Feb2007

Thursday 1st February 2007:

The current apposite song in the soundtrack of this boy’s life is ‘Turn! Turn! Turn!’ as sung by the Byrds.

To everything - turn, turn, turn
There is a season - turn, turn, turn
And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep…
A time for Tax returns, turns, turns…

Yesterday, thankfully, marked the final day for tax returns. Tax talk and consultations with accountants etc have been very much to the fore in our house of late; it’s all been very, very tense. Dick’s been in a state all week because the accountant that he and his business partner have used for the past year resigned, completely out of the blue, leaving them with a serious mess to sort out and this tax deadline approaching. I’m not quite sure how it all works or what exactly went wrong, I’m only the pretty little houseboy, God forbid that anyone take time to explain things to me, but I know Shane was very annoyed and not inclined to be too sympathetic with Dick and his partner Reny. Apparently the accountant was related to Reny’s wife Angela and Shane has said all along that you never ever involve petty family in your business affairs, especially when, as it turns out, they’re of their depth and totally unqualified for the job. Tensions rose to the point where you could barely look at Dick without getting your head torn off and he and Shane had a couple of pressured exchanges, the worst was on Tuesday night when Dick came home from work in a really dark mood (he’d had a massive row with Reny we later found out) I’d made him one of his favourite pasta dishes, but he wasn’t interested and just picked at it saying he wasn’t hungry. He might not have been hungry, but by God he was thirsty, he got stuck into the wine like no one’s business. I watched Shane watching him and I just knew there was trouble brewing. By the time Shane and I had downed a glass each, he’d downed the rest of the bottle and was stating his intention to open another one. Shane quietly, but firmly said no. Dick turned to me, thanked me for dinner, and then getting up abruptly strode out of the room and went upstairs. He might not have said ‘fuck you Shane’ in actual words, but there was a definite hint of that sentiment in the way he left the room, not to mention the way he picked up the whisky decanter and a glass from the sideboard on his way out. Shane also thanked me for dinner, and then excused himself. I must have looked anxious, because he patted my face and told me not to worry. I did though. I always do when there’s serious tension between my Tops; it’s a relatively rare enough occurrence for it to still unsettle me. I began to clear away the dinner dishes and just as I was making a start on washing up I heard the unmistakeable sound of a wood paddle making contact with bare skin. My hands started shaking and my mouth went dry, it’s horrible hearing someone you love being disciplined. It seemed to go on forever and my own backside clenched in sympathy. I got especially upset because I could clearly hear Dick begging Daddy to stop, he’s never, or at least not so I can hear, verbal when being disciplined, a few grunts and hisses (and I can only hear them if I have my lug pressed up against the door) but nothing else. Afterwards I could tell he’d been crying and he’s just not one for crying, so it showed me how desperately worried he was about everything. He even went off sex, usually I can’t walk past him without being molested to some degree, but in latter days if I’d posed naked on the bonnet of his car with a rose clenched between my teeth and a gift bow tied around my dick I wouldn’t have been able to get a reaction out of him. In the end Shane’s offer to assist by bringing in his accountants to help sort things out for the tax deadline was accepted and I think Dick and Reny are going to place their business accounts with them in future. Shane also tore a strip off Reny and his wife who, along with Shane, is a supposedly silent partner or director or something in Dick and Reny’s company, again I don’t really get how it all works, but she tends to stick her nose in where she shouldn’t. There was a meeting in the study and I eavesdropped outside the door just for the sheer joy of hearing him go through them like a dose of salts for their lack of wisdom, professionalism and foresight. Best of best, afterwards when I was serving up the tea and biccies Shane quietly ‘suggested’ to Angela that she might like, in the spirit of air-clearing, to apologise to me for having unjustly slapped my face at his birthday gathering. She did and I hesitated ever so slightly before graciously accepting it. I’ve got some tales to tell I have, plenty of autobiographical material has gathered up lately.

