Horse and Hounds

Oops, I haven't blogged for a while. Have been sort of busy, but also quite bored. Schwesty has buggered off to Sardinia, lucky sod, so I've been left at home to lounge on the sofa with the Bobster, and practise my sexy Cody from neighbours voice (courtesy of a bit of a throat bug).

Went to see War Horse at the National Theatre t'other day. Very moving. Give me a horse (even a puppet one), give me the lovely Man Eyken lurking at the edge of the stage singing tragic folk songs, put in a bit of WWI and plenty of needless suffering, and you've got me sniffling like a child that's let go of their shiny helium balloon (I'm still haunted by the Newbury show helium balloon disaster of circa 1985). I thoroughly recommend.

Had a stupid notion today, that I wanted a penpal. I've only had one penpal, and he spent most of the time begging for money, which facilitated my quitting of him pretty quickly. But how does one go about getting a penpal that is above the age of 12, and isn't some dirty old man who's going to fill your inbox with his filthmongery, and who you just know has fat sticky fingers? Ugg. Had a boyfriend once with a predeliction for that lark. Now I can talk dirty given the right occasion, and a bit of subtle naughtiness is just fine by me. But out and out filth on a regular basis, when you have to read it in front of your workmates and keep a poker face. Fraid it just don't float my boat.

Talking of which, spent Saturday night with the Swiss Miss and McLaren in Tonbridge, during which me, Choc Chip and Romba witnessed some dogging in a Waitrose carpark. How nice. People's personal sexual quirks, I take no issue with, but those (and usually they're unattractive middle aged parental types) who get their kicks inflicting the sight of their pasty bums on all and sundry - PLEASE DON'T. YOU MAKE ME FEEL QUITE SICK. Admittedly it was a little bit humorous at the time. But still, I can't be doing with exhibitionsim, when the unfortunate witness hasn't consented!

I sure know how to live...

I have spent the past weekend doing useful things, like fixing my bike up for winter, buying household essentials, watching lots of most excellent sport on TV (England beating the whinging Aussies ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, Lewis Hamilton not beating the Spanish Twatador Alonso booooooo, and the Mighty 'Ding beating an entirely useless Derby 1-0 woo-hoo), together with taking in re-runs of "Who Do You Think You Are". I simply love these programmes. I never thought I'd find myself crying in sympathy with Carol Vorderman, or indeed Jeremy Paxman (I have now cried three times at his episode...and find myself loving the Sally Army more than I thought possible) but it really gets you in the guts.

I only roused myself once for socialising, by taking a trip down to the Folk Club with Shaggy and Mr. Shaggy to see a "classical banjo" player. It was a slightly odd instrument, that produced a sound not dissimilar to something you might hear in the court of King Henry VIII. Most of the tunes were turn-of-the-century ragtime stuff though, so it was a odd but quite compelling combo ... found myself getting a little dreamy as usual. Live music always makes me feel uber-happy / uber-nostalgic / uber-lonely all at once. We sat next to a smelly old man who kept trying to crush Mr Shaggy with his electric wheelchair, and whose carer appeared to fall into a coma about half way through the gig. Whilst I hope I don't become a smelly old person, if I have to, I hope I become a smelly old person that still goes out, and has a bit of fun....

Doggy Style

Well hello there. I am now 27 years old. Which is very old indeed. But to be honest I've passed the point of panic. That happened at approx. 25 years I believe.

Had a super trip to Walthamstow dogs to celebrate. It was a great night and everyone seemed to have lots of fun. I came out with a profit of about £8 which is pretty darn good I think, and paid for my lovely Sunday lunch the following day with Monky and Mr and Mrs Shaggy. This was despite my final bet of the night being scuppered by the chosen dog getting rather "amorous" with a fellow competitor! Cheeky beggar....

As I sat on the back of the bus home, with a plastic glass of cheap red wine still in my hand, I felt very very happy indeed. And, if you can overcome the general orange colour, there's a lot to be said for "old-school Londoners" who turned out to be a very friendly, polite bunch of folk. I enjoyed the cheeky winks, doors being held open, and all that business. We're all a bit up our own arses sometimes and it's a nice reminder of what a load of old bollox that is.

It was lovely seeing Bems and the whole crowd out again. I just hope Shaggy is okay, as she's having a very hard time at the mo, and I could tell the evening was a bit of an endurance test for her. I find it weird, if not a little distasteful, that men seem to be swarming like flies around her at present. She is gorgeous and intelligent, so that's not such a surprise, but it seems to be even more so since she's become very vulnerable. Perhaps this is written with a tinge of jealousy, I admit. I just find myself wondering YET AGAIN why being independent and "strong" makes you feel like such a freak when it comes to many men??

Ahhh well ... that's just another one of those eternal questions....