Moved on to pastures new ...

www.mouldy-old-tartlet.blogspot.com

And now the end is near ...

And so I face the final curtain ...
(although by this I dont mean death or anything terminal before you begin to panic)

My friend, I'll say it clear ...
(well as clear as I can be, being the verbally incontinent old bat that I am)

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain ...
(o yes - well ... ahem ... this is my last blogging post - very last, absolutely no more, zip, zilch, final)

I've lived a life that's full ...
(well a couple of people have found my blog interesting - although most have stumbled upon it looking for `lass sex' - anyway, it all started here if anyone is curious)

I've travelled each and every highway ...
(Ok - perhaps we'll leave this as more a figure of speech than a literal description)

But more, much more than this ...

I did it my way.

Random Thoughts of a Lunatic

So we all know now that I'm a bit crazy.

Fair enough.

After all there's not many that would find the sweep of a brush against a hard surface as thrilling as I. Apart from Rolf Harris, maybe. And that dead chap who cut his ear off.

So yeh, I'm slightly bats.

But that's only part of the picture. Do you wanna know the thoughts that seep through my brain as I go through an ordinary day, being an ordinary person (albeit with a hidden sweeping fixation), saying ordinary things and being completely normal? The majority of them are ... well there's really no other way of saying ... awful and the rest are distinctly dodgy. Naturally these are contained (for those that are concerned, I dont have Tourettes) and it's not like I give away my thought patterns by the expression on my face either. These are deep deep inner thoughts that only I am tuned in to, which suddenly pop up (plup) and then disappear (fzz) just as quickly. I also do not feel compelled to act on them either - so no need to call the police or your local mental asylum.

For example ... this morning whilst about to get on the escalator going up towards Bond Street concourse ... the following went through my head :-

oo empty escalator hall
nice
shit
no it's not
there are people coming in from my left
arseholes
o typical
she can see me
but she's gonna push in in front of me
no she's fucking not
fuck off cow i can walk faster
faster, faster, faster
hop on
ha ha
that's it keep behind me you stupid cow
oo moving advert screens
boring
boring, boring, boring
i'm being looked at
no i'm not
i am
i'm being looked at
wont look
but i must
thought so
chap has turned round two people in front of me
o my mistake
he's turned round to kiss the woman behind him
shit i saw his tongue
and saliva too
disgusting
eurgh that's awful
shit he saw me staring
well so fucking what you shouldnt've been tonguing that woman
but i wont look anyway
he'll think i'm strange
oo moving advert screens
boring
boring, boring, boring
coming up to hopping off
hop ...
... off
ouch my arm
it was the bitch behind me
striding past
i'm gonna beat her to the ticket barrier
cow
oo shit - she's got a walking stick
i feel mean
i'll still beat her anyway
bollocks to her
walk faster
faster, faster, faster
dont take any prisoners
hurrah - victory is mine

Then a bit later at Boots :-

need toothpaste, razors & conditioner
oo can use £2 off voucher for conditioner!
think i've still got it in my purse ...
toothpaste, toothpaste, toothpaste ...
oo hope it works at self-service checkout
dont want to look like a prize wally!
toothpaste, toothpaste, toothpaste ...
o forgodsakes
where the fuck is it?
o there it is
right in front of the woman crouching down
is she gonna move
she can see me approaching
i'm now bending forward
is she moving
no
right i've asked her
now she's moving
i think
o get out of the way!
sigh at me all you want woman
o whatever bitch
right .. razors
and what else?
conditioner!
yes - for the £2 off voucher!
razors, razors, razors ...
oo - 90p
that'll do for me
conditioner, conditioner, conditioner ...
£4.48
fucking hell
but less £2 voucher!
self service checkout, self service checkout, self service checkout ...
here we go
how cool am I?
i am soooo good at these
look how cool at scanning i am
bet the staff in here all think i look great too
probably say to each other `i wish everyone in here could scan as well as her'
`all the others are just crap at it, losers!' they'll also say
hah .. look at the bloke on my left
just press the button on the monitor you dolt
the monitor!
idiot
scan, scan, scan ...
right
voucher time
scanning in voucher ...
shit
wont scan
why wont it?!
ok, calm, breathe
try again
keep your cool girl
scanning in voucher ...
shit
machine is now beeping at me!
must ask for assistance
crap
i've lost my excellent self service reputation
bugger
bollocks
i hate myself
and you can quit sniggering too mr pin-striped prat on my right

And at the office :-

Boss Number One : Morning London-Lass!
London-Lass : Morning!
o shit
did you just look at my jugs?
Boss Number One : Warm out there today isnt it?
London-Lass : It's not bad is it?
you did
you looked at my jugs
but you're my `big brother' boss
please dont be all leery
London-Lass : Although I did hear it might rain later ...
Boss Number One : Typical.
o, hang on
my top has a fancy sequin pattern on the front
that'll be it
it's the pattern
the twinkling caught your eyes
phew
Boss Number One : Got anything planned for the weekend?
London-Lass : A coupla things - BBQ tomorrow evening, getting eyes tested with the chipster tomorrow morning.
i think you're great
no i really do
and am really sorry i keep on snapping at you
you're a nice gentle man
with a heart of gold
and it's only cos Boss Number Two winds me up
and you unfortunately take the backlash
so I shall be really nice now
and make you a nice cup of tea
& have a bit of a chat
Boss Number Two : Morning London-Lass!
London-Lass : Morning.
FUCK OFF CUNT-CHOPS

I Have a Confession to Make

Most would probably call me crazy.

But I prefer to think I am normal - just, you know, have a teeny weeny bit of oddness about me.

Before writing this post I googled for a bit to see if anyone else was the same as me. And, although the Internet carries blogs and sites from people that enjoy crazy stuff of the mild and kooky form to the sort of out & out oddness that could only be found lurking in your worst of nightmares, my own oddness is nowhere to be found.

To explain a bit more ... I think I remember first feeling this way just past puberty. Say, 14/15. And it's stayed with me ever since. Talking to close friends (had a group of 4 or 5 I would hang out with a lot at school at the time) about my `affliction' only ended up making me feel even worse about myself and them to look at me in slightly concerned fashion for a bit. Until a well-known man-eater (well-known for suddenly shouting "Max ate me out last night - it were great!" in the middle of our lessons, causing most teachers to instantly order her out of the classroom, and then give the rest of the class a swift telling off for quietly sniggering at the man-eater's outburst) got herself pregnant and then my crazy confession was quickly forgotten.

And, so following my friends' reactions, I decided to keep my craziness to myself. The chipster doesnt even know about my little piece of insanity as I'd thought it was probably not in my best interests to make any further confessions to anyone.

Until now.

For you - yes you, my trusted blogging audience! - have the honour of finding out this little piece of oddness that I've kept hidden away from society for the past twenty or so years. And where best really to make a confession ... than on a blog?

Which has about 3 readers.

And one of them is my mum (hello!).

So mum brace yourself. Your daughter is officially doolally.

Since ...

... she finds ...

... the sound ...

... of either ...

... sweeping ...

... painting ...

... or brushing ...

EXTREMELY relaxing.

Almost like having a full body massage, if someone is within say 2 or 3 feet of me, and they are (for example) cleaning up paintwork, or (as another example) sweeping up a wooden floor, I feel a rush of relaxation wash over me. Which does not stop until the cleaning or sweeping stops.

See? Barking aint I?

And it's a bit of a torture coming in to work at the moment since with all the dust that's being created by the demolition works going on right opposite our office, the constant sweeping that is needed to keep the mess at bay keeps sending me in to a slumped relaxed stupor. However, if I concentrate really hard on other things (the sound of my printer humming, the tick of the clock on the wall, the rows and constant one-upmanship battles that take place in the back office by my bosses) the feeling passes, I liven up and London-Lass is back to bloody normal.

Once I was caught unawares (the office had no power due to electric works going on upstairs) and, whilst in the middle of a conversation with one of my bosses, a contractor started innocently sweeping right outside our office door (gosh .. even just typing this down is making my eyes droop and body turn to jelly) and before I knew it my eyes started rolling in my head, saliva was starting to dribble out of my mouth and my boss was looking at me as if I'd just farted in a really bad, and very smelly, way.

Dont get me wrong - this is not a sexual fetish. I havent downloaded pictures of people painting or sweeping for quiet study later on my laptop (for example) ... it's just the regular swish swish of a brush on wood, flooring or concrete sets all my nerve endings to relaxation mode.

And with a nearby 20-storey office block earmarked for demolition next, I just hope I make it out the other side without turning completely catatonic.

Big Breasts

Hah. Well that title should get the search engines whizzing like crazy.

And, if you're sitting in front of your computer screen with your trousers round your ankles and a pot of hand cream at the ready, I am afraid to tell you that this blog is just a general whinge about them. And that there will be no showing of them. Oiled, pert, recently showered or otherwise. Close the door on the way out ...

But back to the topic in hand - not that I am holding them whilst I type you massive bunch of pervies - I have a confession to make. I have been blessed with a couple of massive mammaries and yet, contrary to popular opinion as to how one should feel about this, am fed up to the back bra strap with them.

Take today - for example. As the weather is clement in London right now I have had to ditch my old faithful jumpers for a t-shirt. Capped sleeve for an edgy feel. Slim fitting as I'm only a small girlie. And black (to match my skirt). All fine & dandy I think you'll agree. Until you get to the bajubba region and recoil in horror over the fact that they are (there is no other way of saying this) abso-bloody-effingly massive. So swollen in fact that they are tugging at the t-shirt at the side creating a ridge of material that draws the eye in even more to the rosey swellings.

And how long have I been afflicted with these mahubbas? Too long. Ever since I went through puberty (around the age of 13) at senior school they've been growing and swelling and growing and taking over the whole of my front chestal section until now I have to shop at Bravissimo if only so I can buy a bra that can still heave the whole lot up and back where they should be without looking like I've got on a flower-patterned hammock.

It's not so bad in the winter months. For this is the time of year when you can hide/disguise those parts you'd rather wish could remain out of view which include :-

• cellulite ridden thighs
• swinging upper arm flab
• dimpled knees
• dimpled elbows
• baggy neck
• and massive stoopendously huge breasty dumplings from the gates of hell

In addition to the torturous process that is trying to find something (anything!) that will cover over your capacious mounds of jelly without busting at the seams, at the buttons or gaping just between the jugs and making you look like you're a bit of a loose vixen, there are also the sudden catcalls/comments to endure too. As my office is currently opposite a row of buildings being demolished, you can imagine the fun I am having every time I want to quickly nip out for a jar of coffee or some stamps. Head down, arms folded over chest, even looking a bit simple, does not seem to stop the contractors giving me the benefit of their wit. Or, even worse, the soft murmuring and staring that goes on as you stumble, trip and blush past the salivating builders.

The ironic thing is is that the last time I met up with GM (which is posted here and is really and truly the last time I will meet up with her, yes indeedy) she became rather giddy halfway through the evening. Suspecting this was due to the fact that she'd probably only consumed enough to keep a baby blackbird alive for an hour (and all washed down with a bottle of Rosé) I was just about to call for some help when I realised that her giddy state was due to remembering yet another story to tell me that would involve lots of bragging and boasting.

Giggling happily, she began :-

"You'll never guess what, but my breasts have become huge!"

GM's breasts are not of the `born with a pair of blessings' camp that I come from but rather of the `selected through careful advice of a plastic surgeon and subsequently inserted' variety. Her breasts were `fitted' (not quite sure what verb to use here) about 8 years ago which pumped her up to a 36C.

I spluttered for a bit. Then put down my drink and said : "Larger? How?"

GM replied : "Well I'm not sure really. Just - my mum went to have her boobs properly measured the other day. She wasnt entirely convinced that the bra size she's worn for the last 20 years was correct so decided to go for the measuring. And I thought I'd get mine done too."

Not wishing to be drawn in to why she should want to get some breasties measured that were fitted to be a certain size - GM then revealed the results of the re-measuring.

"32DD!"

"O ok. Well that must be cos you've lost so much weight isnt it?" I said fiddling with the stem of my glass and yawning slightly. "You've lost four inches off your back and yet your boobs wont go down cos ... well cos they're not yours (if you see what I mean) ... and so your old C cup boobs are even bigger now due to your body losing all that weight around them."

"Yes, but DD!" GM trilled, looking down at her chestal region. "I mean - who'd've thought! And with me being soooo slim now, I'm almost ... well I hate to say this cos it sounds so awful ... like some sort of glamour model!"

"Well look. Could be worse" I said, reaching for my last chip. "You could be an E like me."

Which shut GM up.

Pity my breasts cant silence the contractors too.

"What have you done to your hair?!"

The chipster boomed as we entered his mum's house. Which was a fair comment, considering she'd always been a dark brown/brunette (with perhaps the odd stripe of blonde chucked in for good measure) ever since I've known her, and yet was standing before us with straightened almost 100% white blonde hair, looking every inch the County of Essex.

But still. It would have been nicer, and less awkward, if the chipster could've politely knocked on the door knocker and then said "Hi there - how are you?" as the chipster's mum opened the door, and not instead banged loudly and repeatedly on the door frame, or the door window, totalling ignoring the door knocker, just making a terrific racket, until suddenly the door is flung open with his mum saying "Alright, alright, give me a chance!" and the chipster yelling back (by way of greeting presumably) : "What have you done to your hair?!"

In an attempt to redress the balance, and after biting down my initial shock/surprise at the chipster's mum transformation (for she was also wearing a tight white vest, tight jeans and high heeled mules), I burbled something about her `looking like a WAG' (you know, one of them sort you see clutching on to any available - or unavailable - professional footballer in either Heat or Closer). Fortunately she seemed quite pleased with the comment, order was restored, and we were ushered in to the living room.

Whereupon the chipster suddenly disappeared upstairs. For about quarter of an hour. Leaving me to make small talk with the chipster's mother whilst I tried to bite down the residue of the dream I'd had earlier in the week - you know, the one about the chipster's mum being a mankiller who, after killing and disposing of a body, invited me to join her for a bath. Shudder.

However, due to the WAG transformation, I was no longer able to make a complete connection, and so was able to chat away with the chipster's mother without any embarrassment or awkwardness. Until, that is, the chipster came rushing down the stairs and, after plonking down a box of toys, loudly interrupted our conversation.

"These are the ones I was talking to you about!" the chipster yelled whilst holding up some tiny action figures with matching action vests, cars and guns.

"O yes .. the ones you might be thinking of putting on E-Bay ..." I replied, by way of an explanation to the chipster's mum, who was looking on slightly puzzled as to what all the commotion was about.

"Yes, yes!!" shrieked the chipster in a shrill, excitable way. "I mean, look at the little car it comes with - that is what is going to make it worth putting on E-Bay! I reckon there could be quite a bit of money here. I've still even got the net!" so saying, the chipster held up what looked like a used teabag and began to chortle happily.

"Well, they will all need a good clean ... " the chipster's mum advised. "They're rather dusty."

