Damp Reality

So today was meant to be sunny, temperatures in excess of 20 degrees C.

It's not! We have wall-to-wall clouds and it's raining.

Therefore today's post is relates to dampness ... in a round about kind of way.

Let's go to Hollywood ... the Dream Factory!

How often have you seen a movie or a TV show where a man and woman, usually after some fighting or hilarious (ha!) antics, end up in bed ... you know ... doing rootie-toot!

It happens a lot doesn't it?

No? Well maybe I'm watching the wrong kind of shows, who knows?

Anyway, they do it ... the rootie-tootie stuff.

There is then normally a bit of dialogue revolving around earthquakes or tremors and stuff. Maybe even that old classic; a cigarette.
Then, when it's all over, one of two things happens:

1. one or both parties have to suddenly leap out of bed and rush off to be somewhere.
2. they fall asleep (cut to next scene)

OK! Are we clear so far?

Good!

My point is this:  take for example No.1 ... let us say Bob (it's nice to give your characters normal names) receives a phone call just after doing the deed and saying "WOW! You were fantasic!" a lot.

He leaps from the bed, pulls on his clothes and races off to work/meet someone.

OK ... so far so good!

Now here is my point.

Why, when Bob gets to where hes going, does no one ever say "PHWOARR! Bob, you smell like you've just been bonking some woman's brains out!"

As for option 2 ... falling asleep.

Well they do, don't they!  They don't 'clean up'!

They dribble!

And there is never any evidence of that age old argument that married couples have after every rumpy-pumpy.

You know the one ...

... the one about who's going to sleep on the damp spot!

Oh, come on!

You ALL know it's true!


(Offended? Noooooo! How can I make things right between us?)

The Innocence of it All!

Remember this one?

The Less Written, the More Said

I began this blog as a means of keeping a record of daily events.

But it never actually worked out that way.

I ended up writing almost anything that came to mind ... mostly memories, observations and stories about dogs.

I used to write every day, or at least every other day, until one day words were spoken...

You and that damned laptop!

Only a few words, but very much like a dagger in the heart.

In the beginning my writing took place in the mornings, usually between 6 and 9 am until my work pattern changed and I began to write after everyone had gone to bed, usually after 11 pm.

Sometime thereafter my work routine changed yet again and I found that time for writing was reduced (usually) to between the hours of 4 and 6 pm.

Then came those words!

To be fair, I did always get so wrapped up in writing that I nearly always over-ran the time I allocated myself and, as the household's one and only cook, the rest of the family were often left close to starvation. Being so wrapped up in writing, I was oblivious to the rumbling of empty stomachs.

Those words ... let me remind you of them - You and that damned laptop! ... had a meaning far greater than just the sum, as it were, of the words.

They said subliminally "You and that blog of yours are a pain in the backside and we never speak any more because you are always writing or reading. It's taking up all your spare time and I'm getting sick of it and I want to spend more time in your company rather than with a zombie-fied typist"

Of course, subliminal as those words were, I imagined them liberally punctuated with some very colourful expletives.

Anyway, once again I must cut a long story short ... in an effort (might I say a supreme effort) to reintegrate myself into the family, I have reduced my literary output to once or twice a week.

I think 'She who must be obeyed' bought it!

I'm definitely back in favour with regards to certain aspects of married life!!!

Puppy Love!

Christmas: How It Is And Always Will Be!

It's that time of year and we've spent our hard earned cash,

on cards and presents and a good Christmas bash.

We'll all get presents that will force us to smile,

and the gift that you wanted will be missed by mile.

There'll be books, chocolate underwear and socks,

just the usual gifts but no great shocks.

Then food galore will be dumped on the table,

and we'll gorge ourselves till we're no longer able.

There will be burps and farts and occasional snore,

until all we ate settles then we go back for more.

We'll sit around the TV and watch the Queen's speech,

and get the usual guest that hangs on like a leech.

When the evening comes there's more food to eat,

at least for those that can still find their feet.

For the sherry has flowed and beer has been drunked*,

for the oldies some tea in which biscuits are dunked.

We'll all sing some hits of a bygone era,

and remember those absent, like my cousin Vera.

Then off the guests go to their own little homes,

waddling merrily like drunken garden gnomes.

The washing up and the mess that they made,

unwashed and untouched in the dining room stayed.

Then it's off to bed feeling ever so stuffed,

my amorous advances ignored and rebuffed!


* artistic license 

  

Why Are Men Here? Remind Me ....

The Myth of The Multitasking Woman And The Genius of Men

We men are constantly being reminded (by women) that we do not possess the correct attributes (those of mental jugglers or the physically dexterous) to be called Masters of the art of multitasking.

Multitasking IS, and always WILL BE (they claim), something that lies fully in the domain of the female of the species.

And I suppose it must be true because it's the only way they can screw up as many things as possible in short periods of time!


Ahem!


