I can report to those back home and elsewhere that London is currently bright, sunny and crisply wintry during the day at least, moving quickly to bitterly, marrow-gnawingly glacial as soon as darkness falls – my regular Day One hunting-gathering trip to Costcutter for the in-room provisions not already brought from home (milk, iced buns, bananas and so forth) was necessarily delayed until shortly after eight pm and the moment of leaving five star heaven, even dressed like Sir Edmund Hillary, for the brief expedition into the outside world was almost enough to send me and the door revolving through 360° and returning immediately to the warm and cosy embrace of my mini-suite for an alternative dinner of chicken Supernoodles and chocolate biscuits.

The days have been gloriously sunny, and whilst I have been so ridiculously busy today the opportunity to set foot outside the hotel room failed to present itself until 4.45pm and a last chance dash to the bank before closing time, an unexpected cancellation yesterday morning afforded me a couple of hours’ free time to grab a rare opportunity for some fresh air and a leisurely stroll around the nearby St James’s Park. This relatively teeny but very beautiful patch of countryside surrounded by the grandiose palaces of Westminster is now a dead cert to become Favourite Lunch Venue no matter what the time of the year and I am happy to say I have not enjoyed a mini-excursion so much in ages – the local wildlife (including not-so-local pelicans) were out en masse enjoying the weather amongst the early-spring snowdrops and with the lake rippling peacefully in the background, to the extent I almost lost track altogether and was without doubt a touch, er, thrown together for my half past one appointment whose level of attention to detail was such that he couldn’t even remember my name, as it turned out; hardly worth worrying much about. Bless ‘em (I think I got away with it, even if I did have my shoes on a bit wrong).

I will shamefully admit to having only ever dashed past the park’s leafy periphery on my way to the train (head down and full steam ahead to avoid the tourists) but will be sure to change my ways, especially when the cafés are fully open again. Pictures (needless to say, not for the sentient being-phobic Adultwork, where the sight of a squirrel would be enough to exact if not a ban, certainly removal and a bollocking) below, and especially for all my fellow Northerners who think that London is comprised entirely of grey and soulless office blocks, expensive shops and a handful of museums. And there is lots more green space just like it!Tomorrow (OK, later today) is my last full day here for a couple of months and planning dates and times around Easter is turning out to be something of a logistical nightmare (although good practice for the summer months and Olympics-mania), but there’s always my flying visit next week on the way home from Guernsey as a bonus, and my next dates will be announced soon-as for those who have missed out this time. Considering it’s February (a notoriously slow and pedestrian month work wise) it’s been astonishingly busy, and my apologies to those who left it too late to get an appointment. As ever, email is the way to go – I don’t magically get any more likely to pick up for the person who rings the highest number of times in under a minute, especially since my auto-responder will have already told you when I am next free to answer.

Proper round up next week! Fingers crossed the weather will behave and all being well I will be arriving in Jersey in a couple of days – anyone still keen on booking would be well advised to make themselves known soon. Meanwhile, it’s been a very long day, my official Yo Sushi 30% off birthday voucher has been dutifully used and I’m going to sleep before the sirens outside really get going.

More soon…

The week began with the keenly anticipated follow up to the previous weekend’s Night Of The Dead horror-film-athon and Day Of The Dead – another ten hours or so of scarlet-hued fun and frolics in very much the same vein as it’s predecessor, only at a slightly more sensible hour (not actually a particular advantage, as the 11pm finish meant forking out for a hotel rather than staggering, blinking and disorientated into the daylight at ten am on a Sunday morning and heading immediately for the next train home) and boasting a fabulous new German giallo, a Japanese-style supernatural slow burner (er, from Sweden), an American Civil War zombie flick (not nearly enough zombies; got bored, nodded off) and finally the UK premiere of Juan of the Dead: Cuba’s first independent film to leave the country in 50 years! Woohoo!