"O yes .. clean them .. I know" the chipster quickly replied, whilst fiddling round with some miniature gasoline cans and a diver's mask. "But these will fetch loads. Ha ha!"

"So you gonna take these back with you to your flat then?" I asked. The toys he was greedily clutching, you see, had been left at his mum's place to gather dust ever since he'd moved out. Along with numerous other boxes of tat that he didnt seem to want, but didnt want to chuck out either.

The chipster's mood instantly drops.

"No! They're all dirty!" he replied.

"Well, you gonna set up an E-Bay account at least?" I asked.

No answer from the chipster.

But a knowing look from the chipster's mum.

"Have you spoken to your brother yet?" the chipster's mum gently enquired.

(The chipster's twin brother rang the chipster's mum a coupla weeks ago to say that his missus was pregnant with their first child - the chipster has neither phoned, e-mailed or sent a card to congratulate the pair on their news)

"Nope" the chipster replies, taut-lipped.

"Well you might wanna call him anyway as it sounds like there are some job opportunities at his place that might be of interest ..." the chipster's mum smoothly continued.

"Eh? But he does audio and video installations - that's completely different to what I do" the chipster barked, in a fidgety/restless fashion.

"Not any more" the chipster's mum calmly replied. "Seems like his firm are branching out and might need someone like you."

The chipster sulks for no apparent reason that I can think of, leaving me and the chipster's mum to chat some more until, before you know it, all the tea is drunk and it's time to go.

But not before the chipster has a chance to whine "Right, let's go, I'm hungry!" leaving me and the chipster's mum to share another quick look as the chipster hastily leaves to go.

Aware that the chipster hasnt actually said the words "Goodbye" or "Take care" to his mum I stall things for a bit by saying to the chipster "Do you wanna take some stuff back with you as you're here with the car?"

The chipster hesitates for a bit as his mum appears in the doorway next to me. He looks like he's just about to reluctantly say yes when he suddenly barks a quick no and gets in his car.

A further look is shared with the chipster's mum as I say my goodbyes .. and then walk over to the chipster's car to join the chipster.

"Thank God for that I can relax now" the chipster grumbles as his car quickly backs out of her driveway and heads off in the general direction of his flat.

"Why's that then?" I ask.

"Cos it's just me & you now" the chipster replies.

"But that was just your mum!" I blurt.

"Yes. And dont I know it." the chipster replies.

Kissing

It's a bit of a sticky subject isnt it?

I mean what's one man's steak dinner is gonna be another man's cow plop.

Of course, the stars in the good ole B&W movie days had it easy. All they had to do was press their lips/faces up tight together, hold the pose for about 5 seconds and that'd be it. The fanfare of music going on in the background would tell the audience not just how magnificent the kiss was in itself but also how wonderful it was for both parties.

Real life is, however, rarely that simple (or comes with that many fanfares either). After all, wasnt it Vivien Leigh who took to complaining about Clark Gable's false teeth and halitosis during their filming of Gone With The Wind? But then everything, including sex, seems to come together (if you'll pardon the pun) so much easier in films than in our ordinary Joe Bloggs existence.

I remember the first time I truly and properly kissed a bloke. I was 18. But as you'll probably remember from my post here, I was the Queen of Slow Starters in every respect. Although I had really no interest in the opposite sex, I would (on the very, very odd occasion) suddenly feel duty-bound to express some sort of interest (if only so I didnt stand out too much).

And it was on one of these very odd occasions that I found myself on the precipice of kissing the physio (at the time) for the West Ham football team. Him, and about 4 or 5 of the football players, had been drinking a few tables away from me & GM. GM was about to embark (although I did not know this at the time) on a fling (of sorts) with one of the footballers (married with a child on the way) and whilst she became happily ensconced with this particularly lovely chap, the physio suddenly locked eye contact with me and, after gulping down the last of my Peach Schnapps, I mouthed a quick`yes' to his `Can I sit next to you?' gesture.

With beating heart, and sweat on my upper lip, I checked him out (he looked a bit like a young Bruce Forsyth crossed with Jim Davidson) as he made small talk. Which consisted of :-

• Phoar. You look nice.
• Cor. You smell nice.
• Do you live alone? Wink.
  
• Fancy some, wink, wink, company tonight?

which was rather brief - not even a `Can I buy you a drink?' - but then I was very shiny, glossy haired and ripe for plucking and he was rather perverted and old.

Anyway to look big & hunky I said I didnt live at home with my folks (which at 18 I still did) but that I shared a flat with a girl and as my flatmate was having friends round for the evening I didnt need any company. Muchos gracias. And so the physio, catching on to the fact that he'd be going without any penis action that night if he continued wasting his time with me, sorta went to get up, but realising that GM was still ensconced, and that I didnt want to feel a bit of a spare part, I suddenly grabbed the physio and bought a ticket to Tongue City. For that was all it was - open wide and pop it in. At one point I almost felt like I was at the dentists (my mouth being so widely propped open) and I do recall opening my eyes at one point to study the pub ceiling whilst the physio kept on probing and stabbing at my gums and teeth with his tongue. At the end when he'd finished, and I was able to sit my head back up straight, I was almost tempted to turn round to spit and then make a follow-on appointment for some plaque removal.

Nice it was not. But, looking back, it wasnt eurgh, yuck, horrible either. More a few minutes of feeling nothing whilst wondering how to stem all the dribble. But it earned me `normal status' for a good few months. GM would also often bring up the encounter in a kind of `o. my god. i cant believe you snogged that guy's face off. in the middle. of a pub' type way which kept her off my case for, although still boyfriendless, I was now (temporarily) pretty cool.

As the years rolled by my interest in the opposite sex changed from `Eurrgh. God no. I'd rather have a big bar of chocolate' to `Oo yes, please - coo look at them biceps, lummy' and so gradually my interest and confidence in kissing grew. I started to know what I wanted (nothing too wet or slurpy) and what I didnt want (a mouthful of dribble and saliva running down my neck) and it gradually became something that I'd actually look forward to and find myself thinking about whilst on a date with a new guy. Some of the kisses were rather splendid but no matter how knicker-bustingly handsome a date was, there were still no guarantees that the kiss would be all that.

Some were actually really rather amazingly bad and whilst I list these below (and gagging slightly as I do) I am very much aware that what I found to be a turn-off or a bit of a shock might actually set someone else's underwear alight (to those I send my apologies and ask that you forgive my prim & prudish ways). The not so good ones included :-

• the bloke who was unable to kiss in any other way than with his tongue. A kiss by way of greeting was the briefest of French kisses (although there was still lots of pesky tongue in it) and when I'd say something (allegedly) cute he'd briefly kiss me on the cheek but would still use too much of his tongue. Thank god it never got on to the `meeting the parents' stage as it would've taken some explaining after he'd kissed my mum hello.
• the bloke who would somehow manage to kiss me using the inside of his lips. Leaving my face caked with his saliva and sometimes, if lucky, with tiny bits of food stuck on it too. I did try and `teach' him a different way of kissing (i.e. without all the dribble and plankton) but he ended things complaining I was too high maintenance.
• the bloke who snogged me relatively conventionally but, then just as I thought we were drawing to a close, slowly but surely proceeded to lick the top row of my teeth from one side to the other. Again, not wishing to go down the whole `I feel like I'm at the dentists' route, I quickly dumped the guy to the kerb.

The chipster is, however, a good kisser. And thank the sweet lord on high for that one. I'll be honest - he does have his own unique style (busy, energetic, always value for money) but luckily enough it seems to match rather well with mine (neat, efficient, gets the job done).

I would like to make a complaint to :-

• the barman who served me in the pub tonight. You know who you are, you Frankenstein mutant crossed with Rio Ferdinand look-a-like. I only asked you for 2No. 50 pence pieces in my change tonight instead of a pound coin. You didnt have to rifle through the change drawer as if mining for gold and then give me the 50 pieces as if bestowing upon me the Queen's crown jewels whilst huffing loudly.
• the group of guys in their early 40s who were standing a few yards away from me in the pub garden, who thought it a good idea to loudly tell each other how fantastic it is shagging older women, older women know what they want, they're all desperate for a shag anyway, there's only three things you can be sure of : death, tax & older women, and older women love a younger man anyway - this all said pointedly & head-noddingly in my direction. I am 35.
  
• GM - it's about time you woke up from your victim status. You tolerated UB's general all round unattractiveness purely for the wadges of cash he brings home. And that's all. Dont go all noble on me and make out that you managed to come out from the `defensive barrier' you created after your ex left you SEVEN years ago, and now you can `finally love again'. You can deny all you want that you never found UB ugly - I still have all the e-mails stating otherwise. And you and UB didnt start going out (after a messy/scrappy beginning) until late December 2006/January 2007. Although it's still rather difficult to know exactly when you properly started dating, as you were still thinking about re-joining Match.com in January 2007 even though you were starting to think about perhaps shagging UB - contained in this post here. So where on earth you come up with 24th November 2006 as yours & UB's anniversary date I havent a friggin clue. You also appear to have decided that anyone of our age who is still single is rather odd (judging from the cruel remarks you made about our old mutual friend, Grimalda) and that unfortunately now you're in it for the long run with UB, Grimalda is going to have to get used to the fact that anywhere that you go UB goes too. O, and congratulations on your `snug uterus' (pointed out by the nurse during GM's last smear test) - I hope that me and the chipster can still make do with my floppy one (as I have never had my uterus remarked upon whilst having a smear, GM drew from this that mine is of the non-snug variety). Goodbye and good luck, GM, I hope that you and UB have a long & happy(ish) life together -- hopefully as far away from me as possible.
  
• the cab driver who decided to charge me £9.99 for my journey instead of the usual £7.80-£8.00. `Credit crunch', by the way, is not an all purpose excuse that you can wheel out to justify fleecing off your customers. I'd also purchase a new brand of deodorant too .. take me an age to get used to the smell of maturing Cheddar Cheese and that was just the cab seats alone.
  

Purple Patch

Purple Patch (courtesy of Wikipedia) : Term used to refer to a period of outstanding achievement.

Or luck.

Although jury's out as to whether or not you're lucky, or very unlucky, to get lots of attention from the opposite sex (without even trying) but nonetheless I seem to be having a Purple Patch (in terms of male attention) at the moment.

Although am not sure why.

My hair's no different - light brown/long. Makeup the same - light covering/shades of brown. Even got the same old stooped over spinster walk with the slumped rounded shoulders and protruding puffy belly.

And yet I'm suddenly getting the old public come on by members of the opposite sex.

Only this morning I was gaped at by three blokes. After checking that my face was snot free, no insects in hair, tights hole-free, and skirt not accidentally tucked up in to where the sun doesnt shine, I realised that they were just bogging at me to ... well, it would appear anyway ... check me out.

I think it started last Friday evening. I'd left the office and was just about to cross the road when I suddenly heard a male voice call `Excuse me, excuse me ... ?' behind me. Not having experienced a Purple Patch in a-g-e-s (I think the last time I had a wolf-whistle was back in 1990) I immediately thought it was someone seeking directions. You get many of these sorts up in the West End - usually unable to speak any English other than `Excuse me?' `Buckingham Palace?' and `Internet Café?'.

However, on turning round, I realised that the guy I'd initially mistaken for a lost tourist was in fact a contractor. Rather cocky too. Surrounded by four of his cocky contractor mates. And they were all looking in the zone of my chestal region (which was rather primly encased in a black all the way up to the neck jumper so really not sure what could've provoked the excitement). Unfortunately I could only flush bright red, trip up slightly and then run off in response -- but in my defence it is slightly intimidating to be confronted by 5 guys (appearing to be) leering at me at once. It was all I could do just to keep my bowels under control as I ran all the way to the station.

So what could it be? Maybe it's because :-

• I have much less Diet Coke in my diet. Fed up with my stomach always transforming into a little air bag by the end of a working day I thought I'd give still drinks a try instead a coupla weeks ago. Could the fact I no longer stink of stale farts be magnitising men to me like flies to shit?
• I have banished my thick 60-denier M&S spinster tights for some devilishly shiny 5-denier beauties. Could the sheen from my legs be sending the men crazy?
• I have changed my handbag from a cheap black fluffy pouch with a leather belted handle to a designer brand of smaller proportions and much more in the way of shiny buckle enhancement. Could my bag (in this day of `credit crunch' doom & gloom) be sending the message out to the opposite sex that I am possibly a woman of means and they should step on board the London-Lass Express before she rides out of town (along with all her money)?

Or is it more likely that I now look so old men arent actually watching me with eyes full of lust, but more of concern ... you know just in case I might need help crossing the road perhaps, or assisting with directions and other such things which my age-added brain can no longer cope with?

O God. It's the latter isnt it?

Last Night I was Kidnapped by the Chipster's Mother

I think she must have drugged me beforehand because I had absolutely no memory of anything other than suddenly coming to in her flat and finding her slicing up a dead body a coupla feet away from me.

"If you're good, this wont happen to you" she growled in my direction as she carefully snicked off the corpse's right ear with a hatchet. "Can you be good?"

"Yeess ..." I bleated, panic and alarm instantly filling my body as I tried to dodge the pool of blood slowly creeping in my direction.

"Excellent" the chipster's mum replied, calm as you like, whilst sawing through a particularly tough looking section of the corpse's chest.

O God.

How had I got here? Was I going to die?? Where was this flat??? And ... was that my significant ex, Terry, being sliced up on the floor????

"Right, see if you can find some cleaning equipment, this blood is getting everywhere! Ha! Ha!" she chortled gaily whilst emptying out the contents of the corpse's upper half.

"Sure ..." I quietly replied, hoping that if I pretended to be calm I might be OK.

But as I stepped in to her kitchen, and away from the frenzied corpse-slicing going on her living room, I broke down in panic. What was I going to do?? Was this it? Was I going to die here, alone in this flat, sliced up and looking like a big tin of Spam???

As tears coursed down my face I wept silently for a bit, but then shook myself off (in manner of a dog that's just been swimming) and forced myself to keep it together. Her cleaning cupboard sat directly opposite me and, after I'd dried away my tears on my sleeve, I found inside a bucket and sponges, a few cloths, disinfectant, some bleach ... and a pair of motorcycling gloves which looked `full'. Gingerly pulling at the gloves they came off their hook and upended on the cupboard floor ... revealing a few fingers and the tip of a thumb. Starting to shake, I reached past to get the cloths, bucket, disinfectant and bleach and walked back in to the carnage that was the living room.

To find the chipster's mum had disappeared. Along with the corpse. All the blood had vanished too - it was as if nothing had happened.

Putting down the bucket, I stood completely still, and aside from my hammering heart could hear absolutely nothing. The flat felt empty. Had she gone? Could I run somewhere? Escape?

But then I heard footsteps behind me.

"I'm off to take a bath," the chipster's mother breathed in to the back of my neck. "You can ... join me .. if you like ..."

