back to life, back to reality…
Genuine apologies for my tardiness in posting the latest missive, but whilst the city of Liverpool (from where I had planned to report) is undoubtedly a joy for anyone still counting themselves among the living, the same was unfortunately not true of my very nicely appointed apartment, which upon arrival I discovered to have not only no working Internet (wireless or otherwise), but also a mobile reception roughly equivalent to an underground car park in Turkmenistan, the net result being that any caller who got as far as making the telephone ring in the first place would be treated to the type of hissing, crackling and echoey gibberish more usually heard in wildlife documentaries. Not ideal, in other words.
Suffice to say that after the first day of vainly attempting to arrange appointments by text message whilst pondering the legal and practical implications of smoke signals in a city centre, I graciously threw in the towel and went to the pub. Fortunately for me, the couple of gentlemen who had thought to book well in advance provided delightful distraction enough for the first day and the city itself along with my new friend, the wonderfully warm, intelligent and very obliging Sarita more than made up for the unanticipated lack of further gentlemanly company and a fine time was had by all; indeed so cheered was I by the combination of fabulous restaurants, unexpectedly stunning architecture and the friendly superlambananas peeping out of every other corner that I almost regretted my decision to leave a day earlier than planned.
Unfortunately, amusing oneself in a new city is rarely free (this would include amongst other things the Beatles Story at the Albert Dock, which cost £12.50 and entertained me for under ten minutes as soon as I realised that the majority of it was underground and thus out-of-bounds to anyone with a pathlogical fear of suffocation, the dark and being without at least two bars on the mobile at all times). Without the means to earn replacement funds the only sensible thing to do in the end was return home to more glorious sunshine, sadly no lambananas but a warm welcome from visitors old and new. And thank God for that.
My visit did have a dual purpose, and I had a delightful girly evening with the lovely Rosie Campbell of the UK Network of Sex Work Projects which included, amongst other things, a brief and distant-ish but nevertheless welcome encounter in a posh bar with the rather easy-on-the-eye (but not as tall as he looks on the television) Ricky Whittle, and a chat about some new involvements for yours truly – the UKNSWP links projects which provide support, advice, healthcare and various other services to working persons up and down the land. The other exciting news (and in a similar vein), I am proud to report that SAAFE, the information and advice resource with forum moderated by you-guessed-it, has been announced as a finalist for the Best Website gong at the Erotic Awards 2010. The awards ceremony takes place at the Night of the Senses ball on April 30th with proceeds going to Dr Tuppy Owens’ charity Outsiders (and I promise that is the very, very last link). Needless to say, the outfit is already being planned…
Availability for this coming week is trickling away but as I will be comfortably nesting here in Scarborough now for a full two weeks before my brief (three day) refurbishing flit back to Champneys, all is far from lost for those who have been patiently waiting for me to stop dashing about and attend to my local callers (and quite right too). Following that, a new one on me in the shape of a day in Manchester, where I will be on Other Business, but nevertheless available for limited appointments in the city centre should the opportunity arise. In the meantime though, domestic bliss beckons. I admit, I was beginning to forget how much fun can be had on this settee…
a woman’s work is never done…
After the various low level irritants of last week (one of whom sent me an email which will remain a mystery as I deleted it by mistake, but since the laws of probability decree that least a portion of it has probably come from either here or my website, I daresay the remainder of it’s content was of little consequence and even less interest), I have enjoyed a refreshing and therapeutic few days this week and also managed to get industriously caught up on some of the nagging household matters which have (as they are wont to do), grown from deceptively small and easy-to-put-off mini tasks to large and migraine-inducing Proper Jobs.
My elderly and long-suffering cooker which refused to play ball for a full two weeks is now gone and my days of subsisting miserably on carrot sticks, guacamolé, malt loaf and Cup-a-Soup are a distant memory, although this dire emergency did at least give me the opportunity to rediscover (after some fairly determined hunting) the nostalgic joys of the humble Breville; granite-edged and crisply golden without, and nerve-shreddingly volcanic within – I have discovered through lengthy experimentation that tinned tomatoes present a level of hazard unacceptable even to me, and these were jettisoned in favour of my childhood favourite filling of Prince’s corned beef with brown sauce. Happy days.
