I should really mention a little more about the weekend, for the sake of posterity.
I stayed in a Club for Gentlemen located on Pall Mall. Its noted for being the place from where Michael Palin set out for his epic trip around the world in 80 days a few years ago. This is because when he returned, having successfully circumnavigated the globe, they wouldn't let him in as he didn't have an invitation. You've got to admire a place that can be quite so bloody minded.
It was also featured in a recent Bond film as the backdrop for scenes where Madonna was doing something with swords. Thankfully, I believe she was fencing rather than the sort of unsavoury thing for which she's normally noted.
Lastly, it has a billiard table that is listed in the Top 100 Places In London To Have Sex.
Very surreal. Not least because I had to wear a suit and tie (although not during the whole 'having sex' thing - that would be just plain weird), which is something I usually reserve for weddings and funerals, and this was neither (although an awful lot of the members looked like they had just returned from their own burials.)
I saw a show. Something called Festen. The link will give you a review written by someone much cleverer than I. It was a fantastic play, beginning as a dark comedy of manners at a family birthday before turning inky black in the second half. If you're in London, I'd highly recommend it.
Finally, there was a bad curry in a very stylish restaurant. My companion chided me for referring to the establishment as a 'curry house'. She was correct, a curry house serves up huge platefuls of mysterious steaming spiced dishes. Usually in elderly oval metal bowls (doubtless liberated from the local hospital) and left on hotplates that are older than me. Unintelligible music with wailing women bounces around the flock-wallpapered environment to create the proper ambience. This place, on the other hand, served up mere mouthfuls of lukewarm food, artfully arranged on new white porcelain. And the music? Something dreadful that was in the popular music charts a few months ago. Tch.
Best call the council and demand a 'missed the point' notice be sent to the offending establishment.
Monday, January 31, 2005
3 Down, 1 To Go
As we approach the mid-way point of the fortnight of hecticity, I feel its time for a review thus far of the Dating Of People I'd Not Met Before (which is a new thing for me.)
The first was clearly a romantic. Looking like a young Geena Davis and with an accent to die for, I'm smitten. I can but hope that she'll one day assent to reading excerpts from Tolstoy to me. Second date? Sometime next week. Assuming I don't fall off a mountain.
The second was seeking committment and looking for a husband. Funny and smart, but also emotionally fragile - the line "of course I understand you'll be dating other people" was delivered in a quavering voice and with a sniffle. I'm not right for her, but need to think of a way of delivering this news without causing too much hurt - sadly, my honesty can be interpreted as bluntness. Perhaps I should attempt a lie and confess to being gay?
The third was the flipside of the first - no romance here. This lady is simply seeking no-strings-attached intimacy and plenty of it. I have no problem with this.
The fourth I have yet to meet. Judging by conversations she is somewhat of a laddette, certainly a laugh, and has managed to secure a late-night drinking hole in a town more noted for tweed bosomed ladies of the women's institute. This will be Tuesday's adventure and one to which I'm looking forward.
Unfortunately, the Nuns did such an effective job on me in my youth that my intrinsic catholic guilt is kicking a bit. As I was talking to The Third, I kept expecting Sister Mary to emerge from the shadows like an absurdly tall crow with a single skeletal finger pointing at me. Puts one off somewhat. Maybe I just need to start drinking again.
The first was clearly a romantic. Looking like a young Geena Davis and with an accent to die for, I'm smitten. I can but hope that she'll one day assent to reading excerpts from Tolstoy to me. Second date? Sometime next week. Assuming I don't fall off a mountain.
The second was seeking committment and looking for a husband. Funny and smart, but also emotionally fragile - the line "of course I understand you'll be dating other people" was delivered in a quavering voice and with a sniffle. I'm not right for her, but need to think of a way of delivering this news without causing too much hurt - sadly, my honesty can be interpreted as bluntness. Perhaps I should attempt a lie and confess to being gay?
The third was the flipside of the first - no romance here. This lady is simply seeking no-strings-attached intimacy and plenty of it. I have no problem with this.
The fourth I have yet to meet. Judging by conversations she is somewhat of a laddette, certainly a laugh, and has managed to secure a late-night drinking hole in a town more noted for tweed bosomed ladies of the women's institute. This will be Tuesday's adventure and one to which I'm looking forward.
Unfortunately, the Nuns did such an effective job on me in my youth that my intrinsic catholic guilt is kicking a bit. As I was talking to The Third, I kept expecting Sister Mary to emerge from the shadows like an absurdly tall crow with a single skeletal finger pointing at me. Puts one off somewhat. Maybe I just need to start drinking again.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
2 Out Of 10
This post is rated R for content. If you found Janet Jackson's wardrobe malfunction worthy of the huge moral outrage seen in America and of the epic amount of news coverage devoted to it then you should close the browser now and go and watch QVC for a while. You should also consider getting a life.
