8 Jul 2005
Got a text from an ex-girlfriend last night who lives in London. After I broke it off I insisted that we have no contact at all as she seemed convinced that when I said, “Look woman, I do not love you.” what I was really saying was ,”Look babe, I’m a man and as such I have no clue as to my real feelings whatsoever and when I say that I do not love you what I actually mean is that I do love you but I just haven’t fully realised it yet and that coupled with the fact that I can sense impending commitment basically scares the Living Heck out of me and makes me want to head for the hills so if you could just bare with me and continue to insist that I don’t know what I’m doing or thinking then I know I’ll come round and we can get married and stuff.” Anyway, I know when I am in Love and when I am not and so that was that. She texted me last night for one of two reasons. The first is that as I had not called to check to see if she was still alive and had not been decapitated by a flying seat on and exploding underground train, she was letting me know that she was still alive enough to punch the keys on her phone. The second is that SHE IS STILL READING THIS BLOG!
7 Jul 2005
Anyway, that is really neither here nor there. The French have bombed central London today. Poor sports about the whole Olympiad thing. People are dead. Possibly someone I know. I do not care. I don’t know why I am even writing this.
I AM SO BORED MY TESTICLES ARE ATROPHYING.
GOD! Would you look at the split-skirt cruising past again. Those legs are sublime. Pale (clearly protected from the sun), long and thin and when a foot hits the pavement a ripple of tension passes up through the toned arrangement of calf and thigh. Long blonde hair atop a sharply attractive face. Maybe 25 on the way home from work as a legal secretary, flicks her hair and looks at me as she passes by the door. I stare menacingly willing her to turn ninety to the right and stalk in here to me. All I get is a second flick and all her parts are gone. I am on a busy high street. This happens every minute.
I should not complain really as a certain proportion of honey does enter the store and occasionally I end up sat on a terraced restaurant as the summer sun descends into the Solent and I am only seconds away from uttering those choice words ,”Let’s blow this joint baby!” Great words which mean a great situation. They are used because as you and I sit here looking at each other, becoming accustomed to the lips and the eyes and the skin up close for the first time, it is clear we shall be making greater and more personal studies just as soon as we can leave the restaurant without knocking chairs and tables over in our rush for the door. No need for the bar and then the club and litres of alcohol. It’s a done deal. You and me are going to get honestly intimate. How bloody wonderful!
Laura the medical student was the last and that was about a month ago. She’s left the city now – off to another for her final years at Uni. Too bad. She had a lovely friend as well as a tastefully plump bottom and a very sweet smile. God I’m horny. I’m never normally this depraved. I need a sympathy shag. FUCKING BOLLOCKSA!
And now I’m hungry as well. Can I bring myself to eat another pizza or burger or kebab? I’m not sure I can. Fuck this Shit Monsewer, I’m fucking Offski mate!