Right now it seems that everything smacks of sex. I'm not entirely sure what the fuck is going on in my warped mind, but everything I see, hear or touch reminds me of sex.

When I get into bed at night my sheets take on a life of their own, they feel different. Ordinarily cotton sheets feel silky smooth as I slide in between them, and they kiss and caress my skin, my hairs standing electric.

The sound of the kitchen tap dripping through the night is languid and provocative.

I find innuendo in anything that anyone says. Even in words that are as chaste as a mother kissing her newborn's head.

Bars and pubs positively writhe with cute boys.

It's not as though I'm gagging for it. To be honest I've been for much longer without. Really, I've suffered droughts compared to this. This is nothing. But for some absurd reason I find myself with a heightened sense of all things sexy at the moment. In fact I am in a state of positive prurience.

I need help.

When I was ten Christmas was brutally taken away from me. Pa’s big brother Bathe died and where I’m from when someone in your family dies, the rules of mourning are pretty draconian. For a year you are classed as unclean, praying is off limits and you are not allowed to celebrate anything (birthdays, festivals, nada).

Growing up was a little confusing, part asian and part western meant that not only did we celebrate our own festivals but also we had the western ones too (I’m still a little bit of a bumbling, rambling, confused hybrid).

And it didn’t ever come back.

It’s no surprise then that I was a scrooge and a humbug about Christmas ever since.

Until I was 22. That was the year I got my first ever stocking. My buddy Singe and her family had taken me in for Crimble as I couldn't afford the flight home to visit my folks. On Christmas Eve I helped out with last minute decorations, wrapping pressies and preparing the feast ahead of us. After a night of copious amounts of wine, delicious food, Christmas TV and Trivial Pursuit, I went to bed content as a child. The next morning we woke up early, climbed onto Singe's folks' bed, like the early twenties children that we were, and we spent the morning opening pressies from our stockings in our pajamas. It was ace. The best Christmas ever.

Since then, knowing that I can’t always be with my own folks over the festive season Singe and Papillon’s folks have taken me in every year.

Now I actually enjoy Crimbo. I would even say I look forward to it (gasp).

So, today as I finish off this post I find myself looking forward to getting over to the surrogate family’s for a good old knees up.

So to all of you smashers in Blogsville, thanks for reading me, commenting and for your support. Here's to you all...have a very merry, healthy, cool Yule, and a super New Year.

Kathmandu - 14th December

It is way too difficult to unlock the door without making a sound. Luckily I’m fully aware that the TV is blaring in their room so the chances are they are completely unaware that I am sneaking out onto the balcony for this illicit act. Thing is, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if they knew, but I couldn’t face the disappointment etched around the corners of their ageing eyes if I just announced it – “Folks – I’m just off out for a fag”. No, this way is so much better, and besides in the week that I have been here so far this is only my second.

First I ease the two dead bolts and then I carefully twist the key, unlock the door and slip outside. The crisp Himalayan air caresses my bare face and begins to nip at the edges. I take a drag on my cigarette and breathe in some serenity. In this moonlit hue, this cranky city seems almost calm.

I can hear the stray dogs scrapping with each other, prowling the streets in search the slightest most scant morsels of food. Far off in the distance a new born baby cries for its mother, and the house next door pulsates as the sound of western pop belonging to the teenage sisters shakes its foundations.

As I exhale I look at the sky and realise that it’s the first time I’ve looked up all week. I am greeted with a blanket of velvety Guiness, teeming with the most beautiful stars, shining so brightly they are practically resonating. I take another drag while I look for familiar constellations – Orion – check, the Plough – check, even the North Star – check. And then I find myself relaxing.

I look up again at this devastating sight and realise that these stars look like you. Yes, I see your face written across these ethereal lights, your smile, your gleaming eyes.

I take another drag. A deep, needy, longing drag. I inhale the smoke deep into my inner most recesses and it dances around in my lungs quietly, mingling with my thoughts of you.

I’m not even half way through this evil cigarette and I’m suddenly aware that I don’t much like the taste and I so I put it out.

There. That’s it. Extinguished.

Unfortunately this act while symbolic does not extinguish or erase your visage from the sky.

I heave a sigh as I creep back inside and lock the door behind me.

I miss you. A whole heck of a lot.

And at this split moment, my sadness is ineffable.
Because I think we could have worked if we’d only given it a chance.