A week later, I am now happily ensconced with my spanking new and gleaming steel stove, eventually fitted two days after it’s actual arrival by my friendly local electrician since the good people at Comet are unable to distinguish between a qualified tradesman and a well-intentioned delivery man with a screwdriver. The official Dish of Ritual Celebration was moussaka, and I am gearing up for scones, cayenne potato wedges and possibly a fish pie later in the week. Having also finally tackled the mending pile, vacuumed the stair carpet and completed the most put off grouting job since records began, I am feeling warm and wriggly with accomplishment and whilst on something of a roll have also begun the long awaited new pictures in earnest – sneak preview on the top left. Next week brings an opportunity to amass some follow-ups to my scenic outdoor shots from last July, but only the weather can decide this and in the event of temperatures mirroring those of today, I will have a few alternative ideas up my sleeve (and more than likely a flask of Bovril in my bag).
Normally I would spend a quiet weekend virtuously updating accounts, preparing for my next trip and maintaining the secret and never-discussed ladies day to day upkeep (which ensures that you will thankfully never encounter me in anything even close to a natural state – possessing as I do two distinct and separate eyebrows, for example), but having spent most of the week attending to the mundane (and the less so; I still have to mend the bit of the bed broken in the course of duty on Wednesday, but that’s another story), I am spending today watching the snowfall out of the window, eating luxury hot cross buns from M&S and trying vainly to pair nylons – I am becoming so used to unpacking just to repack that my suitcase is now ever ready with the requisite ruffles, playthings and all of the usual accoutrements required for a rainy (or not so rainy) awayday. All I have to do is replenish disposables, check batteries and remember to wash my knickers.
Another week à maison awaits before my eagerly anticipated trip to Liverpool on the 1st – I have been keen to visit the city for some time and am looking forward to it very much. Please note that I will be available from Tuesday to Thursday inclusive – Monday afternoon and evening are booked up already, and whilst other appointments are dotted about more randomly I still have availability on all three remaining days – please ring or email for details! As you may have seen, my next London visit (usual venue, for those in-the-know) will be shortly after Easter (eggs optional), and as ever, availability is going FAST.
New photos coming very soon…
sincerest form of flattery?
As is starting to become par for the course, today I am writing from seat D12 on the Cross Country train from Birmingham, having spent the last 3 and a half days in a completely new city for the first time since last August. The city turned out to be unexpectedly and unashamedly fabulous, although the net result of this has predictably been that virtually every penny I have earned has been spent in Selfridges, and a comparatively quiet few days has meant the unmissable opportunity for exploring the many and varied retail outlets of our second city. It is worth pointing out once aga9in, that booking in advance is paramount – since taking my seat n the train I have fielded no less than five calls from gentlemen all expecting to see me later on today (having clearly not bothered to read my site properly) and if I had known before today, at least two of them could have been accommodated (although not at the same time).
True to form, I have also eaten enough to satiate an average sized party conference, this lunchtime being no exception and part of my ongoing task as I type is to prevent the ever present danger of train fatigue. I will not soon forget the time I boarded at Kings Cross following a hefty pub lunch and woke up dry mouthed and disorientated in Edinburgh several hours later just to have to throw myself on the guard’s mercy and promise to immediately turn around and come straight back, missing my York connection in the process and also a particularly gripping episode of Hollyoaks which I ought to have had ample time to attend.
My Birmingham base deserves a mention of it’s own, being as it was fitted out with what used to known as all mod cons; including, a completely new one on me, the memory foam mattress, which whilst not quite ideal work-wise, has provided me with blissful sleep for the last three nights and is next on my shopping list when the time comes to begin the next-but-one project at home (the bathroom, thanks for asking, is coming along nicely and an exciting day of grouting awaits me tomorrow, interspersed with a couple of early-ish gentleman callers and a growing pile of laundry. With Valentine’s Day approaching (a period when an hour can last either a minute or a week, depending on the activity), I find it imperative that precision plans are made to fill every moment, even if those plans are nothing more than updating the accounts, catching up on cleaning and bagging up junk for the tip, and I have been carefully (and in my best writing) listing domestic tasks to complete over the weekend. I am also planning on trying to get some new photographs taken, having been promising this now for nearly two months – sorry!