In a nutshell, I wasn’t allowed to keep my new ear piercings, neither Daddy liked them and they liked even less my lack of respect in having them done without consultation and permission…hang on a chuffing second I hear you say, permission, permission, come on, it’s your body, surely you don’t need anyone’s permission but your own, you can do what you like with it, pierce it, tattoo it, fry it, bake it, boil it? Not so, not in the lifestyle I’ve opted for anyway, the truth is I’m not a totally free agent. I should have discussed it beforehand and sought approval. I made it worse by not being upfront about it, i.e. I left them to notice what I’d done rather than saying what I’d done when they got home, by then I’d come down from my high and I knew I’d probably done the wrong thing. Shane’s birthday celebration went arse up for me, my jealousy reared its ugly head and then the incident with Angela happened. I chucked a glass of red wine all over her so she slapped me across the face, it really hurt and not just physically. I didn’t drown her in Châteauneuf du Pape on purpose and I shall endeavour to explain what happened at some point. Really, when I think about it, with one thing and another it’s a wonder I’m not on fucking Valium.

I got well roasted (ears and backside) deservedly so, for getting drunk last week when I went out with Lee, especially in the shameful event that I was sick on the computer keyboard, it was that chicken thing I had, it was definitely off. Shane was already in ticked off Top mode when he came into the study because apparently I’d left the front door wide open and my keys in the lock, I honestly don’t remember doing it. So, when he saw the computer keyboard sinking beneath a pool of steaming lager scented vomit he was seriously pissed off with me, especially as I’d been told not to drink too much. See, if I hadn’t got maudlin and decided to come home he and Dick wouldn’t have known I’d drank too much, I’d have done my vomiting in Lee’s flat, hopefully in the bathroom and not in his lady love’s handbag, as I once did in Lee’s sister’s handbag. It was terrible, it was Lee’s 18th and I was staying at his house, there’d been a party and frankly I was rat arsed. I crashed out on the couch and woke up in the early hours feeling like death warmed up and just knowing that making it to the loo was a lost cause and instead of heaving onto the living room shag pile, I didn’t want to upset his mum, I grabbed the nearest receptacle, which happened to be Cass’s handbag, I even tidily closed it again afterwards and went back to sleep. The screams when she discovered that her bag was full of sick were terrible; I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Lee thought it was hysterical, but I was mortified. I bought her a new bag and she did actually forgive me. I didn’t set out to drink too much last week, it’s just that when you’re trawling around pubs with a group intent on celebrating a birthday you end up being bought drinks you’d rather not have, but feel obliged to drink and then you lose track of just how many you’ve had and then of course if you’re the only gay in the straight man’s supermarket, you end up sitting in a corner like Billy no friends drinking even more while your mates are prowling the aisles swinging their baskets in search of special offers. Lee was gutted when the girl he went off with refused to go out with him again, apparently she had only wanted him for his body, which was fair enough, he didn’t mind that at all, but what really upset him was that she only wanted it the once. He would have liked to be used at least twice or thrice before being discarded. The same thing happened with the last woman he dated, she went to bed with him once and then dumped him. It’s set him panicking that there might be something wrong with his bedroom technique, or his body…you’d sleep with me more than once wouldn’t you Gil, my body isn’t that bad, is it, as a gay man you know about bums and I’ve got a nice bum, haven’t I? Bless, he was that upset, I said yes he had a lovely bum and if I was female and into men of my own age, and desperate, I’d sleep with him more than once, and if I was really desperate, I’d even consider fucking with him before I slept. I think Bastard was the word he used.

Talking of beds, Shane and I awoke to find we had a one eyed predator in ours this morning, yes, Dick’s dick was back and prowling around the sheets looking for company, it was a relief to see him back to his old self. I’m been taken out for dinner this evening, my Daddies say I’ve been a very good little houseboy during tense times and to make up for having neglected me attention wise they’re going to wine and dine me, so I’d best away, as I’m informed that my carriage awaits and Shane’s goodwill and patience has a limited shelf life.