Hurriedly moving away, I quickly said I needed to use the toilet. The chipster's mum sulkily replied : "Suit yourself" and walked off in to her bathroom. The WC was right next door to the bathroom, but the urge to just lock myself away from the situation was too great to resist - but after bolting the toilet door I noticed that there was a window in the opposing wall which, when opened, might be just big enough for a small person to squeeze through ...

Steadying myself I climbed on to the toilet seat, and whilst closing my ears off to the sounds of the chipster's mother happily singing in the bathroom, I winched open the window as softly as I could, and after getting my knees up on to the cistern, heaved myself through the frame and out down the brick wall below it. Bouncy soft grass lay below the window (the flat was on the ground floor) and I hurriedly rolled on to it. A rolled down blind in the bathroom window fortunately obscured any view of what I might have been up to, and without further ado I hurriedly got to my feet and belted hell for leather away from the flat, tears and saliva streaming over my face, heart hammering, breathing ragged, but still finding the strength to continue running on and on and on .. until the flat, its grounds, and the street it lay down were far enough away and out of sight for me to know that I was safe again.

I then woke up with a start and resolved that I would never ever eat a Domino's Pizza Bonanza Deal late on a Saturday night again.

People Wot I Have Had A (Romantic) Relationship With

This post contains a glossary of the majority of people whom I have had a relationship with. I have even included their photos - you might recognise some.

In order to keep the glossary (relatively) short I have not included those I dated just a coupla times (although these are still as important an individual in the grand scheme of things as those who dated London-Lass longer, meeting up with someone 2 or 3 times does not a relationship make). I have also elected to omit all of those I would find myself randomly snogging after glugging back a few too many bottles of Metz in my wine-barring days (2001-2005). Or the chap who very generously allowed me to touch his penis behind the back of a pub before I caught my last train home - unfortunately too brief an encounter to end up in my glossary, pal.

So here they are - and where best to start than with :-

Guy No.1



1997

Please meet Noel. Surrey boy. Referred to in this post as "probably the worst mistake of my life", Noel's full glory and magnificence can be found in this posting, but in short : we dated, he mounted, he came, then naffed off leaving me a whole heap of trouble. Length of relationship : 6 months. Reason it ended : He naffed off.

Guy No.2



1998

Please meet Pele. Essex boy. Half English/Half Indian. Fancied himself rotten. He was somewhat younger than me so we had nothing in common. Aside from the bedroom department. Length of relationship : 3 months. Reason it ended : He was shagging half of Ilford.

Guy No.3



1998-1999

Please meet Gareth. Essex boy. Bodybuilding enthusiast but still possessed a painfully large love truncheon. Metamorphised from a computer help desk operator to a jobbing car mechanic within two months of meeting him. Shortly after his change of job confessed to having been charged with ABH whilst working as a bouncer back in 1997 and to having a child with another woman (although the exact nature of their relationship and whether or not it had ever actually ended remained a bit of a mystery). Ended up having brain surgery following a terrible car accident when he was four and claimed from his teen years to be able to dream of future events. I never met any of his family or friends - he would always come round to mine. Length of relationship : 1 year. Reason it ended : He stopped coming round to mine.

Guy No.4



1999

Please meet Stefan. Essex boy. Quiet sensitive chap with the unfortunate affliction of having all his features crammed in to the middle of his face with acres of flesh outside. He kept a huge tank of fish that were all dying of some tumour-related disease. Constantly suffered from hayfever but couldnt take his tablets in front of me and would make me turn round whilst he bent over and assumed something similar to the `crash landing position' (I would peek a bit over my shoulder) before taking his medication. Was blessed with a very short but very wide love gland which he'd try and get out at any available opportunity - quite frightening me sometimes. Length of relationship : 4 months. Reason it ended : He suddenly had a problem with my bro's homosexualness. Additional information : Two months later he started stalking me. 20 e-mails a night from Stefan wasnt unusual. Even if he got no response from London-Lass. After finding that I was also ignoring his continual calls to my mobile, he then contacted one of my bosses through his website saying he was worried about me and asking if I was OK. After apologising to the boss and vaguely referring to the guy as being a bit of a weirdo and that it wouldnt happen again, I then phoned Stefan and asked him, if convenient, if he wouldnt mind at all fucking off. He eventually did.

Guy No.5



1999-2001

Please meet Terry. Middlesex chappie. I remember the first time I clapped eyes on him I thought he was so pretty. Pity about his heavy drinking and lack of spinal chord but you cant have everything. Had trouble grasping simple concepts like being nice to his girlfriend, applying himself to his job better and ridding his bedsit of mould and insects. Once got so drunk he poohed in his bin/collapsed in a pub/ended up waking up one morning to find himself nose deep in a dog bowl on his friend's kitchen floor with the friend's children stepping over him to make breakfast. Had dreams of becoming a famous rock band member and owned a guitar - just couldnt play it. Length of relationship : 1 Year and 3 months. Reason it ended : Utterly devoted to me, but boozing, his friends, family and pretty much everything else came first.

Guy No.6



2004

Please meet Paolo. Surrey lad. Very rich. Bedroom gymnastics fanatic. All he wanted was sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. Length of relationship : 6 months. Reason it ended : Soreness.

Guy No.7



2005

Meet Samuel. Surrey boy. Again, very rich. Company director. Big house. Sports car. Very intelligent. Length of relationship : 4 months. Reason it ended : He was magnificently dull. And had skin that was softer than mine. (Shudder)

Guy No.8



2006 onwards

The chipster. Isnt he great?

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

I'm meeting up with GM next week.

I have shortened the evening as much as possible (see below for further evidence) :-

E-MAIL Extract from GM to London-Lass (09.06.08) :-

".... am still defo on for our soiree on 17 June. May be we should do something different and may be have a bite to eat too?? We could still do the pub but then go for an Italian?"

E-MAIL Extract from London-Lass to GM (11.06.08) :-

"An Italian would have been good but I'll have to say no as next Tues lunchtime everybody in the office is being taken out by the second property firm for an `anniversary meal' - and it's for an Italian! If it's OK with you to just have a quick drink at the pub instead that'd be great."

Now I'm not usually one for lying. Unless you count those little white lie thingies that us humans cant seem to avoid. But the paragraph above contains an out & out porker.

Yes, there is no anniversary meal a-happening then (or at any other date). My reason for not being able to go out for an Italian with GM was a complete fabrication. I only popped that in to stop the madness that would inevitably involve watching a laxative addicted anorexic picking at a bowl of salad and which would also extend the time during which I will have to hear about how fabulous UB is, how glorious the last restaurant was that UB paid for, how wonderful, magnificent and marvellous it is that she finally found someone to love again (this will be in reference to her break-up that took place SEVEN years ago, ladies & gentlemen - odds on this will get wheeled out at some point in the proceedings), how it is such a pity that me and the chipster wont be able to get in the same house price bracket as her and UB (but then UB is "very clever with money"), how it is such a shame that me and the chipster wont be able to holiday abroad until November but how super it is to take two holidays a year (all paid for by UB) and how definitely non-ugly UB now is.

I also thought my "quick drink" phrase was rather a nice touch too. GM is nothing but a stickler for detail and am hoping that this will shape how long we end up in the pub.

I mean I'm only meeting up with her so I can get my earrings back. No point in dragging it out any longer is there?

The Thrill of the (On-Line) Pursuit ...

Gosh.

It's been so long (1½ years) since I ended up in conversation with an on-line bad sort that I almost thought I missed it. Until that is, I reviewed my Yahoo! Messenger archive the other day and unearthed the following treats.

Some conversations were as a follow-on from a Match.com dating site message although most were simply due to someone chancing their arm whilst I was on-line. And, in case you were wondering, the offer of some free spiritual advice was far too tempting to pass up from the Tantric Guy and, yes, perhaps the final conversation with Rambling Doc was a wee bit lengthy but it is quite rare to find an instant messaging guy with a nifty sense of humour.

Anyway, as you will see from below, each conversation (Tantric guy aside), whilst differing in length and content, all shared pretty much the same end result = the on-line guy turned out to be a bit of a wassock and London-Lass remained a spinster for another day :-

CONVERSATION No.1 (follow-on from Match.com)
London-Lass (16/06/2006 10:58:13): g'day to you too
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:58:19): haha
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:58:22): how you doing?
London-Lass (16/06/2006 10:58:37): fine ta .. you?
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:58:47): am loving life my friend!
London-Lass (16/06/2006 10:58:59): uh-huh ok .. well you have a nice day now
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:59:11): where you off to?
London-Lass (16/06/2006 10:59:24): to find someone `normal'
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:59:49): hahaha
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 10:59:57): i am not normal, i agree!
aussiemax_454 (16/06/2006 11:00:02): where in uk you from?
London-Lass (16/06/2006 11:00:19): well if you're not normal then only one thing to say :
London-Lass (16/06/2006 11:00:22): cheery bye!
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.2 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger)
batman_the1 (16/10/2006 09:24:10): hi
London-Lass (16/10/2006 09:24:15): hi
batman_the1 (16/10/2006 09:24:29): how are u?
London-Lass (16/10/2006 09:24:37): fine
London-Lass (16/10/2006 09:24:38): you?
batman_the1 (16/10/2006 09:24:44): gr8 ta
batman_the1 (16/10/2006 09:24:47): horny tho!!!
London-Lass (16/10/2006 09:24:52): bye
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.3 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger)
nature 200206 (09/01/200 09:19:50) : can I give you some spiritual advice
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:20:03): will it cost me?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:20:13): no not at all!
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:20:28): not even, say, 50p .. just to be polite?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:20:38): no
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:20:54): righty ho .. give it to me then
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:21:18): well are you spiritual?
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:21:32): er
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:21:33): not sure
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:21:36): how can you tell?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:21:49): for example do you meditate?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:21:56): try to connect with your deeper self
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:22:08): meditate? deeper? you off your trolley?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:22:34): i take thats as a no
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:22:52): you're very good at this
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:23:13): hey if you want to learn, please let me know
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:23:16): i'm serious about this
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:23:17): thanks
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:23:18):
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:23:29): oo .. you said absolutely nothing there then ..
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:23:47): do you know what tantra is
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:24:00): sting's into that isnt he?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:24:13): yes he may be
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:24:15): i don't know
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:24:23): its a way to experience heightened spirituality
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:24:45): yes .. oo it was in some newspaper a while ago .. apparently him and Trudie (you know, his missus) were able to do it for absolute hours .. due to tantra .. or something
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:25:06): to do what?
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:25:20): you know .. the sex
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:25:44): right
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:25:58): well many people in the west mistaken tantra for just sex
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:25:58): it was in the press .. i'm not making this up
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:01): but tantra is more then that
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:26:06): it is?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:10): oh yes
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:17): i spent several years in teh himalayas studying it
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:26:24): you must be rich
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:32): i'm not actually
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:26:42): did you sponge of others then?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:45): i don't charge people monye for it
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:26:46): of = off
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:26:57): when i was in the himalayas, i didn't need much
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:27:02): the idea was to live a simple life
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:27:20): i see .. and you didnt need any cash for food, clothing ..?
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:27:29): or were nakedly starving?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:27:32): oh no, not at all
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:27:40): tantra sounds mean
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:27:41): i went there with my mom to learn about tantra
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:27:48): your mom?
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:27:52): you American?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:27:53): and lived in a seclduded hut for several years
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:28:02): well i grew up in nyc
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:28:06): but ethnicallly from india
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:28:39): gosh .. that makes you a bit of a mix .. so you're now back in the land of the living attempting to teach people the ways of tantra .. through Yahoo! Messenger?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:28:50): haha
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:28:53): not just through yahoo
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:03): i travel around in the US mostly but also other countries
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:07): and teach people
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:29:18): any of 'em listen?
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:29:22): you get heckled a lot?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:23): yes
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:24): lots do
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:29:31): what - lots heckle?
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:36): listening
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:49): so as i was telling you we lived in a secluded hut for several years
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:29:55): with no electrocity, no running wather
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:30:11): we subsisted on vegetables and fruits grown outside the hut for food
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:30:21): and even had a cow for milk!
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:30:36): the idea was to lead a simple life without distractions
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:30:42): so you could focus inwardly
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:31:06): aha .. forgive me, but does sound rather dull .. you must've been out of your mind with boredom after a while
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:31:19): not at all
nature200206 (09/01/2008 09:31:24): mostly meditated
London-Lass (09/01/2008 09:32:10): well i must be off .. have a meeting in 5 .. thanks for interesting chat .. and all the best in your tantric quest .. bye
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.4 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger)
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:11:00): i lov you
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:11:23): huh? think you got the wrong person, pal
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:11:36): nop hi taik
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:11:38): to me
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:11:48): what if i dont want to?
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:11:49): male 25 what to know you
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:11:51): pls
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:11:59): feeling's not mutual
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:12:03): we can just be friend ok
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:12:13): cant you read?
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:12:15): dont taik like that
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:12:20): what
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:12:27): see above .. i'm not interested
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:12:33): and if you dont like what i'm saying then go away
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:12:57): sorry taik to me
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:13:02): we can be frind ok
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:11): see above .. i'm not interested
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:15): loony
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:13:25): pls
maz_148 (12/12/2007 12:13:41): why you taiking like this my friend what is your name
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:53): loony
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:55): loony
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:56): loony
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:13:58): loony
London-Lass (12/12/2007 12:14:00): bye then
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.5 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger
maumee51 (17/01/2007 16:10:22): hi londonlass, im adam
London-Lass (17/01/2007 16:17:15): hey adam
maumee51 (17/01/2007 16:17:21): whats up?
London-Lass (17/01/2007 16:17:46): er. i'm at work?
maumee51 (17/01/2007 16:18:23): thats cool...im waiting to go to class
London-Lass (17/01/2007 16:18:42): ok
maumee51 (17/01/2007 16:19:33): do you have any pics?
(London-Lass catches on to `class' reference and quickly ends conversation)

maumee51 (01/02/2007 14:33:50): hey there
maumee51 (01/02/2007 14:33:50): im Adam
maumee51 (01/02/2007 14:33:53): whats up?
London-Lass (01/02/2007 14:33:59): fuck off
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.6 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger)
tallhandsomeone69 (31/08/2006 09:49:29): hi sexy... I'm a tall handsome gentleman, 37yrs. I'm in London on business from time to time, and me and my girlfriend are looking to meet a sexy lady in heels and stockings, to join us for dinner and some fun... interested?
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.7 (c/o Yahoo! Messenger)
young_nc_guy (15/06/2006 09:38:00: fancy a fuck?
London-Lass (15/06/2006 09:38:07): no thanks
young_nc_guy (15/06/2006 09:38:16): you sure?
London-Lass (15/06/2006 09:38:25): bye
(London-Lass blocks contact)