I peered at the shiny green package that had been presented to me by my partner.
" 'Gives a tingling sensation to enhance stimulation for both partners'," I read doubtfully, "Where did you get these?"
"Boots," replied my companion, "I liked the packaging."
I'm not sure that selecting a protective based on the niceness of the box is necessarily a good thing. The world of the Newly Single is one where safe sex is practised although sadly only at an amatuer level - I've yet to turn professional. I did however recognise the brand and so thought "Why not?"
"How does that feel?" she asked
"Nmm" I said. It appeared that the 'tingling' sensation had been achieved by a liberal coating of mint or menthol. Think what your mouth feels like when you eat a strong mint and then drink a cold drink. Feels very very cold doesn't?
The 'tingling' appeared to actually be the 'pins and needles' sensation one gets upon the onset of numbness. And numbness defeats the object of the, er, activity somewhat.
From her side of the partnership, my companion compared her sensation to that of 'ice jiggling about' (ok, it was a little more graphic than that, but this journal is blocked by so many obscenity filters that I can't risk a verbatim reproduction.)
We left the remainder of the packet for the housekeeper to enjoy.
Anyone in need of a condom reviewer can find the email address in the sidebar.
I peered at the shiny green package that had been presented to me by my partner.
" 'Gives a tingling sensation to enhance stimulation for both partners'," I read doubtfully, "Where did you get these?"
"Boots," replied my companion, "I liked the packaging."
I'm not sure that selecting a protective based on the niceness of the box is necessarily a good thing. The world of the Newly Single is one where safe sex is practised although sadly only at an amatuer level - I've yet to turn professional. I did however recognise the brand and so thought "Why not?"
"How does that feel?" she asked
"Nmm" I said. It appeared that the 'tingling' sensation had been achieved by a liberal coating of mint or menthol. Think what your mouth feels like when you eat a strong mint and then drink a cold drink. Feels very very cold doesn't?
The 'tingling' appeared to actually be the 'pins and needles' sensation one gets upon the onset of numbness. And numbness defeats the object of the, er, activity somewhat.
From her side of the partnership, my companion compared her sensation to that of 'ice jiggling about' (ok, it was a little more graphic than that, but this journal is blocked by so many obscenity filters that I can't risk a verbatim reproduction.)
We left the remainder of the packet for the housekeeper to enjoy.
Anyone in need of a condom reviewer can find the email address in the sidebar.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Minty Condoms
Either the unfortunate name of a maiden aunt or an intriguing brand of protective.
All will be revealed later.
All will be revealed later.
Friday, January 28, 2005
The Posting That Will Get Me Fired
Every journal needs the "this post lost me my job" entry.
I love this story.
The space race was at its height. The Americans had embarked on their two-man Gemini missions. The Russians saw this, saw the imminent three-man Apollo mission, and looked glumly at their aging Vostock space-craft. Their own three-man Soyuz was years away (and, in the event, would kill the first man to fly it.)
What to do, to trump the Americans again?
The engineers proceeded to take the old two-man Vostock capsule and strip it down, taking everything out of it and making just enough space to squeeze in 3 couches. The unlucky cosmonauts would be very cramped; there'd certainly be no floating around in orbit. There would also be no space to wear spacesuits, and no space for any kind of escape mechanism. So if anything went wrong, the crew wouldn't stand a chance.
But it would get three men in orbit before the Americans.
The Chief Designer consulted the engineer doing the modifications: "Is it going to work?" he asked
"Of course," replied the engineer, "It will be perfectly safe."
The Designer clapped the engineer on the back, "Thats good," he said, "Because you're going to fly in it..."
The mission was a complete success.
I like this story because I often wonder if my managers would be so keen on pressuring me to take shortcuts if they were patients in the clinical trials my systems run.
(This post is dedicated to the unfortunate occupants of the Space Shuttles Columbia and Challenger. Maybe if the managers who dismissed the safety fears of engineers were told they were to be bundled aboard, things might have turned out differently.)
I love this story.
The space race was at its height. The Americans had embarked on their two-man Gemini missions. The Russians saw this, saw the imminent three-man Apollo mission, and looked glumly at their aging Vostock space-craft. Their own three-man Soyuz was years away (and, in the event, would kill the first man to fly it.)
What to do, to trump the Americans again?
The engineers proceeded to take the old two-man Vostock capsule and strip it down, taking everything out of it and making just enough space to squeeze in 3 couches. The unlucky cosmonauts would be very cramped; there'd certainly be no floating around in orbit. There would also be no space to wear spacesuits, and no space for any kind of escape mechanism. So if anything went wrong, the crew wouldn't stand a chance.
But it would get three men in orbit before the Americans.
The Chief Designer consulted the engineer doing the modifications: "Is it going to work?" he asked
"Of course," replied the engineer, "It will be perfectly safe."
The Designer clapped the engineer on the back, "Thats good," he said, "Because you're going to fly in it..."