Sunday 4th February 2007:

I hate fucking prawns, not that I ever have, you know, fucked one, frankly I’m offended that you should even suggest such a thing, let’s face facts they’re ugly little bastards and really quite scary, I don’t like the way they look at you with those beady black eyes, they give me the jitters, they look like something from outer space never mind outer the sea, I’d have to be hard pressed to offer one a peck on the cheek never mind offer up my pecker to fuck one. Did you know that prawns are transvestites, oh yes, they start off male and turn female after a few years, that’s if they don’t end up coated in mayo and jammed between two slices of Hovis wholemeal before they get chance to swap their jock straps for a 36B cup and a pair of high heels, so no, I could never dally with a prawn, not because of their transvestism, I recognise and applaud the right of everyone, marine life included, to find their true nature, but simply because they do not push my sexual buttons. The main reason I hate them is that one attacked me this afternoon, it took a lump out of my finger after I spurned its sexual overtures (Lie detector says NOT SO) Oh alright, I jest, I was actually shelling a big pile of the horrible beasties when a slither of shell sliced down the side of my thumb nail, it bled like a swine and it’s still really sore. I was making seafood paella for lunch as a change from the usual Sunday fare, so I was preparing a variety of shellfish, the others calmly accepted their fate as accessories for a pile of rice, but the renegade prawn had to strike back and viciously maim me. Paella is a recipe I’m still getting the hang of and I’ve had a few misses with it. As it happened my blood sacrifice was in vain because today’s effort was a definite miss. Dick and Shane sat poking it around their plates as if they were plucking up enough courage to actually eat it, much as they did with my early culinary offerings. Already feeling touchy I decided to be offended and threw out a negative challenge, stating that it was dry wasn’t it, it was too dry? Both Dick and Shane admitted that yes, it was perhaps a little bit dry. I took the huff and snatching their plates away told them that if my paella wasn’t good enough I’d open a tin of bloody soup, that would be wet enough for them. Shane barked that if I didn’t stop playing the Prima Donna and park my arse back on the chair he was going to belt it black and blue. I immediately complied. He was in a sod of a mood today. Penny has been on at him again with regard to their father; apparently he won’t let her in his house because he’s afraid she’ll try to tidy up again, so she’s been nagging at Shane. Dick and I spent the morning walking on eggshells. Dick got bawled out for trailing wet footprints into the house after washing his beloved car. I got bawled out for not cleaning them up fast enough and then we both got bawled out for ‘arsing around like a couple of juveniles’ when he stormed into the kitchen to see why I was shouting and giggling, like a five year old girl, and discovered it was because Dick was tickling me. After lunch Shane decided he would drive up to see his dad, so I packed him a bag in case he decided to stay over and both Dick and I heaved a sight of relieve as we waved him off.

It was a gorgeous day here today for February, not a cloud in the sky, so we decided to go out for a walk by the river. Dick loves the cable stay Millennium footbridge that spans it; he says it’s engineering perfection combining strength with elegant and beautiful design. I love looking at his face as he looks at the bridge, in a way he reminds me of the object he admires so much, composed of elegant and beautiful lines. We got back and had tea and Dick did some work while I did some writing. I’m almost finished my you did what chapter. I’ve found it quite a difficult one to write actually, it’s hard changing feelings into words that make sense and yet still convey a sense of feeling. I’m telling you, this writing game might sound easy, but it isn’t and my admiration for the writers who actually hone their skills enough to make a living out of it have risen considerably, perhaps there’s some truth in the saying that a writer is born not made and those of us that have to work at it are mere scribes as opposed to real creative artists.

Monday 5th February 2007:

“Oooh,” intake of breath through teeth, “that looks nasty…CHRISTINE, COME AND LOOK AT THIS!”

“Oooh,” intake of breath through teeth, “it does look nasty doesn’t it…JEFF, COME AND LOOK AT THIS!”