CONVERSATION No.8 (follow-on from Match.com)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:18:57): your name suits you
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:19:54): er, thanks .. so does rambling doc suit you too then..?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:20:20): well if you construe "rambling" as "traveling all the hell over the place" and "doc" as "Ph.D., not M.D."... yes, i suppose it does.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:20:41): wow .. most fitting .. jolly well done to you too then kind sir
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:21:04): how're things in Essex at the moment? Besides, I suppose, "getting dark?"
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:21:32): well, only 4:20 there as i look at the clock... so maybe still light.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:22:40): hope i didn't butt in on anything while you were at work
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:22:57): erm, yes, still light .. am working but no worries .. so whereabouts are you then, Mr Walking Ph.D person?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:23:34): At the moment, in the Carolinas, stateside. It's a 5-hour difference. But I just got back from a trip to the north of England and Scotland two days ago, so I'm still trying to sort my watches-- and sleep patterns-- out.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:24:31): and so, to dissect your profile ... "property PA".... personal assistant at either an estate agent's or solicitor's office?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:24:35): How close did I get?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:24:56): very close .. if i had a top prize you'd get it .. the best i can offer you at this time of life is this ---> :-)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:25:10): WOW! I KNEW you had a killer smile.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:25:20): that's a pretty good top prize, lady... don't sell it short.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:25:35): so am guessing from your use of Estate Agent that you're not US by birth .. an Englishman in America perchance..?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:26:31): actually, the other way around. An American who works extensively in the UK and has tended to bring back the lingo to the States, where his friends and family have a hard time understanding him most of the time now.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:26:49): o i see .. how unfortunate .. well i hope it eventually passes!
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:26:56): but I'm also an attorney, so one picks up the professional language from one's peers there.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:27:08): gosh .. so you're a bit of a language mongrel then
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:27:26): notwithstanding that i once spent quite a bit of time with an estate agent in Carlisle, of all places, re: a very cute little house i once found there that I just sort of... wanted.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:27:37): "language mongrel".... you have a way with words! I kind of like that.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:27:55): and you have a way with the Yahoo! emoticons .. never seen so many disembodied little faces looking at me at one time
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:28:20): if it annoys you, please let me know and i'll knock it off. I just sort of use them out of habit to reflect emotion and such.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:28:36): and you have no idea how hard it was for me to avoid using a little smiley face at the end of that last message. and this one.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:28:38): :-)
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:28:41): ha ha .. not annoyed .. just slightly curious .. usually associated emoticon over-use with teeny bopper types
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:28:49): ah, good point.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:28:51): :-(
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:29:00): well if you cant resist the urge dont hold back .. i've heard that that can be bad for you
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:29:08): i agree completely.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:29:10): so what you doing on-line chatting to (up) strange wimmen?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:29:37): shouldnt you be out spending vast quantities of cash, buying houses (just cos you want them) or doing lots of international business (got this all from your profile)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:29:40): i was actually on something completely different when I noticed this website
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:29:56): and... well... far be it from me to resist peeking at the occasional profile when that sort of thing happens.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:30:09): and then far be it from me to avoid complimenting a profile that had as much charisma as yours.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:30:36): well am glad you felt the need/urge/wont to compliment .. always gratefully received, my good man
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:30:39): yeah-- but it's not impressive. It's just a way that the grant underwriters of the project i'm on try to cut corners.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:30:51): why thank you, dear lady.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:31:10): so, no pic? who / what you hiding from..?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:31:34): i have suddenly combined "remarkably pleasant and charming personality" with "drop dead sexy" and sort of appreciate the fact that i made contact now even more.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:31:38): oh.. the pic thing....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:32:11): not hiding.... but when i did that original profile, i had no pic of me at the moment.... so i used the best thing Match.com had available, which was a cat. But I can send one of ME, if you'd like.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:32:39): can you? that would be most excellent if you would like to
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:32:42): i can be trusted
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:32:44): (oh, and i noticed from your profile --- another scorpio? Even better!)
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:32:45): not odd, me
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:32:55): yes, we're the best sign of the zodiac
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:33:30): same here, except for my utter lack of updating my profile AND the fact that i choose to represent myself to the world as a large orange hat-wearing kitty.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:33:54): and i concur with your evaluation of Scorpios. We're remarkable people. And HIGHLY modest.

(London-Lass receives e-mailed photo of ramblingdoc2)

ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:34:12): by the way, that's a government ID photo.... which is why i'm not smiling. we were ordered not to. I'm usually far, far happier-looking than that.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:34:13): nice stripey shirt, monsieur
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:34:22): gracias.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:34:26): well we're gonna have to do that too with our passports over here
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:34:40): not looking forward to that .. i know i shall look like an axe murdering drug using harridan
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:34:51): i somehow doubt that... !
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:35:00): prefer smiling .. smiling comes second-nature to me (that and talking oodles of drivel)
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:35:04): (waffle, waffle)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:35:08): but you'd still be a very ATTRACTIVE axe murderer if so.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:35:20): ah, good-- drivel-- another thing we have in common
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:35:24): my word, such a sweet talking smooth criminal
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:35:37): that's big talk coming from a waffling axe murderer, you know.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:35:51): can i take it from the thingies you insert that you use another chat messenger software program?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:36:18): er, no... sometimes i just type the word out rather than use an emoticon. I'm TRYING to get better about it... really!
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:36:37): but it's otherwise wholly inexplicable. I recommend not losing sleep trying to figure it out.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:36:48): ah .. sorry just being v. analytical about the whole thing (a Scorpionic trait apparently)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:36:58): yes, but again, a very appealing trait.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:37:12): plus i am a woman .. and you know the equation women + man = lots of analysing from the woman
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:37:22): regardless of the situation
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:37:25): oh, but i'm honored any time you wish to analyze me.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:37:25): weird race we are
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:37:44): please note that i still use "z" instead of "s" in many of my spellings, the obvious evidence that a yank is present.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:37:55): and yes, the things that roll on cars are "tires" to me, still.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:38:05): aww
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:38:09): that's kinda nice
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:38:24): well then! i shall continue with that habit pour vous!
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:38:26): color instead of colour?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:38:45): actually, that one's kinda funny..... when here, i use "color:' over there, my brain automatically uses "colour."
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:38:58): wow .. you have a marvelous brain .. try not to lose it
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:39:00): If I wrote it out while we were speaking to each other, i would use "colour."
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:39:15): as opposed to my mind, which i fear has long since left me....
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:39:40): i highly doubt that ..
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:39:55): from what i can glean from your (waffling/rambling) typings you appear to have more mind/brain than most on the Net
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:39:57): jolly well done
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:39:59): oh, it just feels that way sometimes. This used to be fun work, but now it's gotten kind of miserable.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:40:06): why bless you, my child.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:40:15): you're a vicar too?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:40:30): i have to invite you out to dinner next time I'm in Essex... if you can put up with such ramblings online, you'd be even more stunning in person.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:40:43): Errr, no.... probably quite far from the qualifications for THAT job.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:41:13): o i see
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:41:53): and part of the dinner invitation is that i'm now lusting for you in my heart, which wouldn't please the Church. The good news is that i also don't lust for underaged boys, which doubtless WOULD please the church.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:42:15): o undoubtedly .. they're all at it in the church
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:42:45): so tell me more about YOU, please! Native of the area? Name? Life history down to the most intricate detail since you were 4?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:43:27): yes, native of the UK, born & raised in Essex, working in London (West End), life history in a nut shell - good girl turned in to lovely woman. THE END.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:43:38): awwwww! how sweet!
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:43:48): not much of a movie, but a wonderful story all the same.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:44:10): it is .. worthy of an Oscar I'd've thought
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:44:20): or at least a "Sid."
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:44:29): a Sid?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:44:42): i don't know. It just seemed like a useful intermediary honour.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:45:22): ever married? kids? pets? likes? dislikes? other vague and general questions it would take years to answer?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:45:50): oo sorry .. thought perhaps there was a more minor awards ceremony in the good ole States called Sids
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:46:01): no, the name just came to me
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:46:46): never been married, no children, pet? yes. like Marmite. dislike Thrash Metal. so over to you : married? unfaithful much? kids? any unusual habits that would make someone phone the police about?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:46:57): wow... ok... here goes....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:47:12): no, as a result no, no, and "i don't think so."
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:47:31): `as a result'?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:47:34): <--- two very greedy but loving cats, however, who're currently in residence with my parents while i'm traveling.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:47:57): yes, no to "married," and therefore no to "unfaithful much" as a result... though i suppose one could have a flame and still be unfaithful....
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:48:13): yes they very muchly could
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:48:21): but the good news there is that there isn't actually a flame at the moment. The current "road warrior" lifestyle makes that a wee bit difficult.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:48:50): you know Scorpios, though. Aggressive, but loyal. Kind of like a Yorkie on steroids.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:49:31): well i would imagine it would be v. hard for you to form any sort of relationship whatsoever flitting about the place
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:50:07): yeah-- another bit of a downer to the current work. But it's an independent research contract that ends just after the new year... so i can hang on in favor of returning to a normal life soon
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:50:19): a Yorkie on steroids is a horrible thought .. much prefer to liken myself to a steadfast bodyguard .. strong, faithful and defend to death *cue dramatic music*
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:50:20): i have a few friends in various places that keep me sane, though.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:50:28): oooh! i liked the dramatic music!
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:50:30): nice touch.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:50:37): did you? i was envisaging Omen type music
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:50:39): lots of drums
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:50:42): quite scarey
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:51:05): hmmm... i was thinking "ominous violins"... too many drums would make it sort of like the Edinburgh Tattoo.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:51:43): i'd have to don me plaid skirt there, lassie.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:51:47): i didnt say bagpipes though
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:51:56): oh. damn. I like ominous bagpipes.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:11): you do? hmm .. well if told you i am half scottish would you be (vaguely) impressed then?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:16): och aye the noo
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:17): (etc)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:52:21): oh, more than vaguely, hen.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:34): hen? *swoon*
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:52:36): for however sexy you were two minutes ago, it's just multiplied by ten.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:39): wow
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:52:59): well i guess i have nowhere to go apart from down from the top of this very high pedestal you've put me on
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:53:06): here I go .. weeeeeeh .. splat!
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:53:28): actually, as i look at your profile pic, i can sort of see the scots thing in your eyes and teeth and face-shape.... sort of in the build of shoulders-to-neckline too....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:53:44): nah.... if you fall, i'll just catch your bottom and push it back up there.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:54:14): sort of in the build of shoulders to neckline? are you likening me to some short ginger muscle bound haggis chomping Scots chap then?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:54:46): no, i meant it's a very smooth and scots-lady-like kind of line... you know, the opposite of "East German Olympic Swimmer" kind of thing.....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:55:14): don't ask me how i notice neck and shoulder lines. Maybe it's some bizarre latent interest in cultural anthropology or something.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:55:47): but if you accept the dinner date, you'd doubtless be freaked out by a man who kept looking at your shoulders and neckline, so maybe i should try to fight that urge.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:56:12): what asking me out on a dinenr date? or attempting to look at my shoulders/neckline?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:56:20): er, the latter.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:56:22): that was dinner by the way .. drat these long fingernails
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:56:29): that's ok-- i also speak fluent typo.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:56:36): and i like long fingernails.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:57:09): not these .. they're horrible .. am cutting 'em all of tonight
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:57:16): they get in the way of the keys (on the keyboard)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:57:24): hmm... good point, i suppose....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:57:56): have a nail-cutting party! buy yourself a little cake and all of that stuff.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:58:04): (by the way I am logging off in 10 mins .. anything important you got to get off your American chest do it now)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:58:22): er... let's see.... some hair, a bit of fluff from the fuzzy blanket i wound up in....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:58:39): nope, nothing else really at the moment .. .but i figured we were close to quittin' time there.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:58:57): you off too?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:59:21): actually, it's noon here now and i DO have a couple of afternoon appointments to keep. But I was dilly-dallying enrapt in the charm of present company.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:59:33): oo .. love it when a man dilly dallys
London-Lass (07/09/2006 16:59:55): do you do the whole `adding friends' stuff on here .. or is that just too sad a suggestion to contemplate, Mr Ph.D?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 16:59:57): oh, YOU can have your pick... i'll dilly when you wish dillying and dally when you desire dallying.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:00:08): how about shilly shallying?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:00:23): as a general rule, no. But there are exceptions to every rule, and you are decidedly the best example of one I can think of at the moment
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:00:31): that too, if your heart so desires.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:00:48): no that's fine .. just a suggestion .. that's all
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:01:48): i do believe we need to chat further in the very near future, though. This has been rather fun!
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:02:01): indeed
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:02:15): amazing to bump into someone who is erudite, articulate, fun, outgoing, personable and sexy... on Match.com of all places, the black hole of personality.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:02:16): well look me up next time you're on-line then
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:02:40): i shall! and please feel free to do the same. Do you have a computer at home, too?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:02): fraid not .. just at work .. natter away whilst in the office .. naughty, huh?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:32): oh, dear..... well bugger it all... i shall be "London-Lassless" when i return from my appointed rounds...
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:34): :-(
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:36): :-(
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:40): WAHHHHHH!
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:43): eek
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:45): dont cry
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:48): :-(
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:52): (real men dont cry)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:03:53): ok.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:54): what are you
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:57): a man?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:03:58): or a mouse?
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:04:36): I squeak resent that squeak implication, and IMMEDIATELY squeak demand that you fetch hither some squeak CHEESE to repay my honour.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:04:46): :-)
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:04:48): i knew it
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:04:52): you think you're writing to a MAN
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:04:58): when it turns out they're a MOUSE
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:05:07): how many times this has happened to me I cant tell you
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:05:21): don't discount my abilities to please you with my whippy little tail or cute, perky whiskers, baby.....
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:05:30): don't even get me started on the teeth....
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:05:42): or the fact that you're riddled with countless diseases, fleas and will leave holes in my skirting board .. NO THANK YOU
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:06:04): you're a woman who needs a rodent, i can tell.... you need a little "squeaky lovin'"..... your hole or mine?
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:06:23): gah .. back off .. or its the cheese laden mouse trap for you my squeaky friend
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:06:34): oh dear. well in that case, er... never mind.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:07:01): ha ha
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:07:02): in any case, i DO hope to bump heads with you again soon. You're fun.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:07:13): well i'm about to sign off in 2 minutes
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:07:19): *tick tick tick tick*
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:07:21): i also obviously need to push the next UK trip up by as much as i possibly can.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:07:33): yes, yes.... i remember clock-watching.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:07:38): oi
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:07:43): one minute
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:08:01): i shall look for you again tomorrow then, my dear new friend.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:08:16): ok .. well it's been fun but i must fly (although not literally)
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:08:17): i'll just lust for you privately tonight when i get home, i suppose.
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:08:28): that'd be a sight! but DO have a lovely evening.
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:08:38): and have a good afternoon
ramblingdoc2 (07/09/2006 17:08:41): you too!
London-Lass (07/09/2006 17:08:42): take care x

(5 minutes later London-Lass receives an e-mailed photo of his penis)
(London-Lass blocks contact)

I Have An Upper Mush Affliction

And it is a constant battle to keep it all camouflaged.

