The Speed Dating Results!

Life has been rather busy around here for the last couple of days. So I’ll give you the edited highlights and updates….and maybe over the weekend I might get around to writing something of substance for you….


The main update is about the Speed Dating….Jo phoned me yesterday and told me who she had matched with….only one….and would you believe it….The Flatterer!

They’ve already exchanged email addresses, mobile numbers and even chatted to each other on the phone. Tomorrow their first date is planned.

So how do I feel about this? Honestly? I’m pleased that Jo has good taste; he’s attractive, confident and funny. I hope they have fun together….and if she decides he’s not her type….at least now I can get his phone number….

Other things that have kept me busy are checking out some new Ezines (online Magazines) to which I can submit some articles – when I have more news on what and where I’ll post the details….

And the other thing I’ve been up to is keeping a close eye on developments in my “private” online life – that’s a contradiction in terms…and when things cross over into my real life I may even post some details here….

Speed Dating

Last night I put on my new t-shirt (it has “Assassins do it from behind” and a silhouette of a pirate about to jump on someone unsuspecting printed on it), skinny black jeans and knee-high suede boots – yes I’m into the whole Pirate thing at the moment. Drove into town and met Jo. We went for a quick drink in a bar – nearly £10 for two drinks, and she had coffee! Quick chat about what’s going on in our lives currently – she sold a framed print of one of her painting yesterday, so Hooray for Jo! Then off to the bar where the Speed Dating was being held……

Jo, along with the other daters was given a name badge and a number to wear, me being the Moral Support, got nothing. We got drinks and then it started.

I had to sit in the corner, fortunately I wasn’t the only Moral Support that turned up, so myself and a lovely lady called Sam chatted for the hour and a half or so that the dating went on.

Watching the cross-section of the community that was taking part was fascinating to say the least; tall, short, fat, thin, ugly, attractive – you name it, they were there. Jo was without doubt one of the most attractive women there but she won’t get to find out who has matched with her until Thursday – don’t worry I’ll post the results here.

There were 16 women some whom looked in their 20s; slender, very attractive, vivacious and interesting and there were some who looked at the very upper end of the 35-45 age group that was supposed to be taking part. I would have said that pretty much all physical tastes were catered for – unless of course you prefer porn-star types, and then there were none evident – likewise for the men….

Only 13 men and of those I could only pick out three whom I found instantly attractive – attractive enough for me to go speak to afterwards…..Well, to be fair, I only managed to speak to two of them; the other one got away quickly, but Jo told me he wasn’t worth bothering with anyway…..

One of the two spoke to me first; he wanted to know why I wasn’t taking part and said he was really disappointed – he had noticed me when he came in and had been looking forward to talking to me…..

Gentlemen, flattery is good.

I spoke very briefly to this chap but just as I had started to talk, so the other one I wanted to speak to walked past and I’m afraid I just pounced upon him…..Not because he was devastatingly attractive, no, but because Jo had told me he was a writer and made a living from writing for online magazines. The lure of networking was too strong, so I collared him; the fact that he was easy on the eye helped, but as soon as we had chatted for a couple of minutes I wished I hadn’t stopped talking to the flatterer…..Such is life…..

Jo thoroughly enjoyed the evening she ticked two of the 13 there; one a drugs counsellor (good one, I told her, he’ll be able to get some then! Which I had to quickly follow up with, I’m joking, honestly) and the other was a mental health expert, again, could come in handy….you never know….

But at the end of the evening both Jo and I went home alone with no telephone numbers or email addresses, no one commented on my lovely t-shirt and the new knickers I had bought earlier that day were seen only by me…..

Anticipation is most of the pleasure

Just a quick note this morning to keep you all interested!

Tonight I’m off with Jo to the Speed Dating event…and as I mentioned previously, I shall be sitting at the bar – scorecards in hand – it’ll be just like the Olympics; I’ll hold up each gentleman dater’s score after he’s sat down and chatted to Jo….

If there are any over 9.0 I may have to give them a score of below 5.0 – just for Jo to see….but I’d tell them personally later that really I was going to give them over 9….

No, I wouldn’t really do that to her – she’s the one that wants to get back to dating. I’m even planning to dress down a little, just jeans and a t-shirt.

I’ll post tomorrow with all the sordid details…..although I’m guessing that if there are any sordid details they’ll be made up – which means they have to go in a B3ta Question of the Week and not here – only the truth here…..And on QoTW the ratio of truth to fiction varies between 100:0 to 50:50 – depending on the story and always depending on the readership….

If you are one of the very few people on the Internet that is not aware of b3ta.com then I urge you to go take a look – providing you’re not easily shocked or lacking in humour.

Cold Remedies

I have a cold, common enough this time of year, I don’t usually suffer from colds but as I have recently moved in with my parents who keep their house heated to approximately 100 degrees whereas I’m used to no central heating at all….Hardly surprising I’ve succumbed to something….

I’ve been looking online for cold remedies; in the past I’ve just taken paracetamol or lemsip and hoped for the best. This time I thought I’d see what’s out there that
is a bit different…..