In fact, a small victory for the honest and hardworking was had yesterday following the discovery of a random advertiser on (yep) Adultwork, whom had not apparently felt able to write her own advertising profile but instead took the some would say maverick (and others would just say lazy, thieving and despicable) decision to plagiarise large chunks of my website – an act which I am happy to say, did not impress the gentlemen at Adultwork HQ, who had said slapper deactivated within a singularly impressive half an hour of my complaint. An expensive case of writers block indeed. Hopefully.
I propose to celebrate in my usual Valentine style of buying up all the leftover £20 bouquets for £2 each at Tesco closing time, and then possibly a DVD and Chinese takeway comprising a great deal of deep fried carbohydrate and some soup. The diet starts here – tomorrow (and as soon as I get the keep fit Wii thing sorted out, find my sports bra and arrange some more saintly and virtuous raw vegetables in the fridge). Well, it is the weekend.
So the next stop is Liverpool, but not for a couple of weeks – I will be available in Scarborough throughout this week and next for advance appointments as usual. As my sources tell me that the coming week is half term, parking MAY be a problem around here, but it’s all good practice for the summertime. I am also planning the my next London visit and should have the dates organised by the end of this week – watch this space for details!
all is safely gathered in…
Today’s message comes from the comfort and privacy of the 26th seat on the 563 National Express service from London Victoria; my newly purchased dongle (whose tiny size, plain appearance and friendly-sounding name belie its might) is providing the wherewithal for myself and Vaio to browse, answer mail, and compose this blog entry, even as we hurtle away from Milton Keynes into the heart of the M1 (with a promised ‘refreshment’ stop at Tibshelf services to look forward to in a couple of hours).
I have had a delightful few days in London, one notable exception being an apocryphal story best reserved for relating in private, if for no reason other than that I have so enjoyed the expressions of those I have told (ranging from disbelieving and incredulous to completely and totally appalled) that I reserve the right to get a little more mileage out of it yet. My visit concluded with an all-too-rare spag bol and gossip evening with a lady friend (and ex-confederate) hitherto lost to civvy street, but fortunately this has not affected her energy, charm and sense of humour as much as one might expect, and an unashamedly girly do was had, leading me to miss the last tube and necessitating a taxi ride back from Kensington High Street to Pimlico at a cost of £15, but we don’t sweat the small stuff and anyway, hailing a black cab in the street is yet another on my long list of my secret favourite things.
Leaving this aside, I have enjoyed not only the usual sublimely tactile and oft energetic ‘kit-off’ fun and games, but also been charmed and touched to receive many thoughtful birthday presents from my kind London gentlemen and I would like to humbly thank those concerned (and you know who you are) for making this latest visit hit some very high notes – I will soon be back, and to all I have promised, I will pass on the dates as soon as I am organised. For those who couldn’t make it, be reassured at least that both mugs and toaster were proudly in evidence, and my trepidation en route proved to be unfounded as this time around my apartment was very much fully equipped (bar an ipod dock, but there had to be something) and I am looking forward to my return. However, Birmingham beckons next week, and for a change, I am keenly anticipating meeting the Midlanders!
This week, therefore, will be set aside for warm and comfortable hibernating, quiet contemplation and domesticity as well as unpacking (and almost immediate repacking), general catchings-up and another brave stab at getting on with the decorating. I do have appointments available, but plenty of notice please – I am not a drop-in centre, and the usual half-dozen or so daily telephone calls expecting me to be available within the hour are becoming extremely tedious (to this end, I have temporarily removed my number from my Adultwork profile, just in case anyone was wondering, as this is far and away the site where the majority of users seem unable to read anything other than digits). Email, as ever, for preference, and in view of the weather (which I have yet to see, but apparently once again, Scarborough has some), please also allow adequate time for safe travel!
Am now taking bookings for Liverpool at the start of March – tips and suggestions also welcome, as the city (apart from the airport) is new to me and I am as ever, keen to explore both indoors and out. Ring or mail for details and with a bit of luck, I’ll see you there…
they say it’s your birthday…
Keen-eyed and regular readers will have noticed the slight changes to my site and various online ‘profiles’; that is to say, it is that time of year again! I am another year older, and thanks to the combined efforts of the online sales and the migraine-inducing tax bill I paid earlier in the week, deeper in debt (although fortunately my bank is kindly, and my free overdraft facility is stoically taking the strain).