I remember (slightly wistfully) how when I used to sit down I'd resemble this :-



But now it's more like this :-



Pretty grim stuff.

Although I should point out : I'm not so bothered about the lower mush. I mean, you cant really hope to keep the flat stomach you had during your teens for the rest of your life - that would be cloud cuckoo land time. And the lower mush can be very easily hidden, say, with lycra-d up trousers or jeans - or a pair of really stiff big knickers.

It's really just this upper mush stuff that has got me all hot 'n bothered 'n grumpy - leaving me constantly trying to find stuff from my wardrobe that will go some way towards hiding this odd phenomenon.

And it's not like I'm a tank either (I weigh pretty much the same now as I did in my late teens), or that I used to have some ripped six pack when younger (which has now turned to fat) - so I am at a loss as to where the upper mush has come from.

But before I start sobbing on your shoulder, I have to say it's not all bad. Sometimes the mushiness goes down. Well to a degree anyway. And when the mush has largely deflated this means that good times ahead for I can once again sit down in my work skirt or jeans without fearing that the seams will give way. You see, if both the lower mush and upper mash are bloated up to their greatest expansion (just before, during & after my period) I totally lose my waist and any hope of wearing anything that is fitted. Although, even when both levels are at their least mushiness, I am still left with the mildest of muffin effects (upper belly/side overhang over jeans/trousers).

Now I should point out here that the chipster has a `rosy belly' thing going on. Even as thin as he is he still has a bit of a stomach on him (which I absolutely love, and have been known to rub and hug this first before kissing him to say hello) but, you know, with baggy shorts and a t-shirt you'd never know that he wasnt rakish and lithe all over. But, even though the chipster has a tum, there is none of this dratted upper mush business going on. It's flat all the way over his ribcage and then a little pot belly.

One crazy morning (whilst making my bed stark naked) I did discover when holding my breasts out of the way that the upper mush sorta disappeared. Hurrah. Course I then had to admit myself that this sort of carry on would never be allowed in day to day life - after all it's not like you could even hope to try to get away with walking down a street whilst holding your boobs out in front of you like a coupla tasty buns. So, perhaps it is the weight of my breasts (which have gradually grown bigger the older I've become even though, like I say, my weight has more or less stayed the same) and it is their `pull down factor' which has created my upper mush platform? They've gotta have something to rest on after all.

I guess I therefore have the following choices :-

• quickly cut off breasts (dont really like this one)
• immediately stop eating thus starving myself to a non-mushy peg (again, dont really like the sound of this one, and knowing my luck even when stick-thin I'd still have an upper mush - although a much tinier version when compared to the one resting above my belly right now)
• invest in a corselet for the elderly lady (see below)
  

I think we have a winner.

Lookalike? (Part III)

Nicola from Girls Aloud and Jane Horrocks.

Or, again, is it just me?

Conversations

London-Lass & the chipster are in the back garden. The sun has been shining for about 10 minutes and London-Lass' brother has become so excited that he's just gone out to purchase a mini barbecue thingie. The late afternoon's forecast for rain to come pouring down at some point has, however, lent an edge to the proceedings and it is touch & go whether or not we will actually manage to eat the food in the comfort of the back garden on our newly bought and rather stripy director chairs :-





or, if once the barbecue has been finally lit and the sausages are starting to cook, we will then have to quickly escape indoors from the forecasted downpour and watch agog from the living room patio doors at the barbecued sausages a-sizzling and ker-spluttering in the rain. But, you know, they do advise on taking lots of water with your food to aid digestion so perhaps not such a bad thing.

And so, whilst my brother and his boyfriend, the BF, were barbecue-kit buying at the shops, me and the chipster soaked up the remaining rays :-





and indulged in the following conversation. To help shape the mood of the talk in your heads, I was paranoid, edgy and sober, whereas the chipster was (quietly becoming) sozzled on Southern Comfort and struggling to keep up :-

London-Lass (planting her first conversation bomb) : I do sometimes wonder why we're together.
Chipster (looking like he's just wet himself) : What?!
London-Lass (detonating her second conversation bomb) : Well .. it's just that .. you know .. we are quite different arent we? I mean you're in to surfing, camping, Kiss FM .. that sort of thing .. whereas I'm .. well you know .. not in to that sort of stuff.
Chipster (now also beginning to look like he'd shat himself) : Why are you saying this? What do you mean? You were singing along to Kiss FM stuff on the way back home from your folks as well, werent you?
London-Lass (slowly but surely leading up to third conversation bomb) : Humph. Only when they played the records that've been mixed with old tunes. Just, you know, wonder whether that girl at your work place might probably be a better match ...

(Girl in question is 25, sprightly and pert, in to travelling round in camper vans in an ad hoc spontaneous fashion and, according to the chipster's work colleague who used to go out with the girl, rather `fit'. She is now freshly single and more or less the same age as what the chipster's ex would've been and, suddenly, whilst sitting in the back garden it struck me what an odd match me and the chipster was, and how much better a pairing the chipster and work girl would be)

Chipster (right royally confused) : What girl? You mean Angel? I dont think so. I've said this to you before .. but a girl has to have a bit of intelligence before I would even consider going out with her. I think that Angel would probably irritate the crap out of me. No, in fact, I know she would. Er - why you saying all this?
London-Lass (sipping quietly at her half a glass of Pinot Grigio) : No reason. Just got to thinking.
Chipster : Well stop it! Now come over and give me a cuddle.

London-Lass changes seats to be nearer to the chipster and after cuddling him realises he's worked up a bit of a sweat during the talk and quickly changes the subject to something a bit lighter. The weather also manages to holds up and the mini-BBQ held a bit later is a success.

The next day the chipster and London-Lass are watching Frasier. Coincidentally it's the very same episode blogged about here. Niles has realised that all the trimmings, angels, cherubs and horn players dont actually matter when it comes to proposing to Daphne and even if things havent gone to plan the moment is still rather perfect and starts his little pre-proposal speech :-

Niles : How about some tea?
Daphne : Not now.
Niles : O, I have some of those raspberry candies you like …
Daphne : No you stay right next to me Niles Crane. I’m sorry I ruined our evening.
Niles : O, you did nothing of the sort.
Daphne : I don’t know what I did to deserve you.
Niles : You kidding - I got the better end of the deal.
Daphne : O yeh? Look at me : nose running, hair a mess - I must look a real fright! (sneeze)
Niles : You are simply the most adorable creature I have ever seen on this earth.
Daphne (laughing) : You sure?
Niles : No I mean it - from your beautiful toes all the way up to your crusty nose, there’s not an inch of you that I don’t adore.
(Daphne and Niles kiss)
Niles : You know it’s funny - you could take a million years to plan the perfect evening, and you could never come up with this. Daphne - I have to ask you a question.
Daphne : Hold on. (loud blowing of nose that goes on forever) You were saying?
Niles : Daphne Moon .. will you .. and your beautiful toes .. and your exquisite ankles … and you precious knees … elbows … arms … fingers … shoulders … will you marry me?

Chipster starts prodding London-Lass in a playful cheeky way.

Chipster (giggling a bit) : Coo eck - talk about cheesy. Is what what women want?

Silence from London-Lass.

Chipster (continuing) : Is that what LONDON-LASS wants??

Nothing from London-Lass.

Chipster (still poking & prodding like a good'un) : Is that how a proposal should be? Would you have said yes to that?
London-Lass (deadly serious) : Yes.
Chipster (confused) : Yes to what?

London-Lass smiles at the chipster.

But remains mute.

You'll Have to Bear with Me on This

But I dont really think you could say that my go at Internet Dating was entirely `successful'.

I mean, yes, I know I ended up meeting the chipster. And that yes, he's magnificent. Yes, I couldnt be happier. And yes, life is rather super de luper. Blah, blah, blah.

But, let's face it, it took me FIVE years worth of slogging it out with dating sites/e-mailing/telephoning/yawning my way through first meets before I actually got anywhere, i.e. ending up dating someone nice with the potential for a long-term relationship.

And this is not due to minging issues. O no. For amassing a string of around 5-6 dates with the same person was actually rather easy peasy, chips & peasie, Japanese-y, thankee very much.

It was just the whole getting a relationship going that ended up proving (well, for me anyway) even more elusive than The Scarlet Pimpernel.

And, certainly, there were times when I felt just like shouting "Bollocks to it!", giving the whole thing up and taking up knitting instead. For even though the dating side was .. well, I guess you could say .. `fun' (at times), and, you know, there were actually a few things I did which, without meeting some of the Internet guys, I wouldnt have probably got round to doing - like going to Putney to watch the Oxford & Cambridge Boat Race or having a champagne picnic in Hyde Park - there were also times when the bloke I'd been dating for a bit would then suddenly *poof* disappear, or *poof* go loony, and I'd then have to start the whole laborious process of communicating by e-mail, tentatively talking over the phone and meeting up for the first time again with another bloke.

There were also :-

• the ones who told me they'd fallen in love with me by the end of our first date
  
• the one who confessed to already having a girlfriend but that `Net Dating is just a bit of fun anyway, so what's the harm, chill out babe and let me shag you'
• the ones who turned out to be that bit shorter/fatter/older/less intelligent/much more in the way of a smoker/alcoholic than their profiles initially made out
• the one that had separated from his wife but still lived in the same house
• the Walter Mittys
  
• the ones that wanted to know my favourite sexual fantasies/positions within 5 minutes of meeting
  
• the one that `couldnt handle it' and ran off whining and moaning the same shortly after I said `Hello'
  
• the one who called me a bunny boiler after I asked him to stop texting during our date
• the one who picked a hair of mine off his trousers and folded it up in his wallet `for safe keeping' and had also turned up wearing a bum bag which contained a camera that he'd brought along to take a picture of me to prove to his mates back at work (he was a policeman) that not all birds from the Net are ugly
• the one who stalked me and thought nothing of e-mailing me up to 40 times one night

And even though I experienced all the above I still think somewhere somehow I must've been doing something right. And, yes, OK OK, I'm not dismissing the fact I snared the chipster in the end which obviously proves that my approach couldnt've been entirely wrong. I'll agree with that.

But I think I must've been doing something right in my Internet Dating, for unlike my boss at work, who's just started dabbling in dating websites after separating from his wife a few months ago, at least I didnt end up :-

• ruining my hair (think : Brillo Pad) with too much in the way of bleached highlights in an effort to look a bit younger
  
• spending £280 on drinks & dinner the first time I met someone
  
• coming in to work wrecked and ragged after spending all night boozing it up, tripping on drugs or trying every sex position known to man from the praying mantis to the shopping trolley
  
• catching a nasty little STD

We Have Become Tramps

And this is not the royal `we'. O no.

Me and the chipster have sorta managed over the 1 ½ years we've been together to get a bit ... well ... vagrant-like.

Not that we're homeless. The chipster still has his gaff and I still spinster it up with my brother. Nor do either of us smell of horses, regurgitated din-dins or stale booze. Well, I would hope not anyway ...

The point I am trying to make is - the other day, whilst on route to the chipster's, I was happily flicking through my mobile phone, clucking away at old texts and generally annoying everyone within close vicinity, when I happened upon an old photo of the chipster. Aww I thought to myself there he is. Coochy coochy coo. Etc., etc. But then I realised there was something different. A change had come over to the chipster since I started seeing him. And then it hit me.

Flat hair.

Whereas the chipster's spiked up bouffant had always been rather similar to those chappies that cavort about on skateboards and dive off buildings, the hair that the chipster has been sporting of late is altogether different. Not that he doesnt have almost the exact same hair length as when I first met him, it's just he no longer seems to want to spike it up.

Boo hoo.

But then I also realised. I've also gone a wee bit neglectful too. No longer the blonde-streaked curly haired temptress that lured in and seduced the innocent chipster on Match.com, I now have darker straighter locks which I keep most of the time in a tight bun. Coupled with the current orders from my opticians to wear specs, and I guess you could say I am probably on the wrong side of sexy.

My body is also kept a lot hairier these days too. The constant buffing, pruning, shining, waxing and polishing routines I endured at the beginning of our relationship now seem to have fallen in to the wayside and it is only my armpits that get a cursory pruning these days (if only to keep my mini privets down).

Our behaviour has also changed towards each other. Whereas at the beginning, the chipster's mouth was only for talking and his backside only for sitting, it's now pretty common for a foul-smelling gale to emanate either from his throat or anus. My orifices also seem to suffer from the same affliction.

The chipster has also developed this habit of having to strip off his clothes as soon as we're back indoors after say, a long day out, or even after, say, just a trot round the block. In the beginning, the chipster remained at all times in his clothes (unless I leapt on him, of course, and demanded that he make me feel like a woman) but now it's all I can do to close the front door in time before the chipster's stripped off all his clothes and laying on the sofa, clutching his thrupennies, and asking what's for tea. Next to being naked, his favourite way to relax is just going bottomless. Which always puts me a little ill at ease. For you know - top half, everything is normal, chipster's got a jumper on 'n everything is fine - but then - bottom half, oo eck it's all on display, very very pink and rather dangley.

And whereas at the beginning I would remain perfectly coiffeured and heavily made up until bedtime, or sometimes whilst in bed with the chipster, now my favourite way to be is make up free, glasses on and hair in tight bun.

The lines of privacy have also blurred too. Whereas in the beginning we'd leave each other alone whilst taking a shower, going a pee, or having a dump, now it's almost expected that one of us will interrupt the other with either :-

• a quick flash of the shower curtain and an ogle of the dripping fleshy bits on view
  
• a quick knocking on the door (or sometimes no knocking whatsoever) and then a sudden bursting in to the loo whilst the other person is otherwise engaged - although this is not to view whatever the person is producing, but to make the other person jump or laugh (unfortunately this rather backfired on the chipster the other day after he caught a whiff of my ... `backfire' ... which made the chipster recoil and me laugh)

Anyway whilst things are all very comfortable like this, could it get worse? I mean, are me and the chipster heading down the road of becoming even more neglectful to the point where we have to dump each other ... if only to get away from each other's stench? Or have we reached that stage of comfortableness (almost as gag-worthy as wearing matching outfits) where we're both so at ease with each other all the trinkets and vain triflings that took place earlier in the relationship are now no longer necessary?

I guess only time will tell on this one but I will leave you with a little scenario that took place at the chipster's flat over the weekend that might provide a clue as to where we might be heading ...

London-Lass (whilst laying next to the chipster in bed) : Can you smell a weird smell?

Chipster (drily) : O god. You havent farted again have you?

London-Lass (even drier) : No. I. Have. Not. Farted. No, that smell. Cant you smell it?

Chipster sniffs for a bit in silence. And then : No. What does it smell like?

London-Lass : A bit like tomato-soup, beef, onions ... hang on!

London-Lass moves towards the chipster and sniffs.

London-Lass : Tut. It's your armpits!

Chipster (whirling up in a panic and blushing bright red) : O London-Lass. O god. Is it really? O no!

London-Lass (chucking slightly, whilst the chipster struggles to get up) : Fraid so. Mr Whiffy.