I'm walking down Oxford Street trying to do some last Christmas shopping bits and bobs. Berating myself for subjecting myself to all the crowds and worse still the browsers. Grrrrr. Suddenly I realise something is awry here...either I am going mad or I really have just seen Mr Spock and a Mohican in a black cab....The Invisible Man (wrapped up in bandages, sporting shades and a trilby)...and finally a guy in a fetching, neon pink Sgt Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band jacket all within about 15 minutes of each other.

I think maybe I am suffering from over-exposure to all things Christmas and put myself on a bus and head home.

Kathmandu - 13 December

I have been here a week now and feel as though I have been living a waking dream - wading through plasma - Nepal has that effect - you lose all concept of time and everything seems to have a crinkly, nebulous feel to it. Kathmandu is a city crammed with contradiction - fast-paced but oh-so-slow, dreamy but unbearably real, staggeringly beautiful and ugly. It's just a touch ironic that only here in the world's second most polluted city (second only to Mexico City), can the air have such a soporific effect that in my first 4 days I managed to clock a whopping 42 hours on my sleepometer - yes me, a chronic insomniac.

I'm not sure I know myself here. I notice little things about me when I'm here - the fact that I don't much feel like singing, don't much feel like socialising in the evenings and don't drink or smoke. Don't get me wrong, whenever I'm with my shrinking parents it feels like home, but the moment I step out of our house and I am walking the streets of this city, I find myself wondering if this me can ever truly be happy. I'm certainly not joyless and I get lashings and lashings of love from my Ma and Pa, but I am not me.

But then I've always had a problem knowing myself. For a start I'm gemini and they say that geminis have two personalities. I'm also english, nepali, western, asian - I feel as though I'm suffering from multiple personality disorder. And until I learn to reconcile the different me's, then I will have a serious problem.

I chose to stay out in London and lead the life I thought I wanted. By day I continue to be English, but at night when I'm lying in bed I can't stop thinking about how maybe it was time I came back here, played my part as the dutiful daughter and looked after my folks. Every time I come back here it gets harder and harder to convince myself that returning to London is the 'right' thing to do.

But what really is 'right' for me? Is it right for me to give up my way of life and come back to a country where I never really feel 100% comfortable out of some strange sense of filial duty? Or is it right for me to stay where I want to...in London?

Guess I need to do some thinking on that one.

...I'm back.

The scene at the airport was almost too much to bear, Pops was red-eyed and teary and Ma was covering my face in a million kisses. As I get older it gets so much harder to have to keep leaving them behind. But it was my choice to make a life for myself here, and that is something that I need to accept.

So here I am, back in Blighty, living my life.

I'm afraid I won't be writing even a half decent post as my buddy persuaded me to stay out way past my bedtime last night in order to imbibe ridiculous amounts of red wine, and consequently, today I am less than useful and I feel as though my head is jammed with cotton wool.

But I need to give huge thanks and praises to my Guest Bloggers - Boy, Bubs, Papillon, Singe and Moonchild, thanks guys, you rock. You had me laughing, crying and thanking my luck stars - I couldn't have asked for a better bunch of bloggers, or friends for that matter.

So now the sappy stuff is outta the way...I need hair of the dog...anyone fancy a pint?

Yup I’m going to be the first one to broach the dreaded subject of Chrimbo!

I know must of us probably haven’t even started to think about Xmas shopping yet, let alone contemplating the idea of having to spend the day with long lost relatives that we’d hoped had remained lost! But it’s now only 7 days to go so I think we all need to get our party hats on and get that Christmas Cheesy Tunes CD out.

I’m not really looking forward to Christmas Day itself, it’s my turn to do the dutiful girlfriend bit and spend it with my fella’s folks and family which I’m sure will be very nice but it’s just not the same as spending it in the comfort of your own home when your Mum still tries to force you to have that one obligatory disgusting brussel sprout and you can’t get completely drunk without having to worry about making a complete tit out of yourself in front of the “in-laws”!

Boxing Day is another matter entirely. I can’t wait for that. We’ll be trudging back down the motorway to my folks where PPQ and Bubs will be joining my sister “Papillon Bleu” and myself for a yummy slap up meal courtesy of our mad French mother and more plonk than is humanly possible to consume, but we’ll give it a try anyway! And none of this turkey rubbish, we’re going for duck this year – tradition is going out the window when it comes to food. However I’m sure PPQ will be instigating much traditional Christmas game playing, although when she wins the 10th game in a row we will have to ban her to the naughty cupboard upstairs to make her think about what she’s done!