Upon reaching the ripe old age of 37, I have pondered whether this is enough to denote ‘late-thirties’ or does it remain within the boundaries of ‘mid-thirties’, especially considering I have repeatedly been told that I barely look ‘early-thirties’. This coupled with the fact that the majority of thirty-seven year olds in my line of work are forty five, is causing me headaches when trying to decide whether my texts are in need of a revamp befitting my advancing age, and for the moment all will be remaining as it stands. I am, however, planning something of a personal revamp to celebrate, in the form of a triumphant return to Champneys for a couple of days in March (dates yet to be decided but likely to be mid-month-ish).
I was delighted to learn a few interesting facts when thinking about this weeks missive; 37 is not only the atomic number of Rubidium (a tenuous link maybe but it is apparently like myself; both very soft and highly reactive), the number of plays Shakespeare is thought to have written (those of you who know me well will rightly suspect that the number of these I am familiar with is far closer to my shoe size than my age) but also Paul Newman’s prisoner number in Cool Hand Luke, one of my enduring favourite films. Rather more on topic, 37 is the optimum body temperature in Celsius, a phenomenon I will be investigating later this week in that London.
For anyone still sitting on the fence about the coming week, virtually all available appointments are taken, although I do have odd windows and as always it is worth a call in case of cancellations. The only days/times I can confidentally say I am still free are Thursday and Saturday evening, although I do have an exhibition invite on the former, and as far as the latter goes, the twin temptations of a belated birthday trip to the pictures followed by a curry on Brick Lane are proving competitive indeed, especially bearing in mind that mindful of the comfort of those I meet, I so rarely get to eat aromatic foods. Otherwise, the mugs and Marmite are packed, tickets/railcard/oyster are waiting and I’ll see you all there!
Next Scarborough availability 1st February; advance bookings only, what with all the unpacking, laundry and so forth. Birmingham availability scarce-ish – book now! (and next stop Liverpool…)
brave new world…
For a change, and because regaling readers with my tales of food, weight and weather woes is boring even me, I have decided this time to try and post a missive which may turn out to serve some practical purpose. Lately, I seem to be receiving a huge amount of enquiries from gentlemen completely new to my little world, and I am beginning to think that some form of gentle guidance may be in order in addition to the information on the website (which I am flattered to be told many are finding useful) if only to aid, calm and reassure those who may be in any doubt about what they are proposing to embark upon.
It is increasingly apparent to me that we ladies (and the more seasoned gentlemen we meet) can easily forget how terrifying a prospect the first dip of the toe into the punting pool can be for newcomers; our world can seem a dark, confusing and shadowy one and whilst I do not propose to speak for others, I can hopefully at least allay some fears about, well – meeting ME. There are basic ‘first-timer’ guides on many sites and forums, but not all ladies are the same and neither are all gents, therefore the only premise I am starting with is the fact that you have happened on my blog, probably seen my website and may be interested/have decided to/have already arranged to (yay!) spend a little time in my company.
Becoming somebody who pays somebody else for sex is not much of a jump in neutral, practical terms – most men have forked out ‘fees’ ranging from diamonds and houses to dinner, tickets or at the very least a couple of Bacardi Breezers with the tacit agreement that part of what they will receive in return will include some rumpy pumpy (whether this actually materialises or not, which is yet another facet of the argument). The difference has always been that this is more likely to take place in civvy-land with a lady you have met before, probably conversed with for more than a few minutes and who may at least have made some half-arsed attempt to turn you down before getting on with the matter in hand. The general worry about substituting all the tedious preparatory stuff with a couple of emails, a phone call and a wad of cash would seem to be that in return, a sense of tawdry sleaziness would prevail, although I will not dwell on this as anyone who has seen my site ought to have realised that this is not the case. One way would be to try to think of the arrangement as Pay As You Go rather than contract.
One important but oft-overlooked fact is that on the surface at least, I am really pretty ordinary – fairly bright but not educated, pleasant looking but not stunning (and thus not in the slightest bit intimidating), gentle and patient without being passive, happy and friendly without being insufferable. I also (contrary to what many expect) speak with a strong Northern accent, which gets defiantly and resolutely broader the further South I travel, and swear like a navvy in real life. I shave some bits and not others, worry about the bills, watch football, read bad fiction and like going to the pictures and I don’t phone my parents as often as I should. Some days if I don’t have bookings, I don’t shower at all and stay in my pyjamas all day long playing Guitar Hero and eating banana custard.