Apparently putting Hydrogen Peroxide into your ears is supposed to work, it says so here and they also recommend vitamin C shoved up your nose too….I’m not sure I want to try playing with chemicals – didn’t take Chemistry GCSE, did Physics instead (and failed that….), passed Biology though! So that qualifies me to discuss cold remedies, hooray!

The Mayo Clinic recommend drinking lots of fluids, not alcohol or coffee or coke, but water – hasn’t helped so far, since I’ve been living here (around three weeks) I’ve been drinking about 8 pints a day just to counteract the central heating….They also recommend Chicken Soup…maybe I’ll have some later…

I’m really far more interested in the weird and wacky remedies like eating toasted worms or rubbing a slice of bacon on your knees. This one is good….

A Canadian cure for a bad Cold
Place your hat on the table and drink well from a large bottle of whisky until you see two hats.
Get into bed and stay there.
Warning: The resultant hangover could well be worse than the actual cold.

And from the same place,

Some Texan Cold remedies



Apply fresh cow dung to your chest in the form of a cross







Or
Wear the skin of a white Weasel around your neck






Or
Rub the bottom of your feet with Tallow and Turpentine and then hold your feet against an old wood stove












Or
Rub your chest with Goose Grease and Kerosene










Or
To cure a Head Cold, catch leaves in your hand that fall from trees in the Autumn











Or
Take dried frog skins and make a powder of them. Mix with fruit juice and drink.














I think I’m going to stick with lots of hot drinks and maybe a large whiskey later.

Would you want to say goodbye?

I’ve just been catching up with the news on the BBC website and one article caught my eye; all about a chap who has been given only weeks to live and has decided to hold his wake while he is still around and able to say goodbye to people
This strikes me as an extremely good idea but also one that will no doubt cause many of his friends great anguish too. Here in the UK we do tend to have a prudish attitude towards death – it’s acceptable to discuss sex, politics, religion and even money at the dinner table these days, but most people avoid talk of death. Partly I suppose because none of us wants to be reminded of our own mortality. Often when you lose someone close to you the most many people can do or say is to offer a blanket response of help – Let me know if I can do anything. The same response to hearing someone is ill, divorcing, lost their job, a one size fits all answer.

Some years ago a good friend of mine was killed in a motorbike accident, sadly a fact of life these days and to be fair he was such an adrenaline junkie it was bound to happen sooner or later. His fiancée and I were close and yet we have rarely spoken about him. His best friend and I still mention him even now, ten years on. His sister and I still talk about him sometimes too. But I suppose the thing is that to talk to his fiancée, the one person closest to him, is just too painful for all of us – until fairly recently the raw pain showed in her face. It’s just much simpler to talk about other things.

I would guess that at the wake this man is holding for himself most people will avoid talking about his impending death. There’ll be lots of laughter and reminiscing and maybe some tears too, but I’d be willing to place money on the tears being mostly held back or shed in the privacy of the loos.

And at least this man is getting the privilege of saying goodbye, so many people just don’t have that chance. But would you want to know when you’re going to die?

Writing

I was asked what sort of things I write....Well, aside from the paying writing, which I won't discuss here (sorry folks, but I have an editor to consider)I'm also writing a novella (a posh short book) and I've a half written comedy novel sitting gathering dust.

So, in the interests of entertainment and because nothing terribly interesting has happened for the last couple of days, here's the first chapter of the comedy novel. Please bear in mind that there is a reason it's sitting gathering dust....

Patrick’s fifteenth birthday was on the 1st of September 1939, two days later war broke out and he was relieved of his virginity by a working girl called Sadie. She said she was doing him a favour; no one wanted to die a virgin and she was sure Hitler himself was going to come knocking and kill them all. Patrick’s mother, Sadie’s best friend, was out working as a hostess in a gentlemen’s club in the West End. Sadie popped round to see if Patrick and his baby sister, Eileen were safe as war had been declared officially at 11am, some ten hours previously. She walked through the back door of Rosie’s little house in Tooting and found Patrick sitting naked in a small tin bath in the kitchen.