“Ooooh,” intake of breath through teeth, “that’s very nasty, I wouldn’t like to think I had to handle my trouser python with that, pass that infection on and you’ll be walking in high heels and calling yourself miss.”

Oh my God, the curse of the transvestite prawn had struck. I stared aghast at Jeff (who if he wasn’t gay certainly ought to apply for membership) Christine and Fran, otherwise known as the staff at my local Safeway pharmacy, where I’d gone for advice on waking up this morning to find a throbbing member on my hand and for a change it didn’t belong to either Dick or Shane. It was actually my prawn-damaged thumb, which had swollen overnight and was looking very angry. They advised me to take my inflamed digit to see the nurse at my GP’s surgery, which I did and she said it looked very nasty, as if I didn’t already know, and gave me some antibiotic cream and some dressings to put on it. Dick kissed it all better when he came in from work, and he was quite sympathetic about my thumb as well. Shane said only I could turn shelling prawns into a hazardous operation. He wouldn’t hear of me washing up with an infected thumb though, he made Dick do it. I’ve finished and posted my you did what chapter of autobiography; please appreciate the blood, sweat and tears that went into it. I’m going for a lie down now, I’ve got something hot and throbbing on my hand, yep, Dick is demanding my attention in his own inimitable way, bless his horny heart.

Tuesday 6th February 2007:

All joking aside, my thumb really is sore, I’m typing mainly with my left hand and the middle finger of my right hand here. I ended up sleeping alone last night because I couldn’t bear my hand getting knocked whenever the bf’s turned over. The infection seems to have spread under the nail. Dick and Shane had a look at it this morning (oooh, that looks nasty…yes, yes, we’ve been there and done that) and they told me to visit my doctor in case I need some oral antibiotics in addition to the cream. So, I phoned the surgery this morning and got the grudging receptionist, she really is a miserable fucking mare; my heart sank when I heard her voice. There’s a notice up in my doctors that chunters about Zero tolerance for verbal and physical violence against staff, what about Zero tolerance for the nasty attitude of some staff against patients? I can appreciate that everyone has an off day for one reason and another, we all get them, it’s part of human nature, but she seems to have a permanent off day. I don’t think I’ve ever had a smile or a pleasant word from her since I became a patient at the surgery, maybe it’s just me she dislikes? Anyway, I wasn’t prepared to wait until Friday for an appointment, I’m quite attached to my thumb and I don’t plan on losing it to gangrene, so I stood my ground and insisted that I either get an appointment with a doctor or a prescription for antibiotics was issued that I could collect some time today. I can collect a prescription after two tomorrow apparently. I complained, she said she didn’t like my attitude and hung up on me. I’m telling Shane of her when he comes in, he’ll sort her out.

Talking of sorting, I’ve sorted the problem with accessing my latest chapter; at least it looks sorted from my end. I’ve replied to all correspondence regarding the matter, including you Carrol, though my reply to you keeps getting sent back as undeliverable, bloody yahoo, it’s a law unto itself.

I’m taking self and sore thumb over to Eileen’s for some sympathy and morning coffee and hopefully some of her lemon drizzle cake.

Wednesday 7th February 2007:

It snowed overnight, not much, but it looks really pretty, I like snow. Dick and Shane don’t, they’ve got no real appreciation of nature and see snow as a personal inconvenience, both of them went off grumbling about the effects it would have on driving conditions this morning. I’m hoping it snows a bit more this afternoon so I can wind the Daddies up by building a snowman in the front garden.