I am not a porn star and won’t screech, moan, talk contrived and scripted ‘dirty’ in a put-on voice or pull funny faces, but I do kiss nicely and cuddle properly, and will happily show you how to make me come if you like. My apartment and the places where I stay when I’m on my travels are clean, warm, comfortable and safe, and no-one else will be there except us. This does not mean that somebody else is not nearby, or at the very least on the end of a telephone expecting to hear from me but this is in the interests of common sense and personal safety, and not because I have any burning ambition to take up blackmail as a hobby. My enthusiasm is as genuine as that of anyone fortunate enough to be successful at a job they enjoy, and because I am being paid does not mean that I do not like, respect and care about my visitors and their feelings – on the contrary, I rarely agree to meet with a caller I do not feel comfortable with and not only (rightly or wrongly) have I turned down further bookings from clients where this has been the case, I have actually cancelled on the day when my spider-senses have warned me that an encounter is unlikely to go well. Professional? Not particularly, no. Normal, natural human reaction? Yes. And so are all of my others.
The intent behind all this really is as a nerve-calmer for the new and intrepid who may be letting their imaginations run away with them – to those for whom reading through reviews written by others can be as intimidating as it is enticing, for those who want to pick up the phone but panic as soon as they do, and all those who are thinking of doing so; whether or not it helps remains to be seen. I cannot post about how a typical meeting goes, say, because I don’t have a script and every one is different. Door opens, hello, fill in details from there. I won’t ask about your personal life, where you work or your reasons for contacting me, although if you want to tell me you can and a lot of people do. I may babble a bit about the weather, the parking and ask you if you have had much of a journey, partly because I am British, and partly because I am also a bit shy with new people and I sometimes get nervous too.
I am uncomfortably aware that all of this is not a little self-indulgent, but this is not my intention and there are certainly visitors who have no interest in engaging with another person at all. But they won’t care, or even know what we’re doing here, because they will not have read any further than the prices and the phone number, and so it doesn’t matter. And more importantly, they are no less welcome then anyone else, particularly if I’m feeling too lazy to discuss the FA Cup results, the Large Hadron Collider or the current state of play regarding the previously unheard of Snow In Winter crisis. Sometimes, after all, you DO just want a McDonalds, and quite right too (and if you’re going there afterwards, I might even come with).
baby, it’s cold outside…
I write today courtesy of the newly-discovered free East Coast wi-fi (which some may suggest ought to be treated with suspicion following the laptop-mangling/annihalation disaster which concluded my last London visit), on my journey home from the notably snowier than usual city of Edinburgh where I have been elegantly residing since Sunday, and feeling rather like an extra in the sort of über-budgeted family blockbuster which usually makes an appearance on general release around December 20th.
The entire city has been swathed in a crisp and sparkly white duvet since my arrival which has made the atmosphere particularly festive, even several days into the New Year and not forgetting to purposefully ignore the lethal-looking quagmire of menacing coal-black slush banked up unavoidably at the sides of the road, a fair amount of which I am bringing home by way of unavoidable souvenir being as it is soaked (in quantity) up the back of my trouserlegs (all of the trousers which fit me nicely everywhere else are far too long for my woefully tiny legs). Fortunately, the gentlemen of Edinburgh are a determinedly robust bunch and other than the almost complete (but considering the appalling weather travelling-wise, not in the least surprising) cancellations on Monday (and a particularly grating no-show on Tuesday just as I thought I had made up the lost ground) I am returning home feeling especially invigorated, in no small part down to the charming company, delightful surroundings, plenty of (very) fresh air and a celestially good scone I had about an hour and a half ago at the John Lewis rooftop restaurant.