Chipster continues to pull himself up into a seated position whilst apologising frantically, but then instead of leaving the bed to hurriedly cleanse his armpits, suddenly wheels round to the unsuspecting London-Lass and, whilst smothering her head in his armpit, tells her to drink in the smell of a real man. Whilst chuckling back at her evilly.

The word is not. N-o-t. NOT.

As the chipster is currently watching slumped with mouth hanging open & dribbling on the sofa watching Moonraker on ITV4 with the legendary Roger Moore (all hail, for he is the King of James Bond) I thought I'd seize the opportunity and let you know how my Bank Holiday Weekend is going. For I know you worry so, dear Blog Reader.

Anyway, in summary :-

• Weather? Bad. Well, OK, that's not the whole truth. It was actually good yesterday. Sunny, warm, no rain, blah di blah. All the stuff that you know that I, London-Lass, being the freakishly odd weirdo that she is is not the biggest of fans of - this post should fully explain my feelings on the subject. But I guess as I've probably got three more months of the joyously glorious stuff to look forward to (see how good I am at pretending?) I might've as well just `wind it in'. Which funnily enough I heard a girlie yell at a bloke during my train journey over to the chipster's on Friday evening.
• Why did the girlie yell at the bloke? Well I'm glad you asked, gentle Blog Reader. I had just sat down in my seat when I noticed a girl come down the aisle behind me, and aiming herself in the direction of the group of seats opposite to mine, suddenly stopped and then asked "Excuse me, would you mind moving your bag please?". On looking over towards the girl's voice (as did everyone else on my train carriage) I realised that she couldnt get to the seat due it already being taken up - by a sports bag. Owner of the sports bag (tanned looking dude in his late 20s) was on his mobile phone. And ignoring the girl. Couple sitting opposite began looking very tight lipped about the whole thing and looked up at the girl who then said to the couple "Is he having a laugh?" Couple both sympathised with girlie, albeit in a quiet and taut-lipped type way. Shinily tanned guy continued talking in to his phone. So girlie then taps dude on his shoulder and says (getting louder - which all of the carriage are very much enjoying) : "Could I please just distract you for one brief second, please, for I would like to sit down, please." Still no reaction from the guy who by this point is telling his friend Jeremy to `sit tight' and dont do anything until he gives him `the nod'. Dude then terminates his call. And then removes his bag. Although whilst telling the girlie that he didnt appreciate being screamed at whilst in the middle of an important call. Girlie then tells the dude that as she pays £3,000 for her ticket and his bag does not he should just `wind it in'. Which the chap actually did. Much to the satisfaction of the girl and the taut-lipped couple. But also very much to the disappointment of the rest of the carriage who had just got themselves comfy for a good ear-wig in to a commuter train argument.
  
• Did you get to see Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull? O yes. Yes I did. It was actually very good. I'd heartily recommend it. Although seeing Mr Jones as an old guy on the screen was a bit of a shock. That's the thing about super hero type characters isnt it though? You never want them to age and always want them to stay young. Marion (played by Karen Allen), Indiana Jones' love interest in his previous outings, has also `matured' too. Although that is not to say that Mr Jones isnt depicted doing as much action as he always did ... Harrison Ford does his own stunts - he just does it now with greying hair and keeping more the way of clothing on. Ray Winstone is also good (although did seem to want to `cockney up' his already cockney voice - watch the film and you should see what I mean) but not convinced by this Shia Laboeuf - his first appearance in the movie is more than a heavy nod towards Marlon Brando in On the Waterfront, cept without the sex appeal - and the all round ability to carry it off. The script is very good, however, with plenty of laughs and the sort of storyline to entertain those with an interest in 50s cold war shenanigans and alien conspiracy theories.
• Do you believe in aliens? Oo what an excellent question, sweet Blog Reader. I would like to think there is something else out there, yes. Although am hoping it doesnt look anything like this spotted frightening a bunch of girlies around 2pm yesterday afternoon :-
  
  
• Most odd, what was it? O, well there appeared to be some sort of `festival' thingie going on in the chipster's home town which involved a puppet show, Coneheads and people walking round dressed as animals/insects on stilts.
  
• Crazy times, huh? Ha ha yes. And speaking of crazy, me and the chipster ended up having a surreal conversation this morning. About children's names. And although there are no immediate plans to mix up our fertile juices and see what that little concoction might make, nevertheless our chat did become a little heated at times as we slowly began to realise that we each hated each other's choice of favourite names. For both boys and girls. And yet it shouldnt matter. It's not like I'm either pregnant or, even, broody or that we are in any sort of a position to have them anyway (you know, the chipster is the wrong side of having any money and we're not living together). So with all of that you'd've thought the talk could've remained just that. A talk. Perhaps with a bit of a giggle thrown in. But, no. It all became a bit competitive. A bit judgemental. And slightly name-call-y. Well, you should've heard what the chipster liked ...
  
• Ok. What were they?
  
• Autumn - bog off. Hippiefied nonsense. A season in the year? Next thing he'll be proffering `Winter' and then I might have to start punching.
• Tamsin - no thanks. Sound like something I'd buy a bouquet of. And will only get shortened to Tammy which means the girl when she grows up will have no choice but to become a glam Page 3 model. And that is no future for anyone.
  
• Chloe - sounds like the sort of name you'd give a King Charles Spaniel puppy. Pretty name, but I can smell dog food when I say it.
  
• Bethany - best of a bad bunch but will get shortened and given the chipster's family's penchant for extreme shorting of names have a feeling the girl will end up with the misfortune of being labelled `Bet'. In which case she will have no choice but to wear lots of leopardskin. And be a barmaid.
• Amber - sorry no. Just see traffic lights.
  
• Ethan - the only boy's name that the chipster could think of that he liked. Pity it reminded me straight away of that porcine-featured actor who hooked up at one point with Uma Thurman. And also the name of a computer virus that disabled an ex-works computer of mine - the virus creators had named it after a tragic Canadian love story in which the main characters end up committing suicide.
• Why so many girls names from the chipster? Well, methinks the chipster could secretly be harbouring fantasies about having a daughter since this was his only boy's name offering, but you know what life is like about there being no guarantees. Suspect that, just like in soap opera land, as the chipster has amassed a bundle of girls names the chances of him ever having a daughter are now slim to none. Bit of a shame, as I cant stand little boys. But then I cant stand little girls either.
• So which ones did you like?
  
• My personal choices were :-
• Grace
• Emma
• Sophie
  
• Holly
• Andrew
• Sam
• Max
• And the chipster didnt like any of these?
  
• No. In fact with each one I mentioned, the chipster became more and more stressed. Apparently my choice of names were either boring or they sounded like bitches. Or twats he once knew.
• So we eventually agreed to disagree.
  
• For we are definitely not planning a family.

As just like marriage - we are not doing it.

Not, not, not?

NOT, NOT, NOT.

Right!

I think it's time me and you had a chat.

Yes, you - Mr Right Eye.

Just the two of us.

I mean it's not like I've not looked after you. Is it?

I've taken you to the opticians with me for the last 18 years for regular checks havent I?

I've made sure you've always got what you needed - a glasses lens that is strong enough prescription-wise (but also thin enough to satisfy your owner's vanity) so that you can see through? Havent I?

You've also never been without a comfortable contact lens to wear - which I clean and care for, and regularly change. Well, dont I?

And it's not like I leave you neglected in the cosmetics department either - do you know that you, and your twin left sister, take up almost 90% of my makeup time? And do you hear my cheeks complain about that? Well? Do you??

And what do I get for all my efforts? You bailing out on me here.

And also, again, this morning.

For it was with much complaining (well, OK, swearing) that I surveyed my eye in the mirror this morning and noticed that it was (as before) :-

• sore
• bloodshot
• slightly achy

and, after further swearing (the really exotic variety with more than one syllable) I began to contemplate the drama that would no doubt again enfold. You know - the optician would greet me all smiley smiley (at first) but would then (after examining my offending eye) turn in to a hysterical harridan, tell me that she could see something nasty (no, scrap that, eye-sight threatening) but then tell me that she wasnt sure, and even if she was she couldnt prescribe anything for it anyway, and that I would have to dash about all over town and get myself in to a right two & eight and then sit & wait, and wait, and wait, in my local A&E whilst really beginning to panic that I might have something really rather nastily wrong with my eye.

Fortunately, this time, (at around 10am this morning) my optician quickly diagnosed conjunctivitus almost on seeing me (hurrah!), and instead of sending me packing with a referral letter to my local eye clinic (boo!), kicked me out of her surgery with a little tub of eye drops instead (hurrah!).

Although that doesnt mean you get away with this, Mr Right Eye, o no! Since (like before), you son of a bitch, there can be no wearing of contact lenses (boo!) and I shall have to return to glasses (gag!) until my optician has checked the state of my eye in a coupla weeks.

So - I'd like to have it out with you once and for all, Mr Right Eye - are you intent on disrupting my working life (had to take time off again to see my optician), my appearance (another long trip in Hag Land beckons) and my sleeping schedule (got hardly any shut-eye from the early hours of this morning after I realised that my eye was infected again) - or are you gonna play ball (like my left eye) and stop playing up?

Well??!

Are you??!!!??

The Christening (+ Lovely Buttocks)

Saturday just gone unfortunately involved having to dress up, socialise with work colleagues, and a long car journey.

But it wasnt actually too bad.

No, really.

Even when :-

• I tried on the `outfit' that I'd pigeon-holed in my mind for wearing at the event (a christening of a former workmate's baby, the former workmate herself, her other half and her brother) about a couple of days before hand and ... it didnt fit. Although it had fit me at one stage (and with plenty of room for manoeuvre too) but on Wednesday it was more a case of too much in the way of stomach and too little in the way of trouser waistband going on. And so, after staring at myself in the mirror and crying hard for about five minutes, I eventually threw my heavy carcass down on my bed ... and cried a bit more. But then, after realising this was getting me nowhere, flipped myself face upwards and through a mixture of willpower, gritted teeth and the hard sucking in of stomach bulge, managed to zip close my trousers whilst lying on the bed. "Ha ha!" I cackled in to the air, feeling pretty darned please with myself. Perhaps the trousers werent that small after all - maybe I'd just caught them in the wrong position/angle or something, for they were closed now. And it was just about here that I realised I couldnt get up. Well, not without almost garotting myself in the middle. Although, after slowly rocking backwards and forwards a bit, I finally managed to get enough movement behind me, and after a bit of a puff and pant trimphantly stood in front of the mirror with the trousers finally closed ... but with a massive amount of midriff overhang going on. Looking every inch an overfilled soufflé dish (or an overflowing pint of beer) I then began the complicated task of trying to find a top which would cover overhang (massive amounts) but would also go with trousers (brown pin-stripe). Top was eventually found after a bit more crying, throwing of tops and shoes around, standing in front of mirror grabbing hold of midriff and yelling "Why? Tell me, God, what have I done?!" and bending over carefully so as not to dislodge trouser buttons from their perilously strained position.
• There were a lot of children at the event. Although workmate's child (of which I make reference to here) was on good behaviour. A very smiley child - and as he'd come dressed in a miniature pin-stripe suit I did find myself strangely drawn to him. This was noticed by one of my bosses who then began to worry and complain to his other half, getting quite concerned over the fact that I might be going maternal and, I guess, dragging the chipster home to have a frantic baby-making session after coming within spitting distance of a post-christened child. Pity he didnt know that my attentions on the child were not due to finally hearing my internal clock tick (think, if I ever had one of these, the hands to the face dropped off, and the batteries inside corroded up, a long time ago) but due to wanting to check out the teeny tiny business suit the baby was clothed in. It even came with a double cuff, button hole and teeny tiny turn ups. Talk about eat your eyeballs out cute.
• I had to mix with bosses (well two of them) on a weekend day. But it all turned out rather jolly, with the chipster holding his own rather well (even though this was the first time he'd met any of the guys from my office - even though we've now been going out for a year and a half but .. erm .. we'll just brush that under the carpet for now) and even when one of my bosses' other halves had this weird thing of looking just above my head everytime she spoke to me this didnt phase me. This was probably helped by the fact that I had half my mind concentrated on the strain that my trousers were under ... and ready at all times to catch 'em should the buttons fly off in protest.

The chipster then chose this moment to tell me that he thought I looked nice. And so pleased was I that he was unable to sniff out how elephantine London-Lass had become that I treated both me and him to an Italian meal on the way home.

But not before taking this liddle snap of a dingy yellow 3-wheeler `Trotters Independent Co' van we'd spotted trundling down the motorway just ahead of us :-



Finally, when we got home, I had no choice but to spill out of my clothing and run like a big pink blur in front of the chipster in to the shower (so as the chipster would not catch an eyeful of my suddenly ample frame) but unfortunately I was too slow. For as I closed the shower curtains, I heard the chipster happily break in to song (in a very lascivious type way) :

I see buttocks everywhere
Buttocks flying in the air
LOVELY buttocks!!

which I've still got going round and round in my head this morning.

Maddening.

When someone says "Look me up on Facebook!" ...

... is this pretty common?

And are you actually supposed to?

Or is it just something that some people say :-

• to fill a void in the conversation
• to appear cool
• to impress upon you how very old you are whilst they, at the same time, are ultra young, hip & happening
  

I havent a friggin clue.

To explain - was training it over to my folks' place last Friday afternoon, and whilst fiddling about with the `Organiser' tab on my mobile phone, was suddenly interrupted by a girlie (probably early 20s) in the seat next to me apologising in advance for a quick phone call she was going to have to make on her mobile. Immediately struck by her politeness, but also immediately suspicious (possible religious nutter? saleswoman? freak?) due to her speaking to me out of the blue (I mean : how very dare she?) I replied in the best way I thought for the circumstances : by jabbing a quick `yeh sure' in her direction and then burying myself in my phone again.

"Thanks, I'll try not to be too long!" she smiled back, and then proceeded to make her call. On which I eavesdropped - well you just cant help yourself when someone's making a phone call that close to you can you? Conversation seemed to be with a firm of recruitment consultants, she wasnt happy in her job and might they have something better available? Eventually the call was terminated with her arranging an interview with the agency next week (good luck with that! I thought cattily whilst putting my phone away in my bag) and then was just about to pick out my book for a bit of a read when I heard the girlie blurt "Evil!"

Curious, I quickly weighed up the situation. She didnt look manic religious, she was wearing a full suit of clothes (with no shoes half on or off her feet), her makeup was impeccable (unlike my late afternoon oil slick, but we'll leave that alone for now), she had an air of quiet confidence that I've always wanted but never managed to have (quiet desperation is more my style) and she was looking my way - so I really had to respond.

"Er - did you just say `evil'?!" I hesitantly enquired.

"Ha ha yes. They all are. Agencies, I mean. But needs must." she sighed, clicking the cover of her phone. "Been demoted to receptionist after working for the last four months as a PA - and, well I just need to find something else."