The mission was a complete success.
I like this story because I often wonder if my managers would be so keen on pressuring me to take shortcuts if they were patients in the clinical trials my systems run.
(This post is dedicated to the unfortunate occupants of the Space Shuttles Columbia and Challenger. Maybe if the managers who dismissed the safety fears of engineers were told they were to be bundled aboard, things might have turned out differently.)
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Normality?
"Thats a nice accent. Is it Russian?"
As soon as I'd said it, I knew I'd made a mistake. The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.
"No" said L "Is Latvian"
Her expression implied that I might just as well have suggested her grandfather sticks hamsters up his bottom. Accusing Canadians of having a US accent was a walk in the park compared to this.
L, you see, is Latvian. Something I didn't really pick up until actually talking to her. A mobile phone conversation revealed the thick accent and images of Russian shot-putters swam through my mind. However, L is in actual fact a far better specimen of the female of the species than I am of the male.
She explained: "I do not like handsome men. They think too much of themselves."
I replied "Oh" in a small voice.
And of course, there's the accent. I'm a sucker for English spoken with an accent. I wonder if its too early in the relationship to ask her to tie me to a chair and read poetry to me?
1 down, 3 to go.
(And for the cynics out there, have no fear; my passport is under lock and key)
As soon as I'd said it, I knew I'd made a mistake. The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.
"No" said L "Is Latvian"
Her expression implied that I might just as well have suggested her grandfather sticks hamsters up his bottom. Accusing Canadians of having a US accent was a walk in the park compared to this.
L, you see, is Latvian. Something I didn't really pick up until actually talking to her. A mobile phone conversation revealed the thick accent and images of Russian shot-putters swam through my mind. However, L is in actual fact a far better specimen of the female of the species than I am of the male.
She explained: "I do not like handsome men. They think too much of themselves."
I replied "Oh" in a small voice.
And of course, there's the accent. I'm a sucker for English spoken with an accent. I wonder if its too early in the relationship to ask her to tie me to a chair and read poetry to me?
1 down, 3 to go.
(And for the cynics out there, have no fear; my passport is under lock and key)
Fat Fighters Not So Anonymous
In order to cash in on peer-pressure, we are operating a 'fat club' at work. Measuring scales have been purchased and we have a weekly weigh-in.
My vegetarian friend, S (he of the magic muffins), has been not-so-quietly confident. He has religiously been bringing in a small lunchbox containing rice and sundry boiled vegetables. He has also been taking light exercise reglarly.
I, on the other hand, have been raiding the vending machine for chocolate and taking daily exercise in the form of walking to the video shop, selecting a DVD, a large bag of mesquite crisps and a random bag of chocolate from the wide range available. Sometimes I pay a visit to the fish and chip shop when the smell of frying potatoes, salt and vinegar becomes too much to resist. I regard this as additional exercise (the chip shop is another 20 yards on from the video shop) and carrying the additional weight of a greasy bag of chips surely counts as extra circuit training. Right?
Today we had the weekly weigh-in. From a roughly equal starting point, S has managed to shed 0.1kg. I, on the other hand, have dropped 2.2kg.
There's a lesson to be learnt from this. But I'm not sure that the people who make millions out of selling diet books to people who won't read them and running expensive courses in nutrition and healthy lifestyles for those that will smile, nod, and head straight to KFC will want to hear it.
And tonight I have a date, with L. Yes, I am nervous. Especially after recent events. I'll be writing about this later tonight...
(There was one additional thing I neglected to mention about the diet stuff above; I've given up alcohol. S hasn't...)
My vegetarian friend, S (he of the magic muffins), has been not-so-quietly confident. He has religiously been bringing in a small lunchbox containing rice and sundry boiled vegetables. He has also been taking light exercise reglarly.
I, on the other hand, have been raiding the vending machine for chocolate and taking daily exercise in the form of walking to the video shop, selecting a DVD, a large bag of mesquite crisps and a random bag of chocolate from the wide range available. Sometimes I pay a visit to the fish and chip shop when the smell of frying potatoes, salt and vinegar becomes too much to resist. I regard this as additional exercise (the chip shop is another 20 yards on from the video shop) and carrying the additional weight of a greasy bag of chips surely counts as extra circuit training. Right?
Today we had the weekly weigh-in. From a roughly equal starting point, S has managed to shed 0.1kg. I, on the other hand, have dropped 2.2kg.
There's a lesson to be learnt from this. But I'm not sure that the people who make millions out of selling diet books to people who won't read them and running expensive courses in nutrition and healthy lifestyles for those that will smile, nod, and head straight to KFC will want to hear it.
And tonight I have a date, with L. Yes, I am nervous. Especially after recent events. I'll be writing about this later tonight...
(There was one additional thing I neglected to mention about the diet stuff above; I've given up alcohol. S hasn't...)
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