exceeding their physical boundary by a couple of millimetres. Her black eye eyeliner extended in an upward curve either side of her eyes, and she'd painted a matching downward curve starting from the same point, like this.

All that effort in the morning, just to go and sit in a job centre. The artistic merit might be questioned, but for technical execution -- ten out of ten.

"Hello Mr Looby. Erm...I'm just loading up your notes.'s so slow. This system. So what is it you do?"

"Well, apart from being a man, I'm a dinner lady at La-di-Dah High School, and I also help run the Fatworkers' Staff Canteen in town."

"Oh right, is that on Lard Street?" "Yes, just behind the hospital."

Hmmm...there's nothing really here to tell me why you've been brought in."

"Yeah, me too. I'm a bit bemused as to why I'm here." I showed her my timesheets. "I did fifty-one hours last week and I'll be doing fifty-two this one. But it's a change of scenery, and it's been nice meeting you and having an excuse to stare at your strikingly made-up face."

I felt a presence. The security guard had wandered around to eavesdrop. As I turned my head to him he looked at the floor and scuttled away.

My interview was concluded with another apology, for not knowing what she was supposed to do with me, and I left to call on Mr Khan, purveyor of discounted cider to the quietly alcoholic.

After work one day, I am sitting in the chain pub, close to, and looking out through, its big picture window. Mid-afternoon, it's a warm place of cameraderie and mutually-accepted decay, before the students' loud exhibitionist voices wreck the calm.

Suddenly, a young woman -- late teens? early twenties? -- in baggy trousers and a crop top showing a lovely midriff, starts dancing in front of me on the other side of the glass. I jump down from my seat and and start dancing with her. The man at the next table joins us, but only to point at her and say "aren't you cold?" She misunderstands him, and looks affronted.

"Do you think I'm fat?" she mouths to me. I make a dismissive gesture, and point to her, mouthing back "you..." before making a curving movement with my hands as though I were running them over Nigella Lawson. She, and I start dancing again for a few seconds, and then she leaves abruptly. I sit back down again, full of flirty energy, pleased with myself compared to the fuddy-duddy at the next table. "Fucking hell," I say to him, laughing.

My relationship with Mel continues to put me in a state of puzzlement. Why do I not feel oppressed by this woman? Why, sometimes, like last night, do I ring her saying I'm tired and want a rest, then two hours later ring her wondering if she'd mind me coming round? Why, when stoned and pissed in the pub and in a break from dancing with her, do I say to her friend, "oh Mel, yeah, I'd marry her tomorrow if she asked." Why does she not mind me pushing my stiff cock against her toes while she does the crossword in the morning? Sober, I don't want to marry Mel, but she's the most natural, effortless girlfriend I've had for...


Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

You are in lurve!!!

Fri 18th February 2022 @ 11:12 Reply to this comment
Comment from: [Member]

I am a bit. It’s a novel experience. And the sex is still, eighteen months in, a work in progress, which is lovely. She just treats me so well, it’s fab. And I really fucking fancy her.

Fri 18th February 2022 @ 11:35 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

In the ever present shit show that is my life i’m quite happy that you’ve found a woman like Mel… does she have a sister? ;)

and you are quite the window dancer you charming bastard!! there are times i miss the Plastic Paddy (as i called the local chain Irish Pub), it was place here in the burbs where the wastoids and misfits could gather… now it’s all fucking brew pubs that pump in “hip” tunes… no wonder i hide in my house ripping dabs and eating shrooms.

Mon 21st February 2022 @ 21:50 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Yes, lots of those sorts of places in Bristol.

Well, I never knew what dabbing was! (Just in case anyone shares my unilluminated space –

Mon 21st February 2022 @ 23:23 Reply to this comment

Form is loading...

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

M / 58 / 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

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Eryl Shields Ink
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll defunct, but retained for its quality
George Szirtes ditto
Guitars and Life
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
Golden Pages for Musicologists
Lauren Redhead
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained

  XML Feeds

Open Source CMS

©2022 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog templates by Asevo | Blog software