Monday, February 1, 2010


First up: apologies. there ain't gonna be no RATS today, 'cause my Notebook's screen has shut down. Fortunately, it's well within the warrenty period, so I hope to be up and running again soon. I really should have backed-up everything, yes. But I didn't. So ain't that a kick in the pants?
Second up: Cor. I was going about my business today, selecting a doctor/nurse Mills & Boon for Mrs Carruthers, and a "Bombers of the second World War" for Mr Jablowski, when I saw a.. well, I saw a stunningly gorgeous woman. She was mid-30s, I guess, medium height, African, perfectly built.. a good size 12, I'd estimate.. and she emanated a spirit of carefree happiness. Now, a looked at her, and glanced away. Hell, I'm 57, and there's nothing more ridiculous than a middle-aged man panting after a gorgeous woman. But then I stopped, and asked myself - what is it that makes it nasty, dirty, sleazy, and greasy for a guy my age (any age?) to look at a beautiful woman? I wasn't (scout's honour) looking at her thinking "Geez, I'd like to have your ankles around my neck".
TOA: Yeah, right. You sure?
I'm pretty damn' sure, yes. I would have gazed with the same sense of astonishment at Michelagelo's "David", and I have looked with equal stunnededness at a painting. I simply felt astonishingly happy to be walking on the same planet as someone that lovely. So, if I stared, I'm glad. If my staring gave offence, I'm sorry.
Listening to: The Specials. Wot fun!
Reading: "Waltenburg", by Hedi Kaddour. French novel, luckily translated. Very good so far. Can't get Katzenbach out of my head, though.
Word of the day: perv. I'm not. I hope.

1 comment:

  1. Eye contact and a brief smile is all that is required to make your day and hers. Sear her image to the bank and move on. Acknowledge her appeal, brighten both your days. In the same way scoping out a Porsche - aka dream car of choice - is a complement to the designer, owner and all things men love about precision engineering, acknowledging a fine example of the feminine form accelerates positive energy. Maybe the real point of this waffle is that someone confused equality with same. A woman who doesn't like to be admired, charmed and protected is either a dyke or terminally single. The feminine form a great piece of engineering. It might wobble at high speed, leek oil and are subject to erratic behaviour, but we love them, and they balance us non the less. Wherever you find tools and toys you find scantily clad fantasy femmes. Probably the same air-brushed brunettes and blond-shells selling snake oil in Cleo and associated media clutter. I digress. Most of us wouldn't trade the love and life we share with our significant other with a ride in a designer Italian model, Lamborghini or linguine if that's ya fav' fetish. You are married. Not dead. And hey, if she wears a low cut top, and a push up bra, I figure the object of your affection would feel shortchanged if you didn't enjoy her exhibition. Okay a cheeky glance at the mammaries might be acceptable but any more and you risk being a dirty old man (DOM). And DOMs are creepy. My advice practice, practice, practice.