“What the – Sadie! I’m having a wash!”
“Oh don’t mind me! I’ve seen it all before. I’ll shut my eyes so you can get out and keep decent.”
“Thank you.” Patrick waited until Sadie closed her eyes and then he stood up, looked around and sighed, “Um, you’re sitting on my towel.” Her large blue eyes opened and she spoke to his hands which were attempting to conceal his embarrassment unsuccessfully, “My, you have grown… up. It only seems like yesterday you were still a little boy. Doesn’t time fly…hmm.” She appeared to drift off into a reverie inspired by Patrick’s naked and still wet body; he didn’t look fifteen.
In Patrick’s opinion Sadie looked like a Saturday morning in bed; comfortable, warm, dreamy, but unmade. The hem on her dress was always coming unstitched or the lining came away as she took off her coat or she couldn’t remove her heavily darned cardigan because it forced the tiny buttons on her blouse to pop and skitter to the floor. Sadie had known Patrick all his life, or so it seemed to him. He couldn’t remember a time when the little kitchen wasn’t full of squawking women trying on each others’ clothes, laughing, smoking, sniggering, drinking tea, cackling, painting fingernails, smiling, painting lips, giggling. Sadie was the loudest and depending on her current ‘gentleman friend’ she often stayed in the front parlour of their two-up, two-down house. Sadie was fond of telling Rosie, Patrick’s mother, that her house was the only place she could call home; tea was always in the pot and the welcome was warm.
Patrick was still standing cold and naked in the kitchen, “Um, Sadie, my towel?”
“Hmm, yes. Here you are Patrick. Shall I close my eyes again? Not really much point is there? I’ll put the kettle on shall I? Nice cup of tea. Or maybe we should have something stronger – seeings what’s happened.”
“What? Seeing me without my clothes on? And would you please get off my towel, I’m freezing here Sadie, please?”
“No you silly billy, not seeing your little willy, well actually not so little, quite large actually… The bloody war – that’s what’s happened. Mr Chamberlain said this morning on the wireless that we are ‘now at war with Germany’ – that’s what he said. Awful it is, awful.” She stopped to sigh and sniff. “All them poor boys are going to get sent out to their death. My Dad died in the Great War you know.” She sniffed again and her eyes looked watery, high spots of colour had appeared on her pale powdered face. Patrick stepped out of the tin bath and tugged on the towel that was still firmly wedged between Sadie’s shapely backside and the hard wooden kitchen chair. “Alright! Alright! You only needed to ask you know.” Finally Sadie lifted herself and let him get to the thin and threadbare cloth masquerading as a bath towel. Patrick wrapped the white towel with its red stripe around his skinny waist. At last! That was worse than showers after Mr Dawson’s football practice at school. “I think I’d better go and get dressed while you’re making a cup of tea Sadie.”
“Were you going to put your jim-jams on Patrick? Don’t let me stop you.” She stood up, made towards the sink and looked over her shoulder at him, “They said on the wireless that we must carry on as usual and not panic in these difficult times… You’re not panicking are you?” She gave a high-pitched giggle, turned towards him, leaned her elbows on the sink behind her, pulled back her shoulders and shook out her long red hair nervously. She knows I’m looking at her breasts. Tits. Melons. Thrupp’nies. Knockers. Stop it! “No, no. I’m not panicking, but I am getting cold, so if you will excuse me for a moment…”
“I’m panicking Patrick. I don’t know what to do!” She gave a tight smile before her mouth opened to a perfect O, she seemed to break somehow and her words came out in whispers: “We’re all going to die you know… The Fuhrer will send his Boche troops and murder us all in our beds. He’ll gas us, bomb us, and invade us. Oh bloody hell. Whatever will I do Patrick?” Sadie began sobbing and heaving as she shook. Patrick looked down at the puddle of bathwater at his feet, he bit his lip. Does she have to do this now? I wish she’d at least wait until I’m wearing more than this pathetic towel. “I’ll just…um, clothes…” He took a step towards the hall door just as Sadie let out a howl that would not have disgraced any of the residents of Battersea. “Don’t leave me Patrick! Don’t leave me! We’re all going to die!”
“Sadie, we’re all going to die one day.” I hope that sounds sympathetic and she’ll stop crying. Mind you, all that heaving does make her blouse gape – I think I can see her brassiere…Bloody hell, think of something else; think of her crying and all that snot…I have to get some clothes on, now!
“Patrick, Patrick, have you come over all funny? Are you scared stiff too? What do you think will happen now? Will it be quick and over in a flash? Or will it go on for ages?”
“Will what be quick?” Patrick asked warily.
“The war”
“Ah. Yes. Well, I, um. I don’t know.”
“But you must know something Patrick – all them expensive lessons – and wasn’t your housemaster a Jerry? What’s happened to him then? Was he a spy?”
Patrick paused. Father Lazlo was Polish… “I don’t really know what to think Sadie. I’m sure Mr. Chamberlain and the government know what they’re doing and I suppose it’s not up to us to question it all. But I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for those people in Poland – to just have someone walk in and take over… to be powerless.” They both stood silently. “Well, I’d better get dressed.” He took a stride towards dignity but was stopped again by Sadie who now threw herself against his bare and hairless chest and began to sob. Patrick stood still, Sadie’s Marcel Waved head barely came to his shoulders, he had been as tall as the masters at the end of last term and was often mistaken for a Sixth-former or even a gentleman. He patted Sadie’s narrow back as if she were a strange overfriendly dog which he needed to placate while his other hand was still clinging to his modesty.
“Oh Patrick, you’re so calm and sensible. Your mum is so lucky to have you back home you know.” Sadie’s voice was only a little muffled by his almost dry chest. She was whimpering and her chest was heaving, her blouse still gaping with each intake of air. Her hot breath upon his left nipple was not going unnoticed. Patrick tried to focus on Sadie’s less appealing features like her small, pointed and pronounced teeth, but that made him think about her mouth rimmed with scarlet lipstick. He tried to picture her overlong toenails which scratched the ground as she tottered in her high heeled sandals but that made him imagine her slim ankles, shapely calves, white rounded thighs rising up to her perfectly formed – his breathing was becoming ragged. The towel was now pointless.
“Patrick! You naughty boy!” said Sadie slowly, “Well I never! And all for me…What are we going to do now?” She walked her pink shell fingernails up his chest.
“Sadie, I’m…I do apologise. I must -”
“Come on,” she whispered huskily just like Patrick had seen at the movies, the same movies she had seen, “Into the front parlour. Room doesn’t get used that much, curtains are closed and I’ve heard the settee is quite comfy.”
“But…Sadie” SHUT UP!! This is a chance to get your leg over you stupid bugger! She might be a few years older than you and she’s done the rounds a bit, well more than a bit, but she’s female and she’s got great knockers. If I’m lucky she might even let me have a look at them. So shut up and let her take you.
Sadie took Patrick’s hand and gently led him into the darkened room. His heart was pounding so much he couldn’t hear all the wirelesses in his street tuned to the Home Service, the 9pm bulletin, all talking war with one solemn voice.