So without further ado I’d like to wish all you bloggers out there a Merry Christmas and urge you all to get listening to the likes of Slade and Wham, stuff your face with mince pies and enjoy a few Christmas tipples to get you in the festive mood.

I’m sure you’ll all be pleased to know that PPQ will be gracing our screens again from next week so you can all breathe a sigh of relief. I think us fellow guest bloggers will be doing the same – how do you guys do it everyday!

And it’s back to you PPQ… Welcome back, we’ve all missed you.

Posted on behalf of Singe dans l'arbre

Setting the scene: Moonchild stands dumbfounded in her friendly high street chemists

Don't get me wrong, I'm a thouroughly modern girl......I can do this.....been here before.....only it was over 9 years ago!!!

How are you supposed to make a decision here......it's like asking a non-smoker to go and get you some cigarettes; letting them choose the brand......you want Malboro Red......you get Silk Cut Ultras !!!!

OK......narrow down the field a bit.....focus on the USP's (!)

-ribbed/dimpled...no....do manufacturers really believe that women can feel the difference....probably not....but guys do!

-flavoured.....no.....THAT IS perverse......."ooooh minty"!

-pleasuremax....no.....just short of saying......"sorry darling, you're just not doing it for me......"

OK....loitered here too long......this must be how teenage boys feel, scanning the top shelf in the corner shop!

*Two days later*

Courage restored I go to a quieter high street shop to find....that the whole population of London has descended on the the smallest chemists in town!!!

Minimal indecision time......thems the ones......

As I stand in the queue the old advert runs through my mind........"HOW MUCH ARE THESE CONDOMS....."


'Thankfully'....all I got was......"YOU KNOW THAT THESE ARE ON A THREE FOR TWO...... *smirk*"

*Jesus....lady.......what kinda message do think a stash of over 50 condoms is gonna give*

"I'm fine with these thanks"

My faith in Human Kind has been restored. I’m being a Drama Queen, I know.

There’s this guy called J. Met him on a Friday, went home on a Saturday, met him again on a Sunday, emailed me on Monday, called me on Monday night, called me on Tuesday morning, met up with him on Tuesday evening…you can see where this is going.

What a sound guy. Attentive, enthusiastic, funny, lively, generous, open, and honest – everything a freak like me could ask for in a man.
But something was missing. Oh god, it’s that bloody chemistry thing again, isn’t it? That god-awful ‘spark’ that people go on about, isn’t it? Bloody buggery bugger.

Then he started talking about what I wanted for Christmas. How we should go away for a weekend to Italy. How I shouldn’t go travelling next year and stay here with him…

I took the coward’s way out. I emailed him. You know what makes me more of an evil bint? I got Miss Whiplash (no-nonsense bird) to edit it for me. Half an hour of tweaking later I sent it.

Sweaty palms, heart racing, eye twitching. You can tell I hate doing things like this.
Suddenly, there’s a new email in my inbox. I open it with eyes half closed…
…it was perhaps the nicest break-up reply I have ever had.
Things like “it’s okay” and “not to worry” and how he would have liked to take it further as he likes me a lot, but he understands how I feel. What a genuinely nice guy. Okay, so I made a mountain out of a molehill. I can’t help it. We had been seeing each other for less than a week. Either the longest one night stand ever, or the shortest relationship ever. But still, I don’t like doing things like that. Never will.

And he made it easy for me. No fuss, no worries. As I sign off for the last time, it’s nice to know that there are still some people out there who are, well…nice. No bullshit. No games. Straightforward. It’s a good thing.

Believe me, I am the last person who would share relationship thoughts with an audience. But it’s nice to get mushy about people. Aww, come on. It’s nearly Christmas folks. I wanted to leave you with a nice warm fuzzy feeling in your souls. ‘Cos I certainly have one.

Merry Christmas folks. What a pleasure this guest blogging has been. Super.

......your wednesday blog is here.

and i'll tell you what folks, it's thanks to the rediculous amount of work involving the use of 5 computers (greedy i know) that i am still here and able to blog with a good 5 hours 21 minutes to go until the reins are passed over to young bubsy-licious.

so, a few thoughts for all of you to contemplate on this dreary tuesday night...especially for those of us still at work and not in far off lands loosing our sobriety with old chums. chums of yor. what's yor?

anyhoo.

how comes you don't need to blow your nose if you've got a tissue in your bag but if you're without then the nostrils just flow like the amazon?

at what point is too much cheese, too much cheese?

everything landing butter side down. is it a weight thing?

people eating creatures eyes and brains and intestines - what's that all about??

people eating mushrooms - too much like the above.

time flying when you're having fun but dragging when it's all a bit cac

southern softies and northern monkeys. le sange can never be a monkey. it's so wrong.

birthdays seem to always fall on a wednesday. like, every year.


right, well PPQ is returning to our shores soon (i hear you all phewing with relief) and i personally am very much looking forward to the christmas festivities on her return. so come home little lady. come home to the cheese.