All in all a pleasant and revitalising trip and another welcome chance to explore and add to my expanding onboard Google Map; although my slightly ambitious plan to become a walking Sat Nav one city at a time may have been a little premature and I am concentrating on learning the bits I need to know properly for now, at least. As I type, I have no idea whether the trains back to Scarborough have been affected by the weather and a planned 24 hour London dash next Monday will hopefully not be jeopardised, especially as I have been promised afternoon tea, a guitar lesson and possibly a Lebanese meze, time allowing (and bearing in mind that the gentleman making this gallant offer has not yet seen the size of me since the last set of photographs and the subsequent combined efforts of Thornton’s, Mr Kipling and last but not least, a good friend in Scotland who plied me with fragrant Balinese roast duck, leek and potato curry with coconut and coriander, chocolate banana mousse and not forgetting a couple of bucketloads of champagne and a watch of Strictly Ballroom. I have, thriftily as ever, appropriated tickets for the National Express but only time and the Met Office will tell as to whether things go ahead or not, and I will be keeping a keen eye on the forecast over the weekend. I suspect I won’t be the only one.
So far as the remainder of the week goes, tomorrow and Friday are already almost entirely spoken for, weather permitting, and some fairly dedicated housekeeping is also beckoning if for no reason other than at some point soon, the apartment will need to be properly relieved of the last few Christmas tree needles, glitter and tiny shards of hazel and brazil nut shell (December also being the only time of year you can buy proper nuts and I have often wondered how long they keep once purchased; it is easy to assume that things which show no outwardly obvious signs of spoiling somehow occupy a mystical state of suspended animation, a bit like food purchased from Marks and Spencer).
My availability for London appointments towards the end of the month is disappearing fast, and as previously stated ad infinitum, no same day appointments will be taken after 2pm, or with less than two hours notice. Frankly in conditions like those currently prevailing, it will take at least that long to take off the one set of clothes and put on another (and I have wondered more than once if there may be an as-yet-untapped niche market somewhere in fetish-land for the charming baby pink thermals I purchased around this time last year for my trip to Budapest). If this weather keeps up, a few unsuspecting visitors may be finding out – form an orderly queue, folks…
out with the old…
Predictably, and even more so after glancing back at last years’ entry, the resolutions have boiled down to the usual vague and well intentioned, but ultimately futile idea to lose as much weight as possible whilst still eating just as much and sitting on my arse, as well as the continued avoidance (wherever possible) of Wetherspoon’s pubs, Debenhams, shiitake mushrooms and anything even tenuously linked to the insufferably smug and utterly repellent Robbie Williams.
I have also resolved to nobly bag up and charity shop any items of clothing in my wardrobe which pull, gape, ride up or leave a red mark after less than fifteen minutes of being worn, an exercise which will hopefully leave me with what is sometimes called a ‘capsule’ wardrobe, quite possibly because what is likely to be left will fit inside a Sudafed. After almost eighteen months in my slowly-progressing apartment, a room-by-room clearout is certainly on the cards if for no reason other than to pass on to a good home all those items I bought within a fortnight of moving to replace their equivalents that I couldn’t find/hadn’t unpacked yet.
Anyone hoping to live vicariously through a tale of reckless debauchery over the last 24 hours or so is going to be sorely disappointed, unless going to bed at 10 with cheese and crackers and a DVD box set is your idea of a wild night, in which case I ought to point out that not only do I conduct my appointments in a state of near or total undress (stockings-on is usual, colour, denier and thickness dependant on accompanying ensemble, ambient temperature and yes, the number of hours since I last shaved my legs) but also almost always with the light on (which oddly enough, and after x number of years has left me with a faintly bizarre fetish for entertaining underneath the bedclothes and with the lights off, probably because it has been so long since I have done it).
Being an eater rather than a drinker this understated approach does not bother me unduly, but I do intend to aim a little higher and make proper plans for next year; my favourite city is calling and (Eurostar trains not withstanding, considering the chaos which ensued recently following a couple of inches of snow) in the event of a prosperous 2010 I will be spending the next New Years Eve (and with luck, rather more of the coming months than I have had lately had time for) in Paris. If not that, then a good outside bet is Kuala Lumpur, a fabulously diverse, vibrant and welcoming city which I once ended up in by accident and have always thought I would like to return to on purpose. To any prospective companions for whom this sounds appealing, I am, as ever, open to offers!
Next week – Edinburgh! I am told by my on-the-ground sources that it is very cold, and I am thus planning layered outfits for my occasional sojourns outside the warmth of my lovely apartment (which those of you who have visited before will remember). As it looks at the moment, these opportunities will not be presenting themselves that often and I am looking forward very much to reacquainting myself with the gentlemen of the city as well as hopefully dispersing the last of any post-Hogmanay sufferings. This coming Sunday is fully spoken for already but I still have some availability on Monday and Tuesday – ring for details!