Bloody hell. Bloody hell. This is it. She’s going to let me…I’m going to…Bloody hell. Stay calm. Stay calm. The parlour was cool and quiet, dark heavy Victorian furniture set like a stage waiting for its next scene to be played out in front of the framed audience of long dead relatives reproduced in faded sepia tones. Sadie’s only concern was with her living audience of one for whom she slowly lifted her pale blue cotton skirt, slipped her cream cami-knickers down over her rounded hips and allowed them to slide to the floor where she elegantly stepped out of them and then threw them over Great Uncle Charlie who remained unperturbed in his mahogany frame. She turned away from him, bent to remove her strappy sandals and slipped her small feet onto the worn carpet. She quietly laid herself upon the narrow ageing couch, lifting her skirt again and allowing her spectator his first sight of a woman. Her white thighs were luminous against the dull brown swirls that had once been flowers on the upholstery, but Patrick’s eyes could not move from her coppery pubic hair. He stood, towel still in hand. I’m not quite sure what to do now. I mean, I know what to do, but what does she expect? “Um, can I um, kiss you?”
Sadie giggled, “Not many want to kiss. I usually charge extra for that you know.”
Patrick frowned.
“Don’t worry Patrick love. This one’s on the house. This is for the war effort.” She gently pulled him on top of her then kissed his lips and whispered, “We need to make an effort to make sure you don’t die a virgin… Don’t look at me like that; I know I’m your first. Drop that bloody old towel!”
He did as he was told. His knees were between hers and his hands held fast onto the couch, Bloody hell. Oh God.
“You know where to put it, don’t you love?” Sadie was looking at the ceiling.
“Yes, of course. But I … I don’t want to hurt you.”
Sadie’s mouth puckered a little, she let go of her skirt and dropped her hand, but not her eyes, to guide him. She did not laugh, smirk, wince or yelp as Patrick thought she might, Sadie was silent. He kept his eyes trained on the arm of the couch, another grubby patch where the flower pattern had become a brown pattern with darker bits. Great Uncle Charlie looked on impassively; he was responsible for the stain on the couch; half a pint of stout spilled as he experienced his final heart attack brought on by the discovery of his only niece’s expecting another in the long family line of bastards. With a gentle creak from the couch Patrick’s first attempt was over quickly. He sat back on his towel, “Was that alright?”
“Yes. It was fine.” She drew her knees together and pulled her skirt over them.
Patrick looked down at himself. He grinned I’ve done it! I’ve bloody done it! That was…bloody hell. He looked back at Sadie, “Can I kiss you again?”
Sadie smiled. He tried to kiss her gently with tenderness but he found his hand pushing back her skirt. “Can I? Again?” She checked her brown wristwatch and nodded. He climbed back into position; she lifted her skirt and dropped her knees out again. Concentrate this time, must concentrate. Trains, the Northern line.
On his second attempt Patrick made it all the way from Morden to the Embankment with changes at Stockwell and Victoria Station. He was keen to try a third attempt, this time going around all of the Circle line but by then she was developing fabric burns on her delicate white rump and needed to return to her paying duties. Sadie stood up and shook her waved hair out a little as if it were wet, “They’ll all be out and about now. Seeings it’s the war and everything. I ‘spect it’ll be a busy night like, could be busy as Christmas or New Year. Well, that’s you sorted out, sorted out good and proper! Anytime you fancy another go….” Sadie picked up her knickers and began to fold them, “If I’m free, like. But don’t go telling your mum – she might tell me off!” She giggled, put her high-heeled sandals back on and walked into the kitchen. Patrick followed obediently, towel back in place around his waist, “Thank you Sadie, thank you very much. You’ve been extremely generous to me.” Is that right? Should I be thanking her? Should I tell her I love her? Should be in love with her now, or her with me? Is that why she did it?
“Oh do give over love! Any of the girls round here would have dropped their knickers if you’d looked their way or followed them down a dark alley. I can think of quite a few who’d love to meet you and your crown jewels in a dark alley! With your posh ways, you’re a proper gentleman you are. I suppose that school can’t have been all bad then…” She looked away from Patrick, outside to the darkened sky where the stars had begun to come out. Sadie raised her eyebrows and returned her concentration to the underwear she held in her small hand, “Sometimes Patrick,” she looked back up at him and smiled a little, “It’s nice to be in charge…Oh look at that clock, it’s almost chucking out time over at the King’s Head, I’ve some regulars there, better get going. Give my love to your mum – tell her I popped round to check on you.” Sadie scooped up her handbag and shoved in her folded knickers, she caught Patrick’s eye, “Saves time. And washing.”