As the name of my blog would suggest, I am a boy and I am in Spain. Neither of these facts is overly interesting, but it’s my life, and I like it. There are however some teasers (the boy bit is obviously troublesome, but that’d take more than a guest blog post or two to fix so…), the second teaser comes from being in Spain.

An old boss of mine once claimed I was fluent in two languages, English and Bullshit and that my bullshit was better than my English (I used to work as a consultant in IT). Sadly, neither language is much help over here, and so I found myself with “Communication Problems”. That was until… THE STAFF PARTY.

It didn’t occur to me until the next morning, whilst hiding under a duvet on my sofa, slowly easing myself back into reality with the lion king on mute and a mug of tea in my paws, quite why the party had gone so well. All the usual suspect were present and accountable, a free bar, free food, lots of Champaign, a great live band and a cool disco until dawn. Standard stuff, except, no communication problems.

Then I realised, in the land of the loud thumping music; the smiling, laughing, dancing guy is king. For the first time in the eight months I’ve been out here, I felt like I could communicate on an even playing field. Suddenly just grinning like a drunken buffoon was enough to get by (it never seemed to cut it in design meetings), and randomly cheering led to people joining in, rather than just staring.

But for now, it’s back into the weekly Spanish lessons and mumbled apologies for my broken spanglish. Maybe I should stick to bullshit? Anyone here speak anything cool?

Ever since I can remember I’ve been a bit doolalley about apes, in particular chimpanzees! My childhood dream job wasn’t to be a superhero, a Blue Peter presenter or even a sandwich taster like normal kids (!) – I wanted to work in a zoo and take care of all the monkeys (yes, yes I know PPQ they’re apes and not monkeys!) and most appealing of all was the thought of being able to take home all of those cute babies that had been rejected by their mums and have some new playmates (yes I was a very lonely child with lots of imaginary friends!)

To be honest I am still mad about chimps and my childhood career is still something that I would love to do! Digital TV took over our flat a few months ago and I’ve been subjecting my poor boyfriend to watching hours of Monkey World and tracking the chimps turbulent lives ever since. I think I may go home one night to find that he’s disconnected it! Come to think about it maybe that’s why he’s been getting back from work later to avoid the inevitable chimp torture I subject him to! My friends have cottoned on to my enthusiasm for the little monkeys and made me the proud sponsor/parent of a chimp at Monkey World – not as hands on as I would like but for the moment I think that’s the only way I’m going to be able to hold on to the thought of that dream job. Even my blog name is a tribute to the furry creatures and a very funny sketch my Eddie Izzard!

Bad days at work make me stop and think about quitting the rat race in the big smoke and trying to get a job at Monkey World, but then my practical head takes over with things like having to pay the mortgage, not wanting to move away from all my mates …. oh yeah and I don’t think the fella would be too keen on leaving his job to move to Dorset! So for the time being it’s back to the TV to live the childhood dream job through Monkey World….

So my homework for you kids today is …..

What did you want to grow up to be when you were kids?

Due to technical issues this has been posted on behalf of Singe dans l'arbre!!!!

*no disrespect to Papillon Bleu and her fishies intended!

It was 10.15pm....yet another long day at the office.....(PPQ come back soon)

Being the food faddist that I am, I always hate eating after 9pm......and so I sustain myself with popping a couple of alcohol supplements. Well a glass of wine has calories doesn't it!?!?!?!

Yet I knew I had to eat........ I wouldn't manage to get through the following day without an attack of "I'm hypoglycemic", and gorging myself on our office's cake stash.

Opening the kitchen cupboards...there in front of me...was the answer!

*5 minutes later......*

Last night's dinner consisted of Sardines in Tomato sauce........on toast!
Sprinkle some salt and pepper over the mashed down sardines......with lashings of malt vinegar.....

*numnum*

Why is it so great?
-Quick to prepare
-Indefinite Best Before date
-Contains all the major food-stuffs
.....and it's my most favouritist thing in a tin!

