Ok ok, I know what’s the use of a fucking blog if months pass without any news? It’s supposed to be a log – a daily sort of thing – you know Captain’s log Stardate whatever and all that. So I’m going to attempt to squash 120 days or so into a few paragraphs.
First, Brighton. Hot, v hot for most of June and July, no surprises there and none on the nude beach either. Ms Hastings finally stripped off on sands scattered with gaily-coloured beach balls.
That’s right, she dropped them in full view of 100 disinterested blokes in brightly hued speedos. It’s still a mystery to me why the majority of hunky homos keep their knickers on. Hey guys, its…a…nude…beach, and you are supposed to be free-thinking, convention-breaking exhibitionists. Otherwise you’d be up the other end of the promenade with your baggy shorts, complaining wife and screaming kids.
Second, concerts. I saw Madonna, I’ve always loved her music and rather admired her, but it felt like my duty to be there, considering my relatively recent change in sexual preferences.
In fact, on the night we were there, there must have only been about three straight couples in the entire Wembley Arena. The rest of us wore our trashy but hideously expensive T-shirts and stupid cowboy hats and low slung jeans and howled for our kinky goddess. It was her birthday too and several muscled guys celebrated this by wearing singlets bearing the slogan ‘Birthday Bitches’
But us real bitches weren’t disappointed either. Madonna in riding gear with totally revealing skin tight breeches pole dancing and ‘riding’ a mechanical saddle….mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmoist or what?
I also saw the Stones. I like the rock but not the wrinkles, so I wasn’t that keen to go but Morgan (my writing partner) was going to see them with his advertising partner and he was very enthusiastic.
So we went to Twickenham Stadium. In my advertising days I accompanied clients to rugby matches there. It was fun to watch but what with the banter and the boozing it wasn’t long before they were trying it on with me and going for a tackle. But none of them scored, I’m pleased to say.
But it was different at the concer because Ihave to say the Stones were fucking fantastic. Jagger is extraordinary and thoughts of zimmer frames and bus passes immediately disappear when he appears. I was dancing around and punching the air and I really did ‘get some satisfaction and girl reaction’ from Ms Hastings later that night. So thank you boys.
Third, my book. We’re three-quarters of the way through and its still hard work. Of course, I’m not being ‘arty’ about this, you know…that ‘writing is like giving birth to a pineapple in a raging storm’ sort of shit. Farmers and firemen do hard work while we’re just press the keys of the mac but it’s still ‘hard’ to be satisfied with what we’re doing.
Other writers do an outline and a couple of chapters and try to sell this to agents and publishers. We, or rather Morgan, thinks that just an outline might suggest we’re writing pure porn and miss the point about the laughs and, of course, the high literature. So we’re putting the whole thing together and, by the way, I lied about that last bit.
Lastly, I’m still amazed about the number of Penny Smith posterior fans (or fanny fans for my US chums) who are constantly accessing my site because I’ve mentioned her. I wonder if the gamine GMTV presenter realises how many men out there are going berserk over her buttocks. Maybe she should do a special 2007 calendar with a different shot of her bum for each month. A furry thong for January and bare and tanned for July, for instance, and how about a bit of holly shoved up it for December. Great idea eh, but I’m sure all her admirers will still be checking in to my site whatever I say and imagine the increase in volume if I also mention the words ‘ Carol Vorderman’s bum’.
Love and kisses Sadie xxxxxxx