Yesterday, as expected, Eileen clasped me to her bosom in motherly sympathy and then fed me lemon cake and coffee, not from her bosoms I hasten to explain, she didn’t have them on tap or anything if you get my drift and even if she did I wouldn’t partake, I mean you wouldn’t would you, not even if invited, not when you weren’t related, it wouldn’t be right. I’ve come over all faint just thinking about it; I might have to have a lie down. I actually do rather enjoy being clasped to a motherly bosom, I think it might be because I was deprived of breasts when I was a baby, my mother bottle-fed me, apparently if she showed so much as a hint of unbuttoning her blouse she had to beat my dad off with a club and she just didn’t dare risk breast feeding me in case I got crushed to death in the rush, that’s what I overheard her telling a friend once anyway. No, Eileen served up coffee and cake in time honoured decorous fashion on time honoured decorated china. I wasn’t really hungry so I only had three pieces and she wrapped up the rest for me to take home and share with my men folk (no chance, I’ve hidden it, it’s too good for Bears) She had a look at my poorly bad thumb and declared that she’d seen much worse, describing in gruesome detail some of the infections she’d encountered in her nursing days and they say women are the weaker sex, you must be joking. She told me about a good old-fashioned remedy that her mum used to use on her and her brother when they were kids and said it had worked really well on minor infections. What you did was make a paste from a mixture of strong green kitchen soap and granulated sugar, apply it to the infected wound and cover it, the sugar apparently draws the infection and the soap cleans the wound. Cool eh! In the name of experimentation she offered to whisk up a batch of sugar soap and apply it to see if it helped my thumb. I reckoned it couldn’t do any harm, not unless I absorbed the sugar and soap into my blood stream and had some kind of strange reaction and started ricocheting off the walls on a sugar high while spewing bubbles from my mouth or worse, from my anal orifice, now that would really flummox Dick and Shane. Shane says I often talk out of my arse, but I bet he’d really sit up and take notice if I started blowing bubbles out of it. So, Eileen applied the mixture and it was weird because after a while it really did feel like it was drawing the infection. She said to keep the dressing on overnight, which I did and I don’t know if it’s coincidence, but my thumb is less inflamed than it was and while still throbbing a bit, it’s no way as painful as it was yesterday. I might not bother picking up that prescription now; I’ll just get Eileen to put another primitive dressing on it.

Saturday 10th February 2007:

In the midst of life we are in debt…at least I am. I had a walk down town yesterday afternoon and ended up spending over fifty quid on fuck all. Woolies had a dvd sale on so I treated myself to a couple, well, five actually, plus two cd’s, one of which is The Smiths, it’ll come in handy when my credit card statement hits the mat and I need something conducive to suicide to listen to. The trouble with buying dvd’s is that while the blurb on the box makes it sound like money well spent: a couple of hours of action adventure and fantasy escapism for a mere handful of earth currency, it rarely pans out. Most of the dvd’s I buy tend to get watched for about ten minutes then slung into the pile of old shite, no wonder it bombed at the box office, what a Bernard Matthews turkey with bird flu cupboard. The last one I bought like that was Troy, you know the one I mean, it had Brad Pitt in it wearing what looked like a scraggy old moggy pelt on his head, and was described as a stirring epic. Stirring epic my arse, I’ve stirred spoons around more epic mugs of coffee and at least my spoon was metal as opposed to most of the props in Troy, which were clearly made of rubber. It was full of laughable inaccuracies, but at least it provided an opportunity for me to indulge in a derisive commentary. Brad was terrible in it I thought, truly terrible, that big Amazonian who plays Zena the Warrior Princess could have played his role more convincingly and with more style and I probably would have fancied her more as well. Yesterday I bought three Star Wars cd’s, the original three which we’ve already got on video, I thought Shane might like them, oh yes, he was a bit of a Star Wars fan in his day, he reckons the newer ones set in earlier times aren’t a patch on the older ones set in later days, if you get my drift. Then I bought one called The Shipping News mainly because it’s based on a novel I read at my reader’s group and which I really liked and finally one called Waterworld with Kevin Costner, which got panned I think, so it should be good to watch if only to see if you agree or disagree with the critics who panned it. I ran into a friend while I was in town, well I use the term ‘friend’ fairly loosely, he was one of those people that blew hot and cold on you so that you never knew where you stood with him and you were always fretting about whether you’d offended him somehow. In the end I thought fuck it, life’s too short to be chewing your nails to the quick over someone who comes over like you’re their best mate one day and then acts like you’re fucking invisible the next. We exchanged a few inconsequential pleasantries and he told me he was getting married and I wished him well, he didn’t invite me to the wedding and I wouldn’t have gone if he had so I felt we parted on a kind of polite mutual understanding.