What would we do in this hectic world today without "Fings in Tins"?

...........mind you, not everything out of a tin is great...or edible...or even sensible!


My TOP list of 'fings in tins' are as follows:
Most Favourite: Sardines in Tomato Sauce......obviously!
Most Hated: Marrow Fat Peas
Most Obscure: Coleslaw
Most Extravagant: Mussels in a Galician sauce!!!!!

So what are yours?

I'm here, back in the motherland.

I'm suffering withdrawal symptoms from Blogging.
But I've also looked insomnia in the eye and told it to fuck off.
The other night I slept 14 hours in one go - much to the chagrin of my folks.
I've had a gazillion kisses from my mini mum, and from my mini dad.

I've also had my cheeks pinched raw and been told that I'm really fat (it's a good thing here, really), and told that I should come back and get married. I've also been told that people will find a husband for me.

Sheesh.

But I had a sneaky half an hour on the t'internet today and I read my guest bloggers posts and I loved them.

*Sniff*

I'm so chuffed and so proud of them and I can't wait to read the rest.

Now I'm dying to read all you fellow bloggers posts...but I guess I have to save that for when I have some more time...for now I must go and get drunk with some old friends.

And with that I bid you all Namaste

x

Do I want to save the world? Hell yes. I don’t know if it’s my love of capes and spandex or my love of human kind, but yeah, truly, I want to save the world.

From what? Cripes, the list is too long. Every time I turn on the news and see the latest nastiness I am swearing and cursing and getting angrier by the minute. Then it turns into this feeling of despair and uselessness. Questions like “what the hell can I do?” and “how can I help all these people who have been wronged?” spring into mind.

And it’s not just global evilness that irks me. There’s that old lady who had to stand up on the bus while everybody seated looked the other way. The kid who has to run home everyday so he won’t cross the path of bullies. Suspicious sales assistants who eye you up and down. Keane. You know, the usual everyday shit.

So, could I be a real-life superhero? Putting all the wrongs to right?
Well, lets look at the criteria needed;
1. Super-speediness with the ability to fly. Fact-when 100 people were asked what would be their one super power, over 90% said ‘flying’.
2. A good sense of good and bad. Parents have their uses.
3. A utility belt containing winch-hook, ninja throwing-stars, smoke bombs, poison darts and a packet of crisps.
4. Good hair.
5. Super sexy, yet Clarks style comfortable boots.
6. X-ray vision.
7. At least one major fighting skill – I’m swaying towards some street-fighting number.
8. A spandex…no, too tight. A Nylon……no, too hot. A cotton….c’mon Bubs! Not durable enough. A rubber…..woah. Right, a leather, all in one suit with just the right amount of give when leaping over tall buildings (I know, I can fly, but a girl’s gotta get her 30 minutes of government recommended exercise a day right?)
9. And a super sleek super car to do the obligatory 180 degree backward turns in.

Ahh, I know what you’re saying. You’re saying “This is all very well Bubs, but with all this fighting evil malarkey, what will you be calling yourself??”
Well my new found friends, I haven’t come up with a name yet. Some have sprung to mind such as ‘Sandwich Girl’ (too stupid), ‘Oh Beautiful One’ (snigger), ‘The Mighty Bubs’ (not mysterious enough). So what shall it be?? Would you mind, one day in the not too distant future, me turning up on your doorstep, pledging that I will save your day?? OR perhaps one day we can join forces and help bring down the evilness that is.

Now, I would like to finish off with a poem about fish.
Oh…. someone’s beat me to it.

NB. PPQ had no control over the contents of this blog entry. She didn't believe me when I said I would write something ludicrous. All complaints can be made to me via comments box. Apologies in advance for next Wednesday's entry.

what has the PPQ done - asking a cretin such as myself, with severe lack of creative writing and spelling ability, to entertain the eagerly awaiting blog crowds.

apologies in advance....my blogs will be simple and at times, a little crass. wayward - or atleast they would be if i knew what that meant.

on suggestion from le sange, and knowing me i was bound to do this anyway, but about 10 years ago i wrote a poem. it's the only poem i have ever written and anyone reading this who has, at some point, known me well enough for me to part this sonnet of beauty, will instantly be able to identify me.

here it comes..

you ready...

fish eat
fish sleep
fish are humans
without feet.

i did warn you about my simpleness. but i did do school and i have held down a job for more than 2 weeks. but i can't talk proper english like what i used to could.

anyhoo, one more thing i'd like to discuss (not that i have actually 'discussed' anything as yet, and will fully be expecting a torrent of abuse from you young bloggers hoping to read something awe-inspiring such as those creations of PPQ and the newly joined 'boy') - is 'the royal penis is cleaned your highness' from coming to america the best line from a film or what?

well, y'all have a good day now. and don't worry - she'll be back soon.