"O dear. That's too bad." I sympathised.

"Yes, and to make things worse, this woman I've been working alongside hasnt supported me at all. Even though I did a lot of favours for her, they were not returned. So, it just feels the time is right to move on." she sighed, again. "Although it is hard, as I do like the people I work with."

"Are they quite a huge firm?" I asked.

"Yes, rather large" she answered, "and that's the reason for my demotion. They moved me to another branch they've just opened but only had capacity at that office for a receptionist."

"Hmm. I think that's the risk you take with the larger organisations", I said, "I've always preferred to work for the smaller firms. Some times you can get rather overlooked when swallowed up in a larger firm."

"Do you mind me asking what you do?" she asked, all innocent and young.

"Not at all", I said.

At which point I told her all my career stuff - past, present & future - although really not too sure why. But the young girlie had gone very quiet and my mouth seemed to want to gabber quite quick and fast. Looking back, I did seem to be talking for ages, but then my career history is pretty complicated - although she did seem rather interested and I managed to cause one of those odd/intrigued expressions on her face when I told her I'd started off wanting to be something completely different to the high-flying business bod I am today. "Really? Well if truth be told I started off wanting to be a lecturer ... of a sort ... but I do find myself rather enjoying roles down this particular job route ..." she explained. "Although this isnt all there is to me. I do enjoy writing too."

This news kind of hit me with a jolt. For she'd hit on my recently revived hobby.

And I then began to make comparisons. Not just career choices but physicalities too. Yes, hello there pale skin. Big eyes. Quiet directiveness. Polite speaking voice. Pretty sure what she wants to be, but still a tad confused.

Take a coupla inches off her height and add a few more to her girth and, well, it could've been a young me.

But anyway when I suddenly blurted out that I was writing something right now (or, at least, trying to) she then said : "Really?! Look - my name's XXXXXX XXXXXX. What's yours?"

O shit, I thought. She was a sales person after all, or some sort of religious nutter, and it was here that she was about to hand me a pamphlet about opening myself up to Jesus, or life, or a new brand of clothing catalogue. But then I began to notice the panicked way she was gathering her bits together - she was about to get off the train, and so I didnt see the harm in swapping a name. Pondering first with making something up all wild & exotic (like I used to when approached by a member of the opposite sex in my unsuccessful dating days) I almost blurted out `Panda de Frieze' but then got a grip on myself and gave her my real first name.

"XXXXX what?" she hurriedly asked, grabbing her bag.

"XXXXXX" I replied, like a trained puppy.

"Ok, well I'm on Facebook" the young girlie quickly said. "Look me up!"

And with that she hopped off the train.

Now, on re-telling this episode to my nearest & dearest I keep getting a raised eyebrow. Specifically at the `look me up on Facebook' part. No matter how I relay the story.

The chipster keeps referring to the young girlie as my `little friend' (although this is not said affectionately) and I dont think my brother could've hoiked his eyebrow up any higher on hearing about her Facebook invitation.

Which makes me cautious in pursuing this further. Although, by doing so, am I dismissing something that is pretty common these days but I wouldnt know about it - what with being so old and sad?

Pah. Perhaps it's best left alone.

I hate the summer

Yup you heard me.

Temperatures are hitting the 80s this weekend. Why is this something to celebrate? The heat's not nice in London. It's oppressive and muggy. And more like walking in to a shower room after someone's just finished using it.

You also have to strip off the clothes that have been keeping you looking (relatively) slim and attractive throughout the autumn and winter months. Fat arms? Try as hard as you like but there's no way you can hide those fat slabs of gloosh in a t-shirt. Fat legs? You think you can disguise those puppies in a pair of shorts, you can think again, buster.

This is also the time to start feeling ashamed of being pale. So pale in fact, that when you finally bow to pressure and purchase some fake tanning goodies, you end up yellow. Or blotchy. And quite obviously a very pale skinned person still - but with a weird hue to their flesh. You might be able to (if you can be bothered) conjure up some sort of colour by carefully selecting the right factor of sun cream and choosing the right time of day to venture out. But you always end up missing a bit. Your right cheek perhaps, or a bit of your neck, which will then glow like a Belisha beacon on your stiflingly hot tube train carriage the next day.

I also hate all the insects that suddenly appear at this time of year which come in through your house or car window ... just to bite and sting you. Or who, whilst you're out for a walk and minding your own business, will suddenly appear beside you and no amount of running around, whilst crapping yourself and waving your arms and legs about in panic will lose the pesky critters and then once you've run out of puff/have fallen over ... will then bite and sting you.

I also hate the sudden frenzid road jamming of open top cars (there is one that's appeared in my home town with the personal reg plate `II4 MPH' that sets my nerves on edge), business men that insist on wearing the full suit but with flip flops on their feet, quirky sunglasses and tube posters advising on `how to beat the heat' (when you cant).

I also hate all the footwear that take over the shelves which I cant wear for love or money. Open toed shoes? Try wearing these with tights (which have to be worn to shield my pale legs from the rest of the world) without looking like an ex mental patient. And what's with all those endless sandals with that bit that goes between your big toe and the next toe? My feet do not want to feel a hard piece of material wedged between their piggies when out walking, thanks for asking.

I also hate the beer drinking twats that suddenly appear outside wine bars avec sunglasses on heads (they're to protect your eyes you dolts!), the Orange Brigade (those that carry more than a stench of Jodie Marsh about them), the guys that try to dress like they're Kyle the Beach Bum/Surfing Maestro from Cornwall but are actually Nigel the Finance Clerk from Stepney, the overpriced icecreams, garden furniture, BBQ sets and the constant adverts, programmes and posters reminding us to get out there whilst it's hot, hot, hot.

Gah.

Roll on October.

I think that GM is up to her old tricks ...

That is : going AWOL.

It's a simple strategy she follows, but for the sake of clarity I'll walk you through it :-

1. GM meets man.
2. They date.
3. GM goes AWOL.

Or, in the case of GM and UB :-

1. GM meets man.
2. They date.
3. Sporadically.
   
4. You see GM doesnt really like man.
5. Apparently he's boring.
6. And really only fun when he's drunk.
7. And he's got a bit of a big nose, and a big chin.
8. In short he's an Ugly Bloke.
   
9. But keeps dating him as he keeps buying her nice stuff.
10. Oops, but then he tells her he loves her.
11. GM has pang of conscience and ends things with Ugly Bloke.
12. Although not before he buys her a few more things.
13. But then really ends it.
14. Honest.
    
15. GM then `bumps in to' Ugly Bloke again a few months later.
16. They date again.
17. Sporadically.
18. GM still doesnt really like him, you see.
19. And finds him unattractive.
20. But then suddenly.
21. Click.
22. He's handsome, effervescent, fun to be with.
23. Mr Perfect in fact.
24. And not at all ugly.
25. Or boring.
    
26. GM becomes coupley smug.
27. GM goes AWOL.

It's now over a month since I last heard from the girl. Not that we were ever the closest of buddies I should add ... although there were times, usually when drink was involved, when GM would get very close - last Xmas she gave me a card with tears in her eyes proclaiming me to be her oldest and best friend. But most of the time (i.e. when more sober) she is (was) a cool ice queen with as much warmth in her as a bag of Iceland prawns. But, you know, she is (was) good company after a few drinkie poos.

Although I should hasten to add that even though I have known the girl since I was

(uses big toes as makeshift abacus)

five years old, our relationship has always been ... detached. This is of course a good thing if you're a house, but as friends not quite so joyful. But certainly gets you used to the regular spells of non-communication that occur. Even if some of her other friends arent quite so forgiving.

The last leave of absence GM took was around about 6 years ago. After a pretty regular pattern of communication, she suddenly vanished, and aside from a call out of the blue announcing her engagement to her man, that was pretty much it. Until regrettably, a few months later, when the chappie GM had become ensconced with ended up running off with another. Contact was soon after reinstated and it was during this period that I found out she'd gone AWOL on all her other buddies too. Her mum told GM that she was `very lucky' to still have a few friends that will stand by her even if she naffs off at the merest whiff of a man's trouser. GM nodded shamefully, saying her mum gave good advice.

Pity she forgot to follow it.

So that's it really. No more fodder for the blog (until I get the phone call out of the blue announcing an engagement/house move/pregnancy naturally), no more competing, no more judging and no more heavy drinking sessions followed by waking up the next day smelling of cigarettes, old food, stale booze and wishing you were dead.

Bit of a blessing really.

I'm feeling a bit `all at sea'

For my printer is still working. There are no paperclips caught half in and half out of it's little printer tray, no flashing lights on its display, no spent or broken cartridge in it's little printer body. It all seemed very happy and at peace as I walked in to the office today (with heavy tread and a face that could kill a new born puppy on sight) and I swear even winked at me from it's `not broken everything's fine & hunky dory come on and print out a 200 page document right now if you have to' display.

My computer was also in the best of health too. My desk drawers were still neat and tidy and there were no piles of paperwork either on, or littered around, my working area. My petty cash tin was smiley and shiny with no chewing gum encrusted notes telling me that someone had bought something at some point for some reason and that someone would let me know what was bought, when it was purchased and how much it came to ... at some point.

To top it all off, any bits that needed my attention had been neatly bulldog-clipped together awaiting my return.

In summary, I was gobsmacked. As were my bosses.

"I got her to put her name down in the book." one of my bosses winked at me shortly after I took my seat. (Said book being a list of all contacts and clients which I have finally finished transferring into electronic format)

"Ah good, good. So she was alright then?" I reply, trying not to wink, but finding my eyes twitching back in acknowledgement nonetheless.

"Well she could type. I mean .. it was amazing. She could actually do something." my boss replied, almost crying with the relief.

"Although ... " he went on.

"Yes ... ? " I encouraged.

"You might find the work might be all over the place on your computer." he smiled. "But she did save it all. Perhaps just not in the right place. Ha ha."

"Ok ... " I smiled back. Holiday mode still hadnt quite lifted you see.

But now sitting here, at nearly 4pm in the afternoon, I can tell you how exactly how the temp was.

Firstly :-

1. she could type. I have evidence of this feat on file. Although setting out is a bit messy. And although the agency told me she could type 95wpm+ perhaps you're cheating somewhat if you feel that commas, full stops and any type of punctuation should be omitted in your need for speed. For this I'll give 7/10.
2. she didnt try to set up her own company, did seem pretty amenable about any work that was gingerly given for her to do and did not break my computer (or anything else on my desk). For this I'll give 10/10.
3. she was by all accounts rather odd looking. Unfortunately I am unable to provide a rating in this particular sector as physicalities should not come in to my job. Unless of course you were to turn up for a temping position without any arms, or, say, a head. I therefore award one of my bosses (who quickly came out with this remark after I asked him how the temp was) 0/10 for being a git.
4. she botched a massive Excel spreadsheet I'd macro'ed and calculated to the hilt before going away on holiday and although it appeared all lovely and neat 'n that when printed out it would no longer cost check any further figures inputted which was really rather the whole point of putting it in Excel in the first place and meant that I had to redo the whole dratted document again until, oo, about 10 minutes ago. For this, I will award 2/10 (2 points awarded for the fact she didnt actually delete the file).

Time off was rather lovely by the way. In case you were wondering. Me and the chipster spent the week chilling, scampering, scoffing, walking, cinema-ing (took in a showing of In Bruges which was rather nice) and cosying. Weather was a little unpredictable/temperamental and it is with heavy heart (and heavy body - perhaps I was a bit too enthusiastic about the scoffing) that I note the clear blue sky and warm, warm temperatures for this week. Typical. Although the odd day was rather joyful, see below for unusually clement examples from my week off :-

Marvellous, eh? O, and for the eagle-eyed amongst us, yes that is the chipster taking a casual stroll in the top picture. And although not immediately apparent from the photo (unless you are truly gifted) the chipster was just in the middle of developing a m-a-s-s-i-v-e blister on his left heel. But then it had been a 9 mile jaunt there and back. And his trainers, whilst the height of fashion, leave a little bit to be desired in terms of comfort and support.

I'd also ended up cutting up my toes and top of foot on a brand new pair of Hush Puppy sandals too during this particular walk. Which was rather disappointing - the Hush Puppies brand name, much like Clarks, screams comfort - but I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that my feet are rather particular about footwear. Much like a horse, my shoes have to be `broken in' before they get anywhere near comfortable. This takes a lot of time, a lot of walking and a lot of plaster and bandages. Pity really, for by this stage, they also hum of fungus and cheddar, and look as attractive as a pair of old man's slippers. But you cant have it all.

I have a temp coming in to cover me next week ...

... and I think it's all going to go horribly wrong.

Not, I would hasten to add, it's ever really worked out before when I've taken time off from work and had a temp in to cover me. I mean there was :-

• the girl who turned up for half a morning and then just never came back
• the girl who decided that (no!) she wasnt going to do any office work but (yes!) would proceed to start setting up her own company instead
• the girl who spent all her time surfing the Internet (this was in the days before Broadband when we had dial-up charges to cover) and managed to rack up a bill of £100
• the girl who said she was a proficient audio typist but when given a tape of dictation proceeded to play the tape at booming high volume to the rest of the office whilst wearing the headphones upside down with the wire coming out from the top of her head

Given all the above, and that agency fees are on the wrong side of cheap, the boys in the office have started to try and get away without hiring a temp when I am off for just a couple of days (my trip to Edinburgh with the chipster end of last year would fall in to this equation). This, however, means a lot of work gets built up with an inevitable pile waiting for me on my return but needs must when the devil farts in your face.

However, as I am going to be missing for a whole week next week (woo hoo) the chaps have instructed me (through gritted teeth) to get a temp in to cover my absence.

Easy peasy, eh? Well not quite.

I am actually having trouble with the staff at the agency now. `Hopeless' doesnt come close. `Three letters short of a keyboard' however does.

First I speak to Lauren at the agency. Lauren is ultra-sloany, speaks very slowly but reassures me that they have some `outstanding candidates' on their books this year.

Marvellous.

"Well OK great. Anyway, I need someone to cover me from the 28th for a week." I explain.

"How many days?" Lauren slowly asks.

"That would be five." I reply back, a tad snappily.

"Yah of course" Lauren lethargically responds. "And .. er .. what sort of duties will she be required to carry out?"

"Erm, well audio, copy, telephone work, greeting clients, e-mail, and be confident with excel spreadsheets, word and powerpoint."

"I ... see" Lauren finally gets round to saying.

"You probably want to know the hours dont you?" I feed to Lauren (in manner of a stage play lines prompter).

"Yah of course" Lauren responds, yawning a bit.

"Right - well it's 9-5.30 with an hour for lunch." I reply.

"Super!" Lauren suddenly blurts hurriedly, but then slows down to snail's pace as she trots out : "Well ... I shall assess our candidates ... and then call you back later on today with ... your temp's details."

"Ok -- well thanks for your help. Bye then." I finish.

"Yes .. yah .. bye bye" Lauren slowly replies.

