My inner teenager

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Yesterday was a busy day. I got up, went to a writing workshop at a literature festival, caught the bus to London, went to an exhibition at Somerset House, for drinks in a fancy hotel, and then to see McBusted.

*pauses to lose followers*

I’m comfortable with what I like to do in my spare time, just as I’m comfortable with who I like to do it with. I did most of that stuff with a good friend, but I’d have been equally happy to do it by myself. And, if you ignore my terrible taste in music (the last gig I went to was Gary Barlow), a lot of what I do I do to indulge my inner teenager.

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I wouldn’t buy a 3D telly, so why would I want a 3D man?

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This post has been many inspirations in the making, but I nearly didn’t write it. Believe it or not, if it’s deeply personal, I don’t write about it here.

Men on paper (or, more likely, on screen) are full of promise. There’s a guy on OKCupid at the moment who likes long walks in the country, pub lunches, and, get this: art house cinema (Do you know how rare that is?!) I should message him. And yet, somehow, I just can’t get that excited.

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Fresher’s Pack

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I had to canvas my uni friends today to establish what was in my Fresher’s pack. I can remember the good bits (two condoms: one ribbed, one extra strong, a sachet of lube, teabags) but the rest is hazy. Depending on who you ask, there may or may not also have been: a map, a packet of microwaveable pasta in Dolmio sauce, a pen, and a NatWest rubber in the shape of a pig.

I have no idea what happened to the contents of mine, but I do know what happened to Mark’s.

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Stop the ride … I want to get off

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There’s a ride at EuroDisney called Star Tours – a Star Wars themed flight simulator, designed to make you feel like you’re on an out-of-control spaceship.

Aged 8, I did not like Star Tours. No sooner had I fastened my seatbelt than I got the feeling in the pit of my stomach that I really wasn’t going to enjoy the next five minutes. I nudged my dad.

‘Dad, I want to get off.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t get off. Look, nobody else is being silly and panicking like you are.’

Just at that moment, the doors slid open and three Japanese tourists stood up and left. The doors slid shut again, leaving me even more panicked than before.

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Girl crush

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A week or two ago, Alison Tyler posted this, about potentially wanting pieces for a sex and coffee themed anthology, and it got me thinking.

When you think sex and coffee, I think it’s normal to imagine inviting someone back for coffee, the strong, dark stuff that you drink at the end of an evening, and where that might lead. Less sexy, perhaps, is that first coffee of the day – the one that wakes you up, puts you in a position to face the day ahead.

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Introvert

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My parents are planning to move house, so my mum has been sorting through all their old stuff. This has brought up a couple of things I want to blog about, the first of which is introversion.

In amongst her uni work, my mum found a note from my dad from when they first started dating. She’d gone to the bar to get drinks and he’d vanished and left a note on the table saying ‘Have gone to do some work. See you later x’

My mum told me about this because she found it funny: my dad was renowned for doing absolutely no work at uni, and was very nearly kicked out. He hadn’t excused himself because he planned to work at all, she thought, he’d excused himself because there were too many people in the bar, and it was making him anxious.

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Memories of butter

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One of the things that makes me sad is that I can’t get off on my own writing. I mean, obviously if I could I’d be unbearably smug, but even though the scenarios that I write about turn me on, my own prose makes me self-conscious in a way that means it’s unlikely that you’ll ever find me in bed with a page or two of A4 that I wrote.

So, when Kristina Lloyd posted a link to this on Facebook, I begged her to write a story entitled ‘Memories of butter’ – because her writing does turn me on. Somehow, she managed to persuade me that I should write it instead, which led to me squirrelling myself away in Bettys tearooms in Harrogate while away at a work conference, writing dairy product porn:

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Asking for Trouble

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When I was staying with friends the other day, we were lying in the park and, having read the Sunday papers from cover to cover, had turned to Siri for amusement. I already have my favourite exchanges with Siri, namely:

‘Do you like anal, Siri?’

‘This isn’t about me, Charlie, it’s about you.’

Yep, OK, Siri, you’ve got me all figured out.

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Chemistry

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I snuck out of the office to fuck the boy on my lunch hour the other day, which, while I could write about it at length (there’s nothing quite like returning to your desk with a guilty secret and tits streaked with dried come), isn’t the main focus of this post. It is, however, related.

I once had an argument with my mum because I’m a massive defender of the need for chemistry in any relationship. She sees no reason why you wouldn’t ultimately settle down with your best friend if your best friend is romantically interested in you, you like them, and your life goals ultimately include things like a steady, monogamous relationship and children. I think there’s no way you should settle down with your best friend unless, in addition to all of the above, they also give you the horn.

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