For the first time ever, I find myself concerned about being single. Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ve been card carrying singleton many times in the past, but this time it seems more serious, this time I have concerns.

Like always, I miss the ‘good-stuff’ of relationshioned bliss like curlin’ up next to someone to sleep and resting your head on their lap as you watch a movie; the daily tactility that we all need. But then, that’s normal, it’s more serious than that.

No, this time it seems somewhat different and I’m struggling to figure out why...

It was just over eighteen months ago when I made the decision to spin my life around, again. The plan was simple and familiar; it involved leaving behind a career, a girlfriend and many qwaaliddy friends in London town and run away to sea. And while the reality played out very differently from the script, mostly for the better, I now find my life has been quite definitely ‘spun around’.

At the time, I remember thinking that should I find myself overseas, in foreign parts, the chances of finding love would be drastically reduced. The language barrier, the smaller circle of friends, the intensity of working life... all factors I knew would scupper my little love boat. But, I figured it was worth the trade off. And it still is, but.

Over the last year I’ve had a bit of a mentality shift. Previously, timescales have never really been an issue, every relationship was a gamble and every relationship was a chance of finding “the one”. I was ok with that, I was even ok with the concept that she may not be the one, and that’s life. But, generally speaking, I’ve always played for “the one” with the true idealism of youth and one too many John Hughes movies.

Yet here I am, at the tender age of twenty eight, wondering if I should compromise, reduce expectations, reign in childish idealism of love and “find a nice young lady” to settle down with. Is it worth being alone for your life because of your inability to compromise?

So, pop quiz kids...

“Does that lack of life long single people in the world fill you with fear or hope? What is more likely, that we all get lucky and find “the one” or that we all eventually stop looking and accept “the anyone”?



P.S. I’d like to take the opportunity to thank you all, I guess it was a about a eighteen months ago I told PPQ to start blogging, little did I realise the monster that I’d unleash onto the world. So, thank you all for reading, for commenting and for your support, you all mean a great deal to her, possibly far more than she’d be willing to admit.

Okay folks, I'm outta here.
At 20.30 GMT I shall be boarding a 747 and jetting out of Blighty for 16 days in the motherland.
It's been nearly two years since I saw the PPQ parentals and it's about bloody time I went back and saw them. I'm looking forward to spending some qwalidee time with them. They are shrinking and I love them. I'll also enjoy feeling ever so spiritual and paying homage at my favourite place in the whole world.

I will not however relish having my cheeks pinched raw, listening to endless exlamations of 'My haven't you grown' and 'Ooh aren't you fat?' from people who I haven't seen since I was a baby.
You know the ones, they say 'Do you remember me? Last time I saw you, you were only about 6 months old?'.
The ones who are crestfallen as you shake your head. Well whaddya expect lady, I was a fuckin' baby. I'm clever but there's only so much I can do

While I am gone, please be kind to my motley crew of miscreants, ahem sorry, I meant guest bloggers. They'll be popping in from Monday, bringing in the post, watering the plants, that sort of thing.

I have known them all collectively for SIXTY ONE YEARS!
They are lovely, and I love them all.
And I'm feeling very emotional because they all agreed to write for me (admittedly, some under duress and gang-bullying tactics).

So please be nice and keep coming back to check up on them for me from time to time.

Bubs, Le singe, Boy, Papillon, MoonChild, welcome to my cyber pad - make yourself at home!

x

WTF? It's been a little too introspective and caustic round here lately. Thought it was time for something a little lighter.

Apologies to those who may find what's to come a little offensive, but some of us were talking about the best analogy/euphemism/whateveryoucallit that we'd heard...here are some of my favourites....

Taking a shit
Dropping the kids off at the pool
Laying a brown trout
Releasing the chocolate hostage

Wanking
Roughing up the suspect
Beating the bishop
Spanking the plank

Lady wanking (ahem)
Tickling the cod

Lady genitals (ahem again)
Velvet fluff hole
Front garden
Beaver

So what are some of yours?

And how come mine are always rude?!