Hitting the town with Jo

Feeling slightly delicate this morning and very, very tired.

Last night Jo and I hit the town. First of all we went into a bar in the centre, I drank wine and she had some bottled thing, all terribly civilised and quite pleasant. Ended up chatting to an engineer and his golf pro friend – who was Belgian (the golf pro). It was okay but not the most stimulating of conversations…they asked if we were going clubbing later, Yes was our reply…When they heard which club (the biggest dive in town, but very entertaining and the music is good if the clientele isn’t) they told us to be careful – far too many men about….Erm…yes, that’s why we’re going…

Anyway, off we went to walk to the club. En route in the high street two rather young chaps were wrestling each other (dear god, this is beginning to sound like a bizarre dream I once had). I had drunk three large glasses of wine by this point, which for me means I’m pissed, and loud, and sometimes badly behaved. I told the wrestling boys to just get it over with and shag each other….Then they challenged me to an arm wrestle, which I did in the high street on a lidded bin – it was a draw, he won one and I won one (but to be fair I think he let me win). All the while Jo is looking on in slight horror – remember she’s been married a long time and she’s quiet and fairly reserved. Wrestling boys asked where we were off to and when we said the name of the dreaded dive they left us to it…they were off to the better club.

So, we finally get to the club, get drinks, I bump into a few old friends and then we hit the dance floor.

The usual people that go to this club fit into various simple catagories:-
1. Over thirty and either divorced or out looking
2. Out with a bunch of friends and up for a laugh, generally anywhere from 20-40
3. Squaddies from the local barracks looking for a laugh, a dance and an easy lay

Within seconds of being on the dance floor I was having an intimate sexual experience….I know I’d had a bit to drink, but I lost count of how many men (and maybe some women) fondled my ass. It’s a bit of a problem. And no one ever bothers to ask you if you want to dance, or for that matter even bothers to face you while dancing, instead you suddenly have a hand gripping your hip and hot tackle grinding into you from behind (sorry about the rather graphic image). A couple of the soldiers did this to me and it was a laugh – they’re young, fit and out for a dance, at the end of the track you move on. Sadly Jo and I had to keep moving around the dancefloor because we also seemed to be attracting odd types who were not dancing but just standing staring at us, from a foot away.

I wandered off in search of the loos – needed to go check my mobile and do my usual trick of sending rude messages. So I head up the stairs and am followed by a very large bald man who looked like a cartoon thug. At the top of the stairs he taps me on the shoulder, I turn around, and he says very politely to me, “Excuse me, but you have a lovely arse”. Just thought I share that with you…That and the texts I received last night made my evening.

Odd dreams

I had a very odd dream last night. I often have odd dreams and I also get the occasional night terror too – no doubt I’ll write about them sometime in the future.

Anyway, last night I dreamt I was called into the local hospital because I was a surgeon.
(Please note, I have no medical training at all)

In the corridor I was asked to remove the boots I was wearing and put on a pair of fluffy pink slippers.
(I don’t own a pair of fluffy pink slippers)

The soles of both slippers were dripping in a white creamy, milky substance.
(Oh, go on…Freud would have a field day!)

I asked why the slippers were like this and was told that it was to prevent MRSA.
(You never know…)

I put on the slippers and then was told to put on theatre scrubs, which I did, except the trousers were pyjama bottoms – in red.
(I don’t own or wear pyjamas)

Then to top off my delightful outfit I was given a pink fluffy dressing gown to wear.
(Now sadly this I do own – it was a Christmas present from my parents, and it’s very warm)

Now that I was suitably attired for the theatre I was taken there along with the rest of the operating team, except they took me out of the hospital and into a music hall type theatre.
(Yes, even in a dream I’m thinking about other meanings of words)

While standing at the back of the theatre I saw my young son having tea on stage with someone. And then I was called back to do an operation, at which point I woke up.

Very odd.

Snow

It’s just before 8 am and my plans to go to a Hungarian art film screening tonight (oooh, doesn’t that sound nicely pretentious!) are scuppered….Thick snow outside and it’s still snowing now. Not going to the film screening I can live with – chances are it would have been dull and full of women in sandals with wild hair (I know I have the wild hair, but I only wear sandals during the summer, not when there is snow on the ground) or tall thin men with haircuts that are only matched in their pretension by their glasses – I’m sure you know the type, if not take a trip down to Hoxton….

What worries me more is that the snow might linger and Jo and I will have to call off our planned night on the town tomorrow! Missing an intellectual night I can deal with but missing a night of chatting up strange men! And I’ve got a haircut planned tomorrow…right, checking the BBC weather website now in the hope that the snow will go away later….

Going out

I wrote the other day about the impending Speed Dating event I’ve been roped into by my friend Jo, but before that happens she and I are hitting the town as we could both do with a night on the pull…as it were…

So this coming Friday night will see us both dressed up and in the bars….Is the town ready for this I ask myself?