That said ... I must admit that the word 'multitasking' is in itself very misleading ... perhaps we should consider a more realistic description such as jobscarriedoutsequentialbutveryquickly.

I know it doesn't trip off the tongue, but is a more honest description.  


Men are more "Dual-ist" by nature and the following are just a few of our dual tasking achievements:

• reading the paper whilst dumping
• drinking beer whilst watching football/TV
• farting whilst eating

They may not, in themselves, appear to be in the same league as some of the activities of you girlie's but there is a reason for it ....

.... if we were to show ourselves as being willing and capable of indulging in multitasking activities, where would our duties end?

Women would stop being mothers and housewives if they knew we were really just as good, if not better, than they were.

Men would be slaves in their own homes.

Sex, and the withdrawal thereof, would be the slave drivers whip!

No!

It is far better and smarter for us to let you ladies think you are better than we are.

Sorry?

I'm not getting what?

Oh, you've got to be kidding me ......

....Julie?

Ju.......

Bugger! 

What Would Batman Do?

OK, so we all know, right, that Batman … The Caped Crusader … would definitely do something heroic and incredibly brave when faced with danger but, and it’s a ‘biggie’ BUT (hahaha! Does my but look big in that?), what would you do?
I think each and every one of us has at sometime in our lives imagined ourselves as a ‘Joe-public’ kind of hero that just happens to save that special person that you’ve always been too shy to talk to from a fate worse than death or you did a ‘Willis’ or a ‘Snipes’ and saved people from terrorists.
I’m no different, although my last last ‘save the day’ fantasy must have been when I was in my mid teens, and it was induced by the then girl of my dreams who, as is usually the case, didn’t know I existed.
We were still in school and she was dating a scumbag who’s hobby was waiting for kids outside the school gates to either beat them up or humiliate them.
Let’s call the girl Maggie to save her blushes should she ever read this.
Scumbag, my nemesis, was Tom Harmon (name changed because he’s still out there)!  He would take great pleasure in giving me a hiding, and he did so on numerous occasions.
It was on the day of one such beating that I had this little fantasy of standing up to him and kicking his arse for a change and in doing so, winning the heart of Maggie.
This fantasy persisted for days, nay, weeks. 
But I was stupid and one day, which I still regret, I opened my big mouth and mentioned it to my soon to be EX best friend, Brian.
Within the hour, Brian had blabbed.  Within two, fingers were pointed and giggles were heard.  Within three, I was quaking in front of a pretty arrogant,  cocky and angry Tom.
Five minutes later, I had a bloody nose, a black eye and some very sore ribs.
But let me tell you folks, I didn’t go down without a fight!
In fact I didn’t even go down!
After he’d already punched me two or three times, he began to whimper like a baby.  He’d broken two fingers in his right hand on my thick skull.
So I kicked him right in the family planning department and as he folded up I kneed him in the side of the head.
This was too good to be true so, in the spirit of a true coward, I proceeded to kick and punch seven bells out of him … until Mr. Phillips (Geography and  Chemistry) pulled me off and ordered my to the Headmasters study.
I think I received, as was the norm in those days, ten blows from Mr. Bell’s (Headmaster) cane and about a weeks worth of detention, but it was worth it.
I was never bothered by Tom again ….
…. and Maggie?
Well, she hated my guts for beating up her boyfriend.
You can’t win ‘em all, eh?


By the way ... Happy Birthday Denise (my sis).  102 today!

Sex in the Charity Shop

Ok ... calm down!  Put your hands on the table where I can see them, and relax.  This is NOT one of those stories!

As I was browsing through the book shelves of a charity shop in Albany Rd., Cardiff, I noticed that my client (yes, I was actually working) was idly thumbing his way through the pages of a rather large, but thin book.

I naturally assumed that he had found a book heavily laden with photographs of animals and continued my own search for books of a similar nature that might interest him.  Some five minutes later he was still looking at the same book which, for him, is very unusual.  Having found nothing of interest myself, I sidled up to him to see what was so interesting.

The book he was ogling (yes, that is the right word) was full of naked 'large' people engaging in 'the act'.  That is to say, they were going forth and multiplying, if you get my drift!

There were about 30 to 40 pages of this book and most of it was a re-enactment of the Kama Sutra for those of greater dimensions.

The books title?

I think, if memory serves, it was called something like "A Fatties Guide to Good Sex".

My client should definitely NOT be reading a book of that nature so, we grappled ... he wouldn't let go ... but I eventually managed to liberate the book from his clutches.  I was however too late.  A 'Marquee' had already been built in his 'front garden', if you know what I mean.

I handed the book to a rather red faced and, I might add corpulent, lady at the till and she apologised claiming that it was not their policy to display such a book and that it must have been put on the shelf by accident.

Just then her equally male corpulent colleague came back from lunch and I couldn't help thinking "Keep the book, love!  You and your buddy might need it".

It was a wicked thing to think, but there you go!  That's me all over.

I ushered my client out of the shop and we went looking for bargains elsewhere.