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.
passport to Pimlico!
I am enjoying a relaxing few days having returned safely from That London on Thursday evening, and considering that virtually every moment of my time in the charming village of SW1 was spoken for before I even got on the first train, I have enjoyed the ministrations of such delightful, interesting, and decidedly talented gentlemen for virtually the entire duration I have returned with something of a glow which feels nostalgically reminiscent of an old Ready Brek commercial, albeit one with very untidy hair, a few missing buttons and embarrassingly stiff legs. Huge apologies to the gentlemen who left calling until the last minute and were unavoidably disappointed, but I’ll be back next month (and in birthday mood, but more of that later!)
My charming apartment has been rebooked for my return next month, and a list of telephone demands has been made; as some of you will know, spacious, spotless and desirably located as my new favourite London pad was, the horror of discovering that the essential-for-the-short-of-time toaster was absent, as were proper mugs (resulting in my having to make, drink and wash up two cups of tea at a time) not to mention the degree-standard IT skills required to connect to the in-house WiFi was rather more than I am prepared to bear again, and whilst the lack of a suitable warm, starchy and comforting base on which to eat Marmite is hardly a life-altering catastrophe, all points have been noted and I have been assured that next time, the requisite inventory will be provided. Thank God (and for the idly curious, no, toast does not work in the microwave and yes, I did try making it over one of my scented candles, only to be thwarted by the corners).
Next week is filling up availablility-wise; please do book early! Cancellations are always possible if plans change, but as stated last time, same days bookings will not be taken for the remainder of the month, as spelled out to the gentleman who rang yesterday expecting to see me in an hours’ time and bafflingly, at my specially discounted rate for members of the armed forces, despite not belonging to any of them himself (strange indeed how that was the only part of my painstakingly-written website he was able to read, apparently having no idea of my actual fees, services or increasingly limited capacity to tolerate conversing with callers who display all the tact, courtesy and intelligence of a halfbrick). At least 24 hours warning please, and to anyone who for whatever reason thinks it is acceptable to haggle, the best way to save yourself some money in this instance is by not bothering to pick the phone up in the first place.
The apartment is looking ever more festive since the arrival of my lovely Christmas tree, which is subtly and simultaneously scenting the air and adding fresh texture to the carpet, giving every barefoot journey an exciting Indiana Jones-style frisson of adventure. Longer standing visitors will be relieved to hear that this acquisition is of a rather more manageable size than the towering and resplendent nine footer which adorned the (far emptier) living room last time round, prompting more than one comment about Trafalgar Square looking a touch on the empty side (and you didn’t have to cut it up with a junior hacksaw afterwards!) Candles are lit, the fridge is reassuringly well stocked and all preparations are well up to speed; since my return I have also eaten 6 mince pies, one mini Christmas pudding (both with cream) and an entire 1lb 6oz box of assorted Thorntons toffee kindly presented to me on Saturday so any energetic suggestions very welcome!
Brief posting this week – as some of you will know, I have been having a little technical trouble and am now typing from my new and super-compact Sony Vaio; sleekly desirable and beguiling object though it undoubtedly is, the keyboard is going to take a little more practice before everything I type stops coming out in Tuareg (needless to say, the accompanying words coming out of my mouth originate from a far baser dialect, although for the record, I do not believe that this form of temporary, tech-driven Tourettes is contagious). Will be back on next week with Christmas wishes!
on the road again…
Well, not entirely unexpectedly, I have had a much quieter week then has been the norm – the run-up to Christmas has been clearly beginning to show itself (although I ought to apologise profusely to the gentlemen whose appointment requests I turned down only to be cancelled at short notice not once, not twice, but three times last week. Can’t be helped, but irritating nonetheless).
This week, however, has been busy once again and with my impending London trip almost entirely booked from start to finish I have taken the occasional lulls as an opportunity to relax a bit, and indulge in the gentle art of pottering about the house doing very little, although as I mentioned last time, I have in fact been cracking on with some nice new pictures and even experimenting with lighting with the aid of a builder’s lamp, cardboard and a large roll of turkey foil left over from last Christmas; the aim being to have a new Gallery-ful by the end of the year (I have a feeling I’m going to be reminded I said that).
Those fascinated, and I no longer count myself amongst their number, being as I am heartily sick of having dust, unidentifiable screws and bits of plastic pipe all over the house in the ongoing upstairs-bathroom saga will be happy to know that an end would appear to be in sight, although a ‘finished’ situation before Christmas (as hoped) is looking less and less likely to materialise, and I have resigned myself to the fact that my original intent to have the whole thing done by the end of this year was laughably optimistic, especially given that my day-to-day activities do not allow for me to entertain in a building site (and we are inexorably moving towards the moment when the need for tiling and grouting will (once again, for those who remember the kitchen machinations) present itself, much to my chagrin and the delight of the lady who does my nails.
The appalling weather has also led me to extend the ‘free’ period I have between appointments here; twice this last week gentlemen have arrived 30 minutes late or more, and whilst this is not generally a pressing problem for me, I do enjoy a decent break to properly refresh myself, make Horlicks and cheese on toast and catch up on iplayer – therefore, for anyone with a visit arranged, please allow yourself plenty of time to get here! Things are unlikely to improve for a while yet, although today has brought both milder temperatures and a brighter, sunnier aspect which I have particularly enjoyed from the Tesco car park where I languished for twenty minutes this morning waiting for a taxi and as ever, berating myself for not ordering everything online (in the manner of the smugly and earnestly ecofriendly, whose views I am partial to whenever it involves not having to leave the warmth of the house).