Neither of us will be driving, so this is going to be the first opportunity in a long, long time for Jo to get drunk….The last time she did that was when we were in Moscow together – she attempted to keep up with me drinking vodka with cherry juice. Now I’m a complete lightweight when it comes to wine – three glasses and I’m pretty much anyone’s, but spirits? That’s a different matter entirely – they don’t seem to have much of an effect upon me. So we’d had only a few, maybe five or six, but the following morning, no, the following day, Jo spent in bed while I went out – no hangover for me!
Consequently, Jo is raring to go this Friday…..
She admits that it’s been many, many years since she went out as a single woman and she’s a little concerned about how she’ll deal with any unwanted advances…or maybe she’s worried she won’t get any advances, unwanted or not! I suppose that’s always a fear nagging away at the back of everyone’s mind – will others find me attractive….Everyone worries about it and we all make an effort to make ourselves appealing to others – note I didn’t say the opposite sex? Women it is often said make more of an effort for other women. Not because we fancy women (although, of course some do) but because of competition….Put a man and a woman on a desert island and pretty soon the woman will have hairy legs and armpits, won’t bother to comb her hair, certainly won’t be bothering with makeup or for that matter, sexy clothes. Now add another (attractive) woman …. I would guarantee that within days both women would be looking fabulous….Or is it only me that is that competitive? I have to admit to a hugely competitive nature, matched probably only by my vanity….

So expect some interesting posts over the weekend….Or maybe even before – I’m off to an art film screening tomorrow night….

Online Friendships

I have been having some very intense and in depth conversations with friends recently about the nature of online relationships. Just recently I took a straw poll on a forum I visit about how people met their friends and partners; amazingly over 75% of them said they met online. Now it could just be that as this was an online forum I was going to get that sort of answer…but what with the rise of internet dating, MySpace and the huge use of MSN for instant messaging, it’s the easiest way to talk to new people.

But what about those online relationships? Are they every bit as good as a real one? Can they lead to a real one? Or conversely can you further a real relationship by chatting online?

I would say that online relationships, and I mean friendships of whatever type, can be possibly more honest and at the same time less honest when it’s conducted on the internet. What do I mean by that? Well, it is potentially more honest because, and I’m speaking from experience here, I tend to be more open and direct when I’m not talking to someone face to face – without all the physical hints and body language reading that normally goes on in a conversation all your remarks and comments have to be either more direct or qualified somehow. It’s easier to just come out and say, I like you, or I don’t agree with you, when you’re not sitting opposite them and you know that you can simply switch off if you can’t deal with it any longer. Of course we’re all aware that internet conversations can also be a huge pack of lies, but I think mostly people tell the truth…I certainly think that the friends I have online tell me the truth, I tell them the truth, always. Well, I say always…erm…actually I can be ‘economical’ with the truth in order to spare feelings and embarrassment …. Just as I would in the real world, but I’m not talking about huge whopping lies, I mean being sensitive to others’ feelings, and my own feelings too.

Is the online relationship as good as a real one? It’s different; a real one has a physical presence, you can hug a friend who is there. But an online friend can be there for you in different ways and in many respects they can give you their undivided attention which you may not get with a ‘real’ friend. I’m loath to say that online friends aren’t real friends, because they are – I know that some of my online friends know far more personal and private things about me than many of my friends in the real world. Certainly there are online friends who are more present in my life than my closest friends in the real world, simply because I work from home writing and I catch up on the net each day pretty much; not so with the real world friends. But you can’t go to the pub or out for a meal with an online friend. And there’s the rub.

Entirely different worlds. Does it work when you move between the worlds? I find it odd to talk to my close friends from the real world online – maybe it’s because they don’t use computers as much for their jobs so they can’t type as fast, or they simply express themselves better face to face. But I always find the internet to be a barrier for chatting to real world friends. Yet the online friends, none of whom I’ve ever met in the real world, I can talk to for hours and share things both personal and virtual – sending links to great sites that they may like, telling them about something small that happened in my day. Would that transfer to the real world? I have yet to find out.

Quite boring stuff really, oh, and a lap dancer.

So far this blog has pretty much been about ideas, thoughts and generally things I wanted to say. I have added a bit of my life, but really not very much. That’s not going to change dramatically – I’m not about to start to broadcast my private life, although I know there are a few of you out there who would be only too pleased to hear all my sordid little secrets…Well, the sordid little secrets will probably make the blog, the boring stuff won’t…

Anyway, a big thing in my life at the moment is trying to get a job…yes, dull stuff…But currently I work freelance as a writer and it simply doesn’t pay enough – probably because I don’t do enough of it….

So in order to pull my finger out I have revamped my CV and I’m about to start posting it around different agencies in the hope that someone somewhere wants me….

I’ll keep the blog updated with my search for employment – but only if it’s entertaining, otherwise other people’s job searches are just dull….So if I get offered a position as lap dancer, I’ll go for the interview, take photos and set all the results down here….



By the way, I’m not looking for a job as a lap dancer, just so you know ;-)

Chickens

Now I’ve written something about Bird flu I feel compelled to mention the whole chicken thing….

I firmly believe that all birds should be kept in good conditions. Everyone believes this, don’t they?