The venue was the newly renovated (with jaw-dropping results – see top pics for some of the bits they found in the renovation process, and we can all show our age haha) City Varieties in Leeds City Centre – directors from around the world pitched up and answered questions, the short films were brill (again, and see below for another gem, this time from Greece) and last but not least, I have sealed my anorak credentials by purchasing possibly the most nerdish object on the planet – a London Underground map of horror films complete with themed lines. Pics at the top, for those (like me) unafraid to celebrate and wallow in joyful geekdom…

On to the island-hopping and I was once again almost thwarted by the trains for the third time in a month – twenty-five minutes late for the airport meant if not a mad dash, a very purposeful walk through security at Liverpool and straight on without any overpriced breakfast, messing about amongst the skincare testers or pontificating over Toblerones – the winter rail timetable is now upon us, complete with lengthy unexplained delays, super-convenient engineering works and a good six months of inexplicable buggering about to come yet. As usual though, everything (eventually) went very much according to plan, and I can say without reservation that it has been quite one of the most enjoyable weeks of the year with ne’er a quiet moment and some very welcome new friends – phew! Apologies as ever to those who have missed out, but I will be back, more than likely in February provided that all goes well – I will not be leaving Guernsey out this time either and dates will be announced, well, as soon as I know them myself. Watch this space for details!

More island life shortly; I am currently working out my December availability and will be spending the ensuing couple of weeks getting organised for Christmas before making my way back to London on the twelfth – this week sees Friday and Saturday already spoken for, but (time allowing) I will be back in Scarborough for incalls from Monday through until Saturday 10th – yay! For now, it’s time for packing, last-night-bath-and-takeaway and an early night before the hike back tomorrow.

More in the week…

Three days of kicking myself for not bothering about the hotel not having air conditioning despite the four star rating (and being completely unable to dress elaborately for appointments, given that I was destined to look like a Doctor Who monster after twenty minutes or so) and I gave up for a brief interlude and took myself out for Blue Monday lunch at Yo Sushi, confused shoe shopping (blazing sun outside, shops full of sturdy boots and sheepskin inside) and a very nice raspberry ripple cone following an unexpected cancellation at half past twelve, or more likely a never-intended-turning-up along with Mr 3 o’clock Timewaster who started plausibly enough with a polite request for a one hour appointment with anal, but then gave himself away by solemnly describing the gargantuan size of his penis with a concerned tone that made me have to bite the strap of my handbag, and followed up by asking if I was ‘shaven’ – is it 1986? Needless to say as ever, my number was removed from Adultwork with a sigh of resigned relief within the hour, and incredibly the ridiculous calls stopped at Exactly The Same Time. Spooky.

Fortunately the real gentlemen of Cambridge were extremely forgiving and whilst the weather prevented any particularly athletic turns, a fine time has been had by all, especially me (despite circumstances requiring me to wash my hair twice in one day for the first time in about ten years, and having to resemble Crystal Tipps as a result until I’d had a chance to batter it into submission with a nights sleep). My accommodation has also been some of the most extraordinarily pleasant and well appointed for some time; charming decor, proper sausages as well as actual served tea and toast at breakfast (many readers know of my pathological loathing for the make-your-own-so-we-don’t-have-to rotating toast machines which are slowly becoming endemic, even in hotels where one does not have to put coins in the television). Plus crisp and heavy cotton bedlinen that I swear actually crunched a bit upon reclining, and was so snowily, meditatively perfect when I arrived that I was unable to touch it, and instead just looked at it from the little chaise also kindly provided until my first caller (fortunately a raffish type who spared no time in helping to break the New Bed spell) arrived a little later.

To the rest of the week, and I will be arriving in London shortly before lunch tomorrow (Tuesday) and am provisionally available from about twelve noon until five pm, although notice please as always. There are some appointments remaining on Wednesday, one on Thursday afternoon and that’s about it – anybody who suspects they may have left it too late is very welcome to a place on the standby list, so do get in touch! In the meantime, I will be spending this evening finishing off my latest Kindle acquisition ‘Penal Colony‘ (highly recommended too), eating the last of the picnic food from the mini bar (bar my special posh pork pie bought in town today, which is for tomorrow) and packing my bags in the nudie-rudie. Yay!

Back in That Scarborough from Monday, for those who keep asking (although it will probably no longer look like this). Can we please have autumn back now?

I have (finally) enjoyed my second attempt at Zumba after a slightly longer gap than originally intended at the time of the first one, but this time on a bright autumn morning and featuring not only a touch of energetic Bollywood-style wiggling (the link with latin dance being something of a mystery, admittedly) and even an unexpected brief and pleasurably stompy routine set to my childhood favourite Harry Belafonte song – yay! I’m only sorry that I will miss next weeks (and can feel some Youtube-inspired practicing coming on already).