Shane wasn’t pleased with the Star Wars films as it turned out, not so you’d notice anyway, he told me off for overspending, saying if I wasn’t buying fucking clothes I didn’t need, I was cluttering the shelves with unnecessary crap. I seem to be getting on his nerves again at the moment. It was the same on Thursday night. I was chatting away during dinner telling the bf’s all about my visit with Eileen and how the dressing she’d put on my thumb seemed really to have done the trick when Shane bluntly told me to stop talking as he’d had a busy day, he had a headache coming on and he wanted to eat his dinner, such as it was, in peace and quiet without me providing constant background noise. I was hurt to be honest, on several counts, I thought the chicken casserole I’d made was quite nice, but he obviously wasn’t impressed. Dick told me not to take it personally; Shane was just in a pernickety mood on account of worrying about his father. I pointed out that Shane didn’t tell him to shut up and how else could I take it but personally? Dick cuddled me and said that the only reason he hadn’t been told to shut up was that I didn’t stop talking long enough for him to get a word in edgeways. I know he was kind of joking, still, I took a vow of silence for the rest of Thursday night, which Shane interpreted as sulking and I got another flea inserted into my delicate shell like, in addition he sent me off to bed early saying if I must sulk I could do it where he didn’t have to view it. I made the mistake of demonstrating my annoyance with him by way of deed instead of words, i.e. I slammed the living room door on my way out. Shane doesn’t do being told to fuck off either verbally or by means of wood and consequently did some slamming of his own involving his hand and my arse. I think half the reason I spent so much money yesterday afternoon was a bit of retail therapy to cheer myself up, not that it worked. Shane is working today and Dick is doing his usual Saturday golfing thing. I’ve been trying to do some autobiographical writing, but I’m not in the mood at all, I can’t be bothered. I’m going to grab a few cans of beer, some Kettle chips and some chocolate and I’m going to watch some dvd’s, after all, it’s supposed to be my day off.

Monday 19th February 2007:

I fell out with the boyfriends the weekend before last, consequently ending up with two black eyes and a set of swollen, sore testicles, so, I didn’t feel much like journaling for a day or two, plus Shane said I’d been a bad, bad boy and because tanning my arse wasn’t feasible he clipped my wings for most of the week, which meant I couldn’t do any of the things I usually like to do, such as ‘time wasting’ on the computer. Click here for the short saga of the weekend before last: The Houseboy Strikes Back. In comparison the weekend just departing the platform of life was much, much nicer. Dick and I spent it together at the Lakes. HIM owns a small cottage near the village of Cartmel and he loaned it to us. It’s a really beautiful area. We went on Thursday afternoon and came back yesterday evening. It was cold, and a bit damp, but peaceful and the cottage had a coal fire that was very cosy to curl up in front of. The Lakes is one of those areas that’s never really quiet or free from tourists at any time of year, but at least in the winter months you stand a fighting chance of getting an inch of pathway to call your own and you can get round the shops without risk of being crushed to death. The trip was a belated Valentines come making up treat for me, neither Dick nor Shane does the hearts and flowers, or cards kind of thing for Valentines’ Day and I have to say this made a very adequate substitute. Dick was very sweet and attentive towards me, wining, dining and buying me small gifts, which he inevitably presented with the words, ‘am I forgiven yet honey, darling, baby love?’ I inevitably replied with the words, ‘no, I don’t think so, not yet,’ while pitifully fingering the lingering traces of bruising around my eyes and nose. Shane couldn’t come with us, he’s had a lot on at work lately, but he called a few times to see how we were. When we got back last evening he told Dick he’d missed him and told me that there was a load of washing up in the kitchen and I’d better go get on with it immediately, as I’d had enough time off. I can’t say I was happy and stormed off to the slave galley in a huff only to find an arrangement of long stemmed white roses on the kitchen table addressed to me, the card reading simply, ‘for baby.’ I was thrilled to bits. Dick was indignant demanding to know where his romantic roses were, after which he sarcastically felt Shane’s forehead for signs of fever and asked him if he’d been visited by three Valentines’ Spirits during our absence and was turning over a new leaf in the romance stakes, a remark that caused Shane to comment: ‘you really want a rose, perhaps a single red one in full bloom?’ Dick nodded then yelped, as Shane briskly slapped his arse and said: ‘there you are cariad, a single red rose in full bloom, anymore lip and you’ll get a full bouquet.’ There was champagne too, so I was well made up with life in general and the Bears in particular. Shane was back to his usual grumpy Mr McGregor self this morning having a go at poor innocent Peter Rabbit, aka me (guess who visited the world of Beatrix Potter while they were away) complaining about the shower drain being blocked up with hair. I pointed out that most of them were his and Dick’s and he pointed out that it was my job to keep the bathroom hair free, regardless of who the hairs belonged to. Bloody Bears, don’t bother getting one as a pet, they’re too demanding and they shed everywhere. I’ve been catching up with the mundane today, laundry, de-hairing drains, that sort of thing; a houseboy’s life is a varied life.