We all believe that animals should be kept in clean conditions with free access to the outside, plenty of room to roam and behave naturally. In other words, Free Range. Nothing gladdens the heart more than to see chooks wandering around a farmyard, pecking and scratching and being…chickens. Well I realise this is not always possible or desirable. My chickens live outside in a field and they have a wonderful hen house made by Forsham Cottage Arks (I can recommend them highly). They are shut up each night and the field in which they run around has electric poultry netting so they are safe from foxes during the day and night. I’ve had the chickens now for around four years and so far haven’t lost any to foxes. But mine are pretty much pets; they give us a few eggs and they’re fun to watch – none end up on the table, not because I don’t believe in eating meat but because I have a problem (hypocritical I know) with eating an animal I’ve known and named.

Now when it comes to buying chicken to eat I am prepared to buy the best quality; free range from a known source – a local farmer, or organic if I can’t get any locally.

I don’t agree with the whole organic thing; to my mind a good deal of the ethics behind organic produce is a western hypocrisy – we can afford to buy agrochemicals yet chose to purchase products that do not have them….Many parts of the world where famine is a regular occurrence would willingly have those same agrochemicals or indeed GM if they could afford them….Aside from which, the whole word Organic means many different things – it does not mean chemical free. Some pesticides are licensed as organic, for example Nicotine…yes, the same poisonous stuff in cigarettes – but it is organic. If you’re after truly pesticide free food either grow your own or else find out where your nearest Bio-dynamic farm is – they’re often attached to Rudolf Steiner schools. But why avoid pesticides? If you use soaps, deodorants, shampoos, drink alcohol, take drugs, the list goes on….if you do all of these things, particularly the ones that involve direct application to the skin…why are you avoiding eating food which has been sprayed with minute amounts of chemicals?
If you’re still set on eating only organic then for god’s sake eat local organic – here in the UK there is no point in eating organic food from New Zealand – as good as it may be…but the food miles clocked up to get it here totally negates any ethical position you may take over organic produce. And while you may guarantee food from NZ, Australia, the US and pretty much all of Europe may be truly organic, the rules and regulations regarding organic status for farms varies around the world. Here the Soil Association is very strict; farms have to be free of non organic sprays for some time – years, not months. In some parts of the world this is not the case and food you may believe to have been cultivated organically has in fact been grown using traditional spray methods, perhaps even to lower standards than allowed here in the EU, and the organic status granted recently.

Right, back to the chickens….

They should not be kept in conditions akin to concentration camps; battery farms should be outlawed – and in fact that is the plan as I understand it, but not until 2012. Fox hunting? Illegal…a wild animal, a predator living free and hunted, sometimes unsuccessfully by a group of people dressed up. Chickens in battery farms? Legal….a domestic animal, reared entirely for food, kept in appalling conditions, not allowed freedom of movement, daylight or any form of natural life. And we, the Great British public, the animal lovers, we allow this. We positively encourage it, how? By purchasing cheap meat and cheap eggs.

If you believe yourself to be an animal lover, buy only free range, locally produced chicken and eggs so you can reassure yourself that those animals have had a natural life.

Bird Flu

Bird flu is back again.

Well, this is the Farmyard Tales blog written by Chickenlady…so I suppose I ought to look out….

When the whole bird flu thing blew up last time a guy I know who has a few birds got rid of them instantly. He didn’t wait to see what was happening, just disposed of them…and I say disposed, guardedly – they went from his small holding, but I have no idea if they were killed or just sent to new homes. Someone else I know who lives in the same village as me left his birds just where they were, we had taken ours inside – put in a barn, not our house…although at times I do wonder if our house would be cleaner and tidier if the animals lived there and we lived outside….The chap who left his outside said, quite rightly, that these birds had always lived outside (with a hen house obviously for nighttime) to take them inside would be cruel to them and if bird flu was found in the vicinity they’d all be put down anyway, so why not just let them enjoy their lives as nature intended….He had a point.

This time we haven’t taken the birds in….if bird flu does spread we’ll lose them regardless of them having it or not….We all learnt that lesson from the Foot and Mouth outbreak. And I guess we can rely on our government and the wonderful DEFRA to cock things up again (and yes, pun entirely intended).

Am I worried about catching bird flu?

No, I’m probably more at risk from a car accident in the countryside.

Is this bad of me?

As I mentioned a few posts back my friend Jo has recently split from her husband. She’s in her early forties and very attractive, she’s a MILF…

Anyway, she has decided that now it’s time to get back up on the horse, so to speak…She’s up for dating again. I guess each successive generation feels like it’s breaking new ground and doing things for the first time; dating like teenagers when you have teenagers yourself for example.

She’s not particularly computer literate so she’s avoiding the whole internet dating thing – one of the reasons I can write fairly freely about her on here is because she won’t come looking at it, but even if she did, there’s nothing I haven’t discussed with her already…

So her current alternative is to give Speed Dating a try….It’s all booked for three weeks time…”Fine” I said when she told me, “You’ll enjoy it” But the reason she told me? Would I go along with her, just as moral support, I don’t have to take part, I can sit at the bar and watch…it’s for 35-45 year olds anyway…Hmmm…..

