A meeting in a café: slight trepidation, not for the meeting of a stranger, but for the interpretation of that meeting.  In itself, all is enjoyable; but I feel guilty in that agreeing to the meeting might have inferred I was open to more.  In some respects I can appear very open; but there is a core of me that is very closed: self-protective ( Read more... )

It’s her birthday and she’s big with third child. All the times we were out together seem no time away from now and it leaves me wondering what I’ve done with all the interim.  I remember pulling on porn-star clothes for the party where she met her husband.  I remember when she blagged us into the obscenely excessive magazine launch I had the ( Read more... )

On Saturday night, in honour of his newly purchased 1966 Airstream Caravan, a friend is having Trailer Trash party in his garden and I need something to wear.  Thing is, this boy does parties good and proper: huge house and garden given over to them.  Indeed; at the first party of his I attended, themed, ‘Bjorn to Porn’, in his then wreck of a ( Read more... )

All my posts are stuck behind the balustrade that was my birthday. On Sunday I became middle-aged. It’s a strange thing, age. It doesn’t seem odd when I say it out loud, but writing it down? Hmmm.

I was going to have a Big Party, themed, ‘Come as your Mum,’ but as my mother has been spewing vitriol, perhaps it’s a good thing that idea fizzled into ( Read more... )

After my special pasty glue failed to stick the cotton-wool to my skin, I took another approach to becoming a snowball for the night: double sided sticky tape attacked to underwear. My bra was easy enough to turn to snowball, but knickers proved far more of a challenge. After a couple of attempts, I’d managed to make some semblance of white, ( Read more... )

So, I am standing near naked in front of my gas fire, trying to coat myself in cotton wool because I had the insanely unattractive idea that I’d be a snowball for tonight’s ‘March with the Penguins’ party, which has an ‘Antarctic’ dress-code. I realised, too late, I should have rummaged for my father’s top hat and tails when I was at his house ( Read more... )

Monday, I went to see Broken Flowers with PhotoMan, who, after my last sojourn in his company, I subtly told that I didn’t think we had any potential beyond friendship.  The film had a lightness of touch that appealed to me, with music that lifted me along the journey.  Despite its obviously contrived plot devices, glaringly stuck in to allow the ( Read more... )

Wednesday night, Designer Queen invited me to the closing party for London Design Week, or fortnight or whatever it was.  It’s not my world: I just occasionally get to sniff around the edges of such things; but by the end of the evening I was drunk, cycling home in damp drizzle, and not caring.

Standing at the bar, some geezer attempted a chat up ( Read more... )

I’ve been bitten all over by mozzies: I must have been too tasty for my own good on Saturday night. That’ll teach me to wear a backless slip of an outfit when out all night in the countryside. Posh Bird had a big birthday and decided to do it in style: marquee, meal, and music, though music wasn’t the strength of the night. I think she fears she ( Read more... )

Like my new icon? Now I just have to update the look of my LJ; but that can wait.

Last weekend I was at a friend’s birthday, in the depths of South London. Well actually, the heights, and I certainly felt it heading up the hill to get there. It was worth the ascent though; oozing with delicious food and people.  I find it so funny sometimes, to rock ( Read more... )