Two hours later, the agency are on the phone. "Hi - is that London-Lass? This is the agency about your temp requirements" I hear on picking up the phone.

"O hi Lauren" I reply.

"No - this is Sylvia. Lauren's finished for the day-

(at 12.00???)

-but I can get her to call you back tomorrow although I look after the property side of things" responds Sylvia, sounding as sloan-like as Lauren but a little bit more awake.

(property side of things? but you're a property temping agency??)

"Er ... right well anyway ... the temp? " I reply.

"Yah. Well we've got some smashing girls that are free to work next week, just need to ask you a few more questions." Sylvia explains. "But firstly - what's your thoughts on typing?"

"I said to Lauren earlier that the temp should be able to do audio and copy" I reply, "there is a lot of typing to be done, so she should be accurate and relatively fast ideally."

"Yup yup, gotcha" coughs out Sylvia, sounding like a golfball has suddenly wedged itself in her mouth.

"The chaps might also leave her a bit of stuff that she should be able to type on her own - so it would help if she is confident with standard letters of reply, RSVPs, etc ... " I continue on.

"O yah absolutely" Sylvia responds.

"So er .. do you have the temp's details?" I ask gingerly.

"I'm seeing a coupla girls this afternoon .. following which I'll give you a call." Sylvia says.

(but what about the `smashing girls that are free to work next week'?)

"O, I thought you had quite a few girls already in mind?" I gently probe.

"Yah .. but those girls wouldnt find your office set up suitable." Sylvia explains.

"Because they cant type?" I blurt out suddenly, but laugh whilst doing so to take the sting out of the tail.

"I think you probably need someone with more of a `feel' for working for smaller firms." Sylvia responds defensively. "Our girls have all got excellent backgrounds in larger firms, you see. And, as your role is more complex than in the notes Lauren left-

(I suddenly imagine a small post-it left on Sylvia's desk with the message : "Off now sweetie. Roger and Madge over later so must dash. O, a girl is needed by some company for something. Would you be a darling and sort this one out? Laurie xx)

- I'll call you back later on."

It's now 11.55am the next day and I still havent had a call back. Although probably, by now, Sylvia will have clocked off and I'll have to speak to someone else about our ... er ... `complex requirements'.

Yep - definitely going to go wrong.

O, just one more thing ...

Happy St George's Day everyone!

I trust you will all be celebrating it in the exact same fashion as I?

Which is - not really doing anything much at all.

In fact, absolutely nothing.

Still, at least the weather's picked up a bit eh?

Now we all have our little predilections ...

... when it comes to the opposite sex. Which is probably a good thing otherwise some of us would never get dates ...

I remember a girl in my college days (shortly after mankind invented the wheel) who had this thing about eyelashes. Long eyelashes (of the natural variety) were OK on birds, you see. But probably the most throat-gagging thing you could find on a bloke. "I dont want some bloke batting his eyes at me!" she'd spit rather nauseously, as I'd try but fail to offer the defence that a bloke with long eyelashes is actually rather cute (and reminiscent of a baby deer).

A bloke back in my Internet Dating days (which are briefly covered in my blogging archives) told me as we settled ourselves down at a pub table for our first date that he could never date anyone who's arms were bigger than his. Didnt matter if she had a lovely face, a great personality or a heiny that could make J-Lo jealous, if her arms were chunky it was `thanks but no'. At which point he slammed his arms down on our table and insisted on measuring mine against his .. `purely for fun'. In addition to this oddness, the chap unfortunately bore more than a slight resemblence to Norman Tebbit. And so first date, became last date. I dont like chaps that look like Mr Tebbit, you see (or who insist on mutually measuring body parts 10 minutes after meeting).

My brother probably has the oddest of yearnings .. it doesnt matter what the chap is like, as long as they come wrapped up in either a very pale blonde/ginger package. "Oo yes .. gimme some ginger" he was often known to simper, "particularly one with ghost-white eyelashes and eyebrows. Yum! Yum!" Gingerness has, however, never hit my own personal spot - in fact the thought of rubbing myself up against someone of this variety brings me out in a rash. Olive skinned and dark haired are the things that keep me cooking, particularly if they come fitted with a heavy brow, rugged face and big enough shoulders to carry a suitcase on. Start thinking Martin Johnson (next England Rugby Union team manager) and you'll be along the right lines. Course neither the chipster (or Martin Clunes - a god amongst men) come equipped with dark looks, but they do have this other quality (the French call it je ne sais quoi) which attracts me to them like one dog to another dog's arse. Irresistible!

But there are some things that I truly cannot abide. Bit like the guy with her fervent dislike for long-lashed men, or Norman Tebbit with his hatred for chunky armed lasses, I have always had a problem with men that (gag) wear earrings. See this earlier blogging post which should properly demonstrate my terror on this subject.

The only other thing that gets me gagging at the same level are men ... with long (gag) fingernails. All their fingers finished with these long hard-looking nail things. (shiver) Or, you know, those guys that will have just one long fingernail (say, just their little finger) and the rest of the nails are short. (no no no) I mean, forgodsakes, why would you do this ...?????!

Unfortunately the mini-cabber who picked me up this morning had long (cringe, cringe, shiver) fingernails, which immediately became the focus of my attention, and although he was one of those types that insists on talking your ear off as soon as you climb into his cab, I could only bring myself to murmur and grunt back whilst nervously watching his long fingernails caress the steering wheel.

"Yeh so me and the missus are well pleased with the bath tub I managed to blag from me mate" the long fingernailed cabbie spouted as I silently cringed behind him. "Although it's not that massive ... probably bout so big (here long fingernails are displayed in all their glory as mini-cabber roughly demonstrates depth of bath with his hands - and, yes, with BOTH hands off the wheel, effin arsehole) but my missus loves the look of a stand-alone bath. Me, I cant see the attraction, but when you do up a house you gotta do it proper, aintcha?"

London-Lass bleats pathetically in reply. But then notices something even more gut wrenching.

The fingernails werent just long. Half of them were rather dirty too and packed to the hilt with so much grey/black stuff, London-Lass had to quickly turn her head to look out of her window before becoming completely overcome.

Unfortunately my aversion to his fingernails meant I missed out on about £1.20 back in small change, but it was all I could do to summon up the courage to hand him a ten pound note to cover my £8.80 fare, let alone wait for him to hand (cringe, cringe) me back some coinage. Still, I reckon I've probably done not only the mini-cabber a favour but also the rest of his potential customer base - at least he's now got some spare cash to put towards buying a decent pair of nail scissors and thus avoid disturbing any more of his mini-cabbing customers with his (gag) fingernails from hell.

London-Lass is a Bitch (Part II)

Courtesy of some very kind work contacts, I managed once again to acquire a coupla (very last minute) free tickets to Arsenal at Emirates. Woo hoo. And, just as before, it was all very marvellous, with the chipster having a cracking ole time. As would I have ... if it hadnt been for some kid sitting next to me who proceeded to prod, poke, nudge, touch, and elbow me at constant and continuous intervals to witter on (in an unfortunately shrill Welsh accent) about his eternal love for Arsenal, how he'd always wanted to see them, how he was so excited, etc., etc., etc., blah, blah, blah, kill kill kill.

Not that I am, I would hasten to add, a total bitch queen from hell but I'd gone to Emirates to watch the footie/snuggle up to the chipster and not to keep an annoyingly eager, slightly hygenically challenged and curiously hairy young stranger abreast of all the different twists and turns in the match for 2 lots of 45 minutes, which included :-

Youngster (in very shrill fashion) (after the de rigeur poking and prodding) : "Have they scored yet?"

Me (wearily) : Nope. Still 0-0. As on the scoreboard."

(I point towards scoreboard right next to us but youngster chooses to ignore this)

Youngster pokes me again, shortly after the referee produces a yellow card against a Reading player following a messy foul on an Arsenal striker.

"What happened? Was he sent off?" the youngster whines Welshly.

"Nope. Just got a yellow card." I explain tiredly, attempting to extract myself from the youngster's constantly tugging paw.

"BASTARD!" the youngster yells shrilly, although it is not immediately clear whether this is aimed at the Reading player or the ref.

Reading player than takes a tumble. Passing Arsenal player touches him on the shoulders (in a kinda `just checking to see if you're Ok, mate' gesture) and then helps him to his feet.

Youngster suddenly lets go of my arm but this is only to shout : "O get on with it, you bunch of GAYERS!!!!" before resuming constant and continual poking, prodding and questioning until the half-time whistle.

Sensing a chance to quickly escape, I hurriedly lead the chipster in to the bar directly behind our seats, whereupon the chipster makes himself a complementary coffee and I snaffle a bit at some Diet Coke.

Taking a coupla quiet breaths of relief, I then turn to the chipster and let it all out.

"That boy next to me is doing my head in! Every flamin' minute it's `what's the score, what happened, was it a corner, what's the score, what happened, was it a corner' ... I think I am getting a headache ..." (I finish dramatically)

"Yeh I did notice he seemed to be constantly on your earhole about stuff" the chipster replied.

"I just wish he'd go bother someone else", I mutter in to my fizzy drink. "And did you notice the weird hair on his face and his stained yellow teeth? (shudder) It's not like I'm the Arsenal fan anyway ..." (I finish off pointedly, but this is ignored by the chipster)

"Well I can see why you're annoyed - it would irritate me too!" the chipster sympathised.

"Gah ... !" I exclaimed, but then with fizzy coke inside me and in the much more mellow quietness of the bar I find myself calming down again, and say : "Well ... perhaps I'm being mean. Mebbe he's just excited?"

"Maybe ... " the chipster nodded.

"Just wish the hairy chimp would flamin' well shut up!" I quickly bark.

And then half-time is over. Far too quickly. And we resume our seats once more. The mother of the boy (for he did come with one in case you were wondering) had however (thank you sweet merciful God) decided to sit herself between me and the boy for the second half.

(cel-e-brate good times - come on!)

And so, slumping next to the chipster, I happily watched the second half, safe in the knowledge that my right arm was no longer going to be poked and prodded, my right ear was no longer going to be squawked in to and the world was altogether a better place.

But then.

About two-thirds of the way in to the second half.

The mother moves.

(bollocks)

Apparently she was freezing and had to go inside to warm up.

Leaving the boy, after watching his mother depart, to quickly hop in to the seat she'd left vacant next to me and recommence his poking and questioning once more.

Shortly after some wheelchair spectators lined up behind the row of seats in which the chipster and I were sitting, and expecting a few more goals, began heckling Arsenal (who seemed to be stuck on playing fancy football in the middle of the pitch but not getting the ball near the goal mouth) whinging that they : " ... could play better and that's saying something!" (which created a few chuckles around them). The boy suddenly twisted round and berated them : "Well at least they are playing their best, eh?"

Crying silently inside, I fielded a few more queries from the boy until almost the end of the game when the boy suddenly asked : "Do you know where me and me mum can get a taxi from for Ormond Street?"

Not initially twigging, I asked him if that was where the hotel was located that him and his mum were staying in.

"O no. I'm at Great Ormond Street hospital. The tickets were a surprise from a charitable donor. Got a big operation tomorrow, you see."

I blink a few times. Feel my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth.

And immediately feel very small.

I smelled turds on leaving my house this morning

And this time it wasnt my breath.

Turns out on further investigation that it was all down to strange weather conditions bringing polluting winds in from France and continental Europe :-

"The Met Office said the smell was caused by a combination of agricultural and industrial pollution carried on the wind from Northern Europe.

Sarah Holland, a forecaster for the Met Office, said: "Over the last few days, fresh winds have been blowing eastwards.

"When the wind blows from the west, it is coming from the Atlantic so it brings in virtually no pollution, but when it is eastwards it is coming across land."

Kind of brings a whole new dimension to the argument about England being the shithole of Europe.

London Lass' Dictionary or Names for Other Things

I guess this is pretty common. You know, using another word for an object or when describing doing something. I just wonder sometimes if I have more words than others.

The chipster (before he got to know me properly) would often look at me, head cocked, puzzled expression on his face, after I'd finished saying something and then I'd realise that (o dear) I'd used one of my words or sayings that he wouldnt at first understand (or would actually understand but hadnt heard it said that way before). However due to my having used it pretty often with my nearest and dearest (or having had it revolve round my mind making me think I'd said it pretty often - but let's not dwell on that one) had led me to use it in conversation with the chipster thinking that the kooky phraseology I'd used was commonplace.

I remember on our first date jabbering away ten to the dozen to the chipster about the state of most people's dating profiles on the Net.

"I mean some of them are just scary arent they?" I said, whilst watching the chipster nod in agreement. "Most of the guys I've seen on there are just after The Sex anyway."

Chipster stops nodding.

"The ... what?" he asks.

"Sex. You know, rumpo." I say, thinking he's misheard me in the noisy pub.

"O yeh. I know all about that" he says pointedly, but fortunately does not succumb to a wink at this juncture (otherwise I'd've been tempted just to draw the whole date to a close there and then - winking equates to being creepy, you see). "Just you said The Sex. Never heard that said before."

I sip wine quietly. And suddenly realise my dictionary of oddness has been exposed slightly too early. I sit up straight, take deep breaths and consciously make an effort for the rest of the date to talk `normally' without further oddness. Which, as I recall, was pretty hard.

The chipster now of course knows all my quirks (and not just of the wordy variety) and is finally able to cope with words/phrases from my personal dictionary being thrown in to a conversation without having to constantly interrupt me by saying "Eh? You what?", some of which include :-

• Toasting - the undertaking of gentle movements. Movements are generally annoying and when applied hinder you from achieving the action's desired result, i.e. if you were to spot someone toasting on the dance floor this would mean that they were sort of dancing but in a really crap way, generally without any sort of rhythm and looking a bit of a fool - whilst toasting when exercising means that you know you have to do your exercise routine and so you're doing it but due to either tiredness, boredom or all-round general unfitness you dont really do it properly but through the beauty of toasting (i.e. little movements without much effort) you're kidding yourself that you're keeping fit.
• Hapenny - ladies genitals.
• Cheese Bits - dried up oily bits that can sometimes end up on the surface of your fingernails during the course of the day (particularly found on finger nail surfaces after eating cheese on toast, but can also occur after eating anything with your hands that contained either fondant icing or which has been fried). Good for picking off when sitting quietly reading a book on the tube.
• Little Fingers - very bad smell. Sweet and sicky. Bro discovered when excavating his finger nail dirt when younger that the rubbish that had accumulated underneath his little finger nails smelt much worse than under any other finger nail on his hand.
• Shnuppies/Shnuppers - term of endearment. Commonly used for my dog. Although on the odd occasion I have also called the chipster this.
• Ulp A Holden An Ulp A My - phrase of `protection' to be used in the dark. This would revolve round my brain as a nipper, almost like a mantra (similar, I guess, to "Lions & Tigers & Bears - o my!" in The Wizard of Oz) and I would repeat this to protect myself .. although against what I havent a clue.
• Dirty Fish - pervert.
• Melvin - wedgie.