A huge improvement on the previous episode, if only because I wasn’t already exhausted before the class even started and the sun was shining throughout and I left a happy camper, if an out of breath and slightly damp one. Half an hour and a plateful of Lyonnaise potatoes avec sausage later, and my day could not have been more pleasant if the postman had turned up with my new fake fur gilet from Michael Kors and my finally-returned wallet in a silver Special Delivery bag both at the same time, so when he did, needless to say a celebration was required (remainder of a large box of Thorntons for me, bit of banana for the fishes) and a cup of tea and a nap later, the usual time honoured pre-travelling routines could begin in earnest…

So to business! I have a few appointments left in Guernsey, but very little really – since I will be travelling most of tomorrow/today, email is by far the best way to find out the whens and wheres. For those who are contacting me from Jersey, I will be back on November 17th – ads will be up in due course, but there’s always the boat in the meantime if you’re really keen. And for a lucky one or two in West Sussex, I will be available for a brief liaison (or two, or even three) at my temporary Gatwick digs tomorrow evening and possible even early on Sunday – come fly with me!

Back soon…

As some may have already noticed, I will be back in Edinburgh next month and following my few days in the capital with a first visit to another – Belfast is next on the list, and I am extraordinarily excited to be getting the chance to explore such a fascinating place! Time allowing of course, which sadly, it often does not. Before all this, I ought to point out not only that my availability on Guernsey is waning fast, but that I will be back in Jersey in mid-November, for all those who have asked. And whilst there are still appointments free in both London and Cambridge in three weeks’ time, London in particular is filling up seriously quick, and at least two of the four days (Thursday 6th and Friday 7th) are almost completely booked up.

Travelogues-to-come out of the way, I have been soldiering bravely on against this years unexpectedly vigorous invasion of many-legged houseguests; the cooler weather and welcome first signs of some lovely autumn days have brought with them a larger than usual number of visiting spider folk, and I will not be the first to speculate that the particularly plump and contented-looking beasties currently setting up home all around the apartment (and distributing sticky bits of cobweb everywhere – in an uncharacteristically anthropomorphic moment I found myself examining skirting cracks and corners for groups of sniggering arachnids watching me trying to pick the icky, clumped-up gauzey strands out of my vacuum’s brush attachment whilst passing round the Marlboro Lights and bickering about the crapness of the Strictly line up) may have been stuffing themselves to bursting point for weeks with the profusion of ladybirds that also appeared seemingly out of nowhere towards the latter half of last month. Being (just) old enough to remember the 1976 ‘Summer of Ladybird’ (brought about no doubt by the preceding but far less popular ‘Late Spring of Greenfly’), I have learned from more than one friend and client that the gardens, particularly the greenhouses, have been extremely fruitful endeavours this year and in the spirit of this was very happy to accept a bag of late-cropping tomatoes earlier in the week.

As a tolerant, live-and-let-live type and certainly not one to run shrieking from the room at the merest sight of eight beady eyes and a bristly cephalothorax, I was nonetheless perturbed in the extreme to wake up in the small hours and discover that I was keeping company with a middling-sized specimen which had made itself comfortable under the neighbouring pillows when I reached to turn the (still on, the shame of it) television off. I am only too aware that I have shared my bed with some dubious specimens over the last twenty or so years, but like everyone else I have standards and at least I can say that my other guests were a/ invited and b/of the same species as myself (or at least the same order; there may have been grounds for argument in a few cases) and poor Spidey was unceremoniously evicted to skitter about underneath with the dust bunnies. I tried to get back to sleep thinking of the kind and gentle heroine of Charlotte’s Web, and have resolved to conduct full and comprehensive searches of the bedroom and linen each evening before turning in time (until the real cold sets in and they all get packed, head down the plugholes and swim off to Mauritius. Or whatever).