20th February 2007:

First of all, let me make it plain that neither Dick nor Shane was responsible for my black eyes and swollen testicles, though Shane frequently vows that he’s going to kick my arse. If I gave the impression that they did so, then I did so in all consciousness because as Dick says, I’m a teasing little wind up merchant with a warped sense of humour who likes to skim the sun a touch too closely at times. I was exercising dramatic licence in preparation for posting my account of the previous weekend, which would have gotten posted last night if my page builder programme hadn’t decided it couldn’t be arsed to work and I decided that in that case neither could I, see, I’m petty like that. Do I live in an abusive relationship? Some would consider that I do, but then some people just love to tell others how they should live, think and feel, many of them become social workers, not because they have any real concern for the well being of others, but simply because they have ambitions to re-create society in their own image, their views then filter down to the rest of society and suddenly we’re living in a police state with individuals judging, advising and reporting their neighbours, purely out of concern of course and concern IS a good thing, up to a point...the point where it becomes intrusive, the point where it becomes an infringement of another person’s right to live a certain way simply because it falls outside the boundaries of what is considered ‘normal and acceptable’. Anyone who incorporates any form of discipline into their lifestyle would be considered by the majority of people to be either abused or abuser, regardless of whether consent was involved or not. Like it says on my index page, if you don’t like the lifestyle I journal, then don’t read it, no one is holding you hostage with a gun to your head, now that would be abuse. If you’re looking to read something along the lines of the Teletubbies then you’re barking up the wrong tree reading this, ‘cos Dick and Shane aren’t Dipsy and Laa-Laa and I sure as hell ain’t Tinky Winky, not unless there’s something Dick and Shane aren’t telling me about my private member. ;-) Okay, done ranting and lecturing, just needed to get that off my chest.

Friday February 23rd 2007:

I’ve been run off my feet all week. Shane has been working fairly close to home and took to dropping in at odd times of the day for a cup of tea, a digestive and a quick shag. I nearly shit myself the first time he did it, I was lying on the sofa loving Raymond at the time, he of channel 4 sitcom fame I hasten to add and not a person of fleshly proportions, I would never cheat on my Daddies. Once I get the men folk out to work I like to relax with a mug of coffee, a few biccies and a bit of morning telly. I really do love Raymond, well everyone does, then Frazier, etc, but Shane isn’t so keen, he said it was no wonder my housekeeping was sloppy at times seeing as I obviously fitted it in between commercial fucking breaks. Bless him; he’s descended from a long line of slave drivers. In between loving Raymond and shagging Shane I did find time to finish another chapter of autobiography and have now linked it up, see above.

MARCH 2007