Finally, to all those wonderful ladies and gents I have met this last year (some of whom travelled many miles, and happily, many of whom I will be meeting again) as well as those for whom our paths are yet (but in some cases not too far away!) to cross, I wish you a very Happy New Year and all the best for 2010! Will look forward to seeing you soon (and not just because I’ve got a stone to shift, promise).
Back in Scarborough on the 7th!
you say you want a resolution…
Well that’s it for another year, and a fine time was had by all (particularly me) as I have drifted gently about the house in a nutmeggy, cinnamon-scented fug, turkey-stuffing-cranberry-bread-sauce sandwich in hand, top oven kept permanently on low for mince pie emergencies and the handheld vacuum fully charged and ready to do battle against the inexorable pine needle invasion. Whilst the early snow has undoubtedly posed a few problems, the view from my window has delighted me throughout, right up until yesterday when the previously crisp, thick and squeaky white blanket was eventually reduced to so much wet, grey-brown sludge and has now disappeared altogether.
Not being a particularly keen or enthusiastic shopper (and following the Boxing Day news reports showing high street stores the length and breadth of the land resembling the final segments of Shaun of the Dead), I chose instead to end the festivities by the warm, scented bath-and-lotion route followed by very enjoyable cashmere-swathed hibernation on the settee. It seems far preferable to me, after all, to spend a quiet afternoon with a good book, Horlicks, satsumas and Stollen; the TV on, the mobile phone off and my little Vaio resting faithfully by my side atop the special fortnight-long copy of the Radio Times.
The final earthly remains of my plump and lovely free-range Bronze have been carefully wrapped and hereby committed to the freezer in order to provide the wherewithal for my repeat Christmas lunch around the start of Spring, which I usually begin fantasising about around the time that my once-abundant chilled leftovers have been reduced beyond even the last cold roast potato, to mournfully wiping tiny scraps of jellied turkey stock from the nearly-empty plate. Thankfully this development is a few days away yet and the refrigerator (in common with some appreciative visitors) is still replete with an eclectic selection of odds and ends including some huge cooked crevettes, trifle, maple syrup-roasted parsnips, the obligatory turkey with proper stuffing and most desirably of all, cold bread sauce and gravy to go with.
As I have never really been one to uphold convention, I have been surprised this week to find my thoughts turning to the upcoming New Year and specifically the practice of making resolutions; a tradition which I have eschewed for many years, although, at the time of writing I am struggling to decide on anything more than a good clearout (wardrobe/loft/spare room), getting my new photographs taken (this last delayed largely due to the lack of any decent or sustained daylight over the past few weeks) and the ever-predictable losing of some weight, which given my proclivities/food obsession, is only ever going to be a source of misery and self-chastisement (and chastisement, like exercise, is only really fun when someone else is doing it). I will give it some thought – it has to be said that I have been missing my regular travels since my house move last year and a long-ish trip may well be on the cards towards the summer.
For now though, Edinburgh beckons this weekend and the intervening days are filling up fast; prospective visitors are advised to book in the next couple of days. I will not be available – and my phone will be off from 6pm – on Thursday evening (as I will more than likely be asleep by 10pm), Saturday (packing/preparing), and tomorrow (Tuesday) is provisionally fully booked. To those who have emailed with enquiries regarding London or Birmingham, I’m getting to you – promise! No rest for the wicked…
so here it is…
*** MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! ***
*** VERY BEST WISHES TO MY FRIENDS OLD AND NEW – WILL LOOK FORWARD TO SEEING YOU SOON! ***
Next availability Monday 28th – phone will be switched off until then, so please email to book. Incalls available all next week except Saturday 2nd – also taking bookings for Edinburgh, London and Birmingham.
(Me? I’m off to arrange flowers, cook a ham, stuff a turkey, trim sprouts and peel potatoes having run amok once through Tesco at 6am and again through Marks & Spencer at 8.30, then finish my present wrapping and set the table. Then I might just make mulled wine and get a bit pissed in front of the Two Ronnies. I love it when a plan comes together).
Merry Christmas everybody xxxxx.