The week has also brought good news from overseas – my lost wallet has reappeared in the Isle of Man where I left it, and will be heading home shortly so not only are my Boots Advantage points safe but I no longer have to look for a new one (which given my upcoming travels to places with far more expensive shops than Scarborough, is most definitely a plus). It also suggests that my hotel could really do with cleaning it’s rooms thoroughly a bit more often than once a week, but that would be a little unkind – in my haste to pack, dress, wake up properly and leave at six in the morning there would seem to be every chance that it was accidentally dropped and kicked well underneath the bed, and since the room was bereft of spiders throughout my stay as far as I could ascertain, there was probably no-one to help.

To the coming week, and a little availability left amongst the ongoing DIY, tour preparations, gym classes and appointments already arranged and secured; not a lot though and as ever, same-day appointments will not be accepted. Any more gluts of home grown produce will be eagerly received however – the tomatoes in particular will go nicely with my exploratory first order from my new favourite online shop – Pong (you can read it and weep or just purchase a well-ripened wedge of Munster, since it will have very much the same effect). Some pears wouldn’t hurt, if anybody’s offering. Just saying.

Anyway, bedtime, and let’s hope the food chain dramatics currently playing out in the mini-ecosystem next door have hit a wall for now, as I don’t particularly want to meet whatever might be coming for the spiders. Update in the week!

I landed in Douglas on Monday afternoon somewhat bleary-eyed after a fair few hours of trains, boats and automobiles (specifically that of the lovely Rosie Campbell of UKNSWP who kindly picked me up from Lime Street and dropped me off at the ferry terminal, and to whom I now officially Owe One) and comfortably installed myself in my digs for the next few days having quickly found the bank, Marks and Spencer and most importantly, a branch of KFC – woohoo! This being my first visit, I had no idea how many people were likely to be about, but by way of the Manx Grand Prix I found myself with plenty of delightful leather-clad gentlemen to occupy my time and will certainly be coming back, if only for the ice cream (and some spectacularly good fish-shop gravy, since the Manx folk appear to share the very Northern characteristic of being physically unable to eat a dry chip).

On the surface Douglas is very similar to Scarborough and I happily settled in straight away; rain, seagulls and the aroma of drying bladderwrack being entirely familiar to me. The Manx Grand Prix was in full swing, and following a mad dash to be ready for the first keen callers I enjoyed some walks along the beach, some quad bike racing (on same) and a ride in a horse-drawn tram before an ungodly 5.30am start to get on the ferry back to Liverpool, only to find that I had not only lost my wallet (grrr) but, far more importantly, had forgotten to recharge my Kindle and now faced a three hour trip across the water with nothing to read except either the less-than-riveting safety guide or a left-behind copy of the Daily Express; naturally the safety guide won by a landslide and I am now fully versed and expert in all onboard emergency procedures. Fortunately for me, repeat adventures on the high seas were not on the menu after the lengthy delay on the outward leg, blamed on bad weather (drizzle) and rough conditions (slightly choppy water) by people who have clearly never ventured far enough east of the Pennines to discover what real waves look like.

To add to the excitement, the ferry is currently running half an hour late and has apparently been for some time without anyone feeling the need to mention it when people book tickets online – the resultant Blues Brothers-style taxi ride back through Liverpool City Centre in order to make the 1104 to Crewe adding a few more grey hairs. An undignified sprint later (and despite the suitcase-handicap) I made it with around a minute to spare, and finally arrived in Cardiff mid-afternoon in good spirits, these lasting as long as it took me to get into my room and onto my huge and comfortable bed where I slept like a baby first until midnight, and then again until seven am after refuelling with CupASoup and Snickers and sorting out the emails. Even the onset of that slightly alarmed and panicky feeling which accompanies the picking up of a hotel kettle to find there is still water in it was not enough to keep me awake, and Thursday was officially written off as a bad job.After the sleep-fest, and having enjoyed a lovely early morning swim and sauna (followed by a two pronged attack on the fabulously plentiful breakfast buffet) Friday was a different story altogether and despite my slight disappointment at only meeting one actual bona fide Welshman throughout, I more than made up for my rest day and joyfully reinstated my usual trip to the pictures by way of a treat (the brand-new and very British Kill List – highly recommended to anybody who doesn’t object to a bit of a rough ride, but don’t read the synopsis before you go or you’ll spoil it). I also managed a stroll around the Queen Street shops on the way back from the bank, and a couple of Welsh cakes for elevenses – hurray! To those who missed out, apologies, but further missions will be forthcoming in the New Year, although I will certainly be investigating more sensible routes (and possibly some more Welsh destinations too, having developed a definite Thing about the accent).