Once back from London I will be having something of a break to prepare for Christmas, and whilst advance bookings are still welcome (after all someone has to keep me out of mischief, and also distract me from eating my body weight in Roses, pork pie, satsumas and proper nuts daily), these will be limited and no same day appointments will be taken for the remainder of this month. Potential visitors will be pleased to know that I will be available throughout the festive period (subject to plenty of warning that I may rouse myself from the inevitable stupor accompanying the season and actually bother to get showered, combed and dressed) and I will look forward to enthusiastically greeting anyone needing a bolthole for an hour or two – no pun intended.
As some will have noticed, restlessness is setting in again and I have spent time planning my next few visits – next confirmed dates being Birmingham (a place which I have never actually seen beyond New Street Station and the airport). Plans are also in the offing for visits to Bristol and the South West as well as Oxford, which has been suggested to me more times than would be possible for it to be a coincidence (answers on a postcard!) Wonder if there’s such as thing as whore-miles?
i’m Spartacus!
Firstly this week, I would like to offer heartfelt and sincere congratulations, my sympathies and a little apology to our newest outed lady member, the delightful Dr Brooke Magnanti aka ‘Belle de Jour’ diarist and therefore by proxy, much-discussed sensationalist television staple.
Dr Magnanti (who is fortunate indeed to be blessed with a given name which already sounds wonderfully like one of a decidedly upscale working lady) has, not entirely of her own volition, revealed her identity and told all to the good people of the assembled press, apparently a bare five minutes before either the Daily Mail (whose reporter was recently escorted from Bristol University’s site) or a less than discreet and seemingly shirty ex-boyfriend did it for her.
I would like to enthusiastically congratulate Brooke on her fabulous achievements as a scientist and researcher, and her career as a respected specialist in developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology in a hospital research group in Bristol …and yes, I (being a respected specialist in nothing) did have to cut and paste that. The almost universal amazement by the usual media stalwarts at the revelation that some working prostitutes are educated, trained and qualified to do things other than drop their knickers (and therefore must be doing so because they have chosen to) is entirely predictable, but it never hurts to keep reinforcing it.
However, it has to be said that many of us are equally content just to be comfortably financially independent and supporting ourselves and our families, and to say that it is ‘better’ or more valid to spend one’s earnings on tuition than on clothes, food or anything else, necessary or not, is in my view just as dubious. We all earn our money as we see fit, and to tell someone what they ’should’ then be spending it on is ridiculous, no matter what one’s occupation. Encouragingly, anyone who listened to the Jeremy Vine phone-in on Radio Two yesterday lunchtime will have heard many supportive comments from listeners; ordinary people who were not only clearly able to understand the situation but also to differentiate between those who are exploited by others and need help and those who are very much in control of their working lives, and do not.
I also congratulate Brooke on her success as a writer, although this is where the apology comes in – I have only rarely read her blog, but like many other ladies always doubted it’s validity simply because there were a good few things which didn’t quite ring true. It would seem that the reason for this is simply that Brooke/Belle worked part time and not for very long, in other words, she didn’t do the job long enough to pick up some of the knowledge of the business and the norms which the more raddled old tarts amongst us accept as the ‘done thing’. Hardly the crime of the century, and my bad – quite understandably, Dr Magnanti has had other things to concentrate on, such as the possibility of curing child cancer. I do hope Ms Harman (whose silence throughout has been deafening) and the esteemed Dr John Sentamu (whom I once used to like and respect before the abolitionist claptrap; this from a man who believes not only that the earth was created from scratch in a week by a supreme being, but that a virgin gave birth and a man rose from the dead) are reading too.
It is heartening also that her employers have emphatically supported her; according to Personnel Today: ‘Bosses at the Bristol Initiative for Research of Child Health said: “This aspect of her past bears no relevance to her current role at the university”. A month ago she revealed her secret to her colleagues at the Bristol Initiative for Research of Child Health, who were “amazingly kind and supportive“.’ Unlike the asinine journos who couldn’t let the opportunity slip by to compare, yet again, the ‘tiny minority’ of fortunate women (who have decided of their own free will to work relatively few hours for very good money in order to be able to concentrate on other areas of their lives) with the street scene, which is familiar to few if any of us and a completely separate issue which needs dealing with sensitively and appropriately by specialist support workers and sensible, decent Government policy, not by lumping everyone in the industry in together and slapping a label on us. Comparing like with like would be a start, but admittedly wouldn’t sell many papers.
Anyway, and back at the ranch, Christmas would appear to have come early this week, and I am feeling very spoilt indeed having been the lucky recipient of gifts galore! From champagne, wine and (fancier than I deserve) chocolates to a ‘wish bottle’ brought by a kind visitor last weekend and which I am still deciding about in terms of where to start. The charming gentlemen who have been arriving bearing these gifts have been a real breath of fresh air, and whilst I am planning a quieter and more relaxing week to follow, such pleasant company has put a real spring in my step, as did my brief London trip where a fine time was had by all , and it was proved to me once again that there is no substitute for sharing experiences with those in the same boat as you. I have also been busy starting a new run of pictures (sneak preview above), and am hoping to have a gleaming new set on site soon!
Talk of Christmas brings me to availability – book early! I am planning a quiet one as ever, but will be about if anyone is feeling magnanimous enough to share some cheer, and may even stretch to some mince pies. I am planning more visits to brighten up the New Year – already on the cards are Edinburgh, Bristol and possibly a sojourn to Wales; as ever, watch this space!