In the interests of writing, entertainment and this blog…I’m going to go with her, on the strict understanding that I am only there in a supportive capacity….She has already admitted that she’ll be cross with me if I’m sitting at the bar and manage to pull…..and she suspects that I will….Which I found hugely flattering – it’s far more flattering to hear that sort of thing from a fellow woman than a man, believe me women are far, far more competitive about looks and general attractiveness than you would ever believe… even amongst our closest allies.

So before then I really must get my hair done….I mean, I don’t want to let her down, do I? Is that bad of me, to want to look good?

Second post of the day - Berlin

I wrote this a few nights ago and thought I'd hold onto it until I had a bit of a thin period writing-wise...But then I had a rethink ....I'm posting it anyway.


Sat a watched some of the Bourne Supremacy the other evening, much of it is set in Berlin – pretty much the only city in the world, apart from perhaps New York, that I think I could live in.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the years in Germany, but only been to Berlin once for about five days with my friend Jo. We went early in the year and there was snow on the ground; we had snowball fights late at night with some guys we met in a bar and generally had a great time.

Two things in particular made that trip memorable; my first even visit to the Opera and visiting the Jewish museum. Actually we’d gone primarily for the art and I particularly went for the famous film festival.

First the Opera.

We went to the Komische Oper
and saw Don Giovanni. Now I’m not a huge lover of opera; always seemed to me to be fat men and women with amazing voices singing in Italian about some tragedy. Carmen I understand, the music I even know, another one, West Side Story – I know it’s not a proper opera, but it’s just about as near as I get, maybe Madame Butterfly at a pinch, but that’s it really…just a philistine really. But we had the opportunity and it seemed like a good idea; take in some culture, act like grown-ups. So Jo and I dressed nicely, took the tram and I resigned myself to a dull but educational evening.

Hmm….educational, certainly, but dull, no. This was a modern version of the opera; if you’ve ever seen any Shakespeare performed in modern dress you’ll perhaps get the general idea. It was a very contemporary take on the story; basically Don Giovanni is a bit of a lad, he leads on a couple of women, and gets his comeuppance. This was depicted very graphically on stage in Berlin…a good few elderly opera goers got up and left when the simulated sex started on stage. Jo and I were astonished; no one had ever told us that this is what the Opera was about! The final denouement of Don Giovanni is his emasculation by some of the women….this was enacted in an interesting way – one woman shoved her hand down the front of Don Giovanni’s trousers and pulled out his tackle…or so it appeared…it was actually rolled up tights or stockings, we think….

So that was a very interesting experience…but to be honest, I haven’t been back to see anymore operas.

The Jewish Museum

This was a far more sober experience. Firstly the building itself is worth seeing; the architect Daniel Libeskind is also known for his proposed new World Trade building in New York. Both outside and inside the Jewish Museum is striking; the outside resembles some sort of prison-like fortress but the inside is deeply affecting. The building itself takes angular turns, each area of the museum is linked by long corridors which appear to lean in and out like an Expressionist film – The Cabinet of Dr Caligari in particular. So you’re constantly being reminded of the German Expressionist history and also the pure physical confusion of your eyes simply not understanding what your body knows; the corridors appear to be wonky, yet you’re walking on a level plane, but the walls and the ceiling are at a very odd, wrong angle.
The main body of the museum is pretty much an ordinary museum; deeply sad and shocking because you are viewing the entire history of Jews in Germany and you already know the end of the story. The final corridor that we took was the one that dealt with the Holocaust. Glass cases were set into the oddly angled walls, they were filled with the sort of stuff that each family has; bit of everyday junk that we save and pass on like school reports, old cards, scarves, baby toys, photographs. I seem to remember that each item was catalogued along with the details of the last owner.
The final ‘room’ of the Holocaust corridor is manned by museum staff; it’s got a heavy door which they open for you and generally people enter singly. I went first….the door opened and I was hit with a blast of icy air; the room is open somehow to the elements, yet there is a total and complete absence of light. I was unable to stay; I wouldn’t even allow the door to be closed upon me. I can honestly say that I have never ever felt as close to Hell as I was then. I ran out of the room, pushing past Jo who was waiting to go in, and I went straight to the nearest loos where I shut myself in and sobbed.




If ever you get the opportunity to visit Berlin, do; it’s exciting, frightening, fascinating and disturbing. I’ve not visited anywhere else in the world quite like it.

General Hello

This is the first of two posts for today; this one is just to say hello to all of you reading this....

Some of you know that one of the things that fascinates me about keeping this blog is how many people come looking at it and where you are from.....I know who some of the readers from particular parts of the world are and as I keep tabs on the site using Google Analytics I can even find out which cities you are based in....All of which appeals to my curious nature.

Some of you are regular visitors, some of whom I have had contact with and others I haven't....I suppose you could say that this is a case of voyeurism being reflexive...well, maybe not that...because I am not looking back at myself, I'm looking back at you.

And interesting stuff if is too....not enough detail to allow me to know who you are unless I already know you. But enough detail for me to wonder just who is out there reading this stuff. Feel free to make comments, or just say hello.