Island-hopping will once again be on the menu in a couple of weeks – Guernsey is next on the list and I am already taking appointments for my first visit to Jersey’s compadre (Jersey folk need not fret, I’ll be heading your way in a couple of months). For now, relaxing at home is the order of the day, and whilst normal service will be resumed this week I am looking forward very much to a couple of days of serious downtime (and needless to say, fridge-time, swimming-time, fish-time and so on). To the best of my knowledge the school holidays are over this week which ought to make for a lively one, so anybody wishing to book is advised to get in soon! For now, it’s time for porridge, unpacking and laundry and at this rate, possibly even getting dressed before noon. Happy Sunday everybody…

Thankfully, the most onerous necessities have been gently dealt with; laundry is laundered, packing is unpacked and I have even thrown caution to the wind and ordered an online Tesco delivery for the morning, the main reason being that up until an hour or so ago even the thought of showering and dressing myself seemed a task so insurmountable as to be beyond consideration – frankly the thought of tackling a weekend supermarket shop was enough to make me weep.

I have enjoyed my week away a great deal and met new gentlemen aplenty, although Cambridge-wise (as with Oxford) I had little or no free time to explore further than the local Wagamama and an extremely grandiose branch of LloydsTSB. Both the Botanical Gardens and the Fitzwilliam Museum will have to wait until next time, although I suspect neither are going anywhere just yet and given the number of appointments I had to turn down as well as the very pleasant ones marked as Mission Accomplished (albeit in a hotel room which one could theoretically have used to force rhubarb – we really haven’t got the hang of air conditioning yet) it is likely to be sooner rather than later. And on the Wednesday, the opportunity to get up at eight thirty, have a bath and head off for a brief train ride to London was possibly the most beguiling part of the plan – those who are used to my itineraries will know I normally get up around half past five and leave the house an hour or so later to arrive at Waterloo for elevenish, and even people who are fond of me can’t have failed to notice that by six-seven pm I’m beginning to flag a bit.  An hour on the train and a twenty minute cab ride instead – bliss!

My first day was completed with a couple of joyously lively callers, both of whom appreciated the view (after yet another minor reservation mix up, I decided to put my foot down in the politest way possible after the nerve-shredding and farcical carryings-on some may recall last October) from the mini-suite and will hopefully call again – the heat outdoors was such that my brief ice-cream foray onto the grass at Jubilee Gardens was extremely short-lived, and barely fifteen minutes later I was forced to beat a retreat and continue enjoying the sunshine strictly as an observer. Luckily, one thing my favourite London pad has never let me down on is serious onboard temperature control, and I whiled away a pleasant couple of hours shivering appreciatively whilst pink, sweating and over-excited tourists jostled over on the bridge to take more pictures of the London Eye every time it moved six inches.

London, naturally, took it’s revenge later that evening when my outing to see Chicago necessitated not only a trip to Covent Garden tube station in thirty degree heat, but a walk up all one hundred and ninety-three of the spiralling stairs when it became clear from the seething mass of pastel-coloured jersey around the lift that a few minutes’ uphill struggle would be far more prudent than waiting to see if the apparatus was even working (and I don’t think it was). The show (and the Cambridge Theatre itself, not to mention the post-production KFC) was fabulous, well worth the journey’s trials and tribulations and I may even go again. But I’ll walk – Christ, it must be all of twenty minutes away, and had I not been so desirably full of Fruitellas (and thank you to the gentleman who remembered my favourites!) Diet Coke and the Colonel’s secret eleven herbs and spices I would almost certainly have walked back; the most underrated pastime in the capital by far has got to be walking from one bit of it to another, and it never fails to amaze me how many people don’t do it. No wonder they get lost.

Fast forward through the rest of the week – puntertaining (including some very damp visitors who bravely battled the torrential rain on Thursday), shower, bank, nick/stash more towels, eat M&S iced bun and cup-a-soup, repeat. After the aforementioned lunch I managed to drag my Whole Week Away (ie. approximately the size and weight of a Citroën Xsara) suitcase back onto the train home and the plan for this week is categorically nothing-too-strenuous, at least for the next few days. The observant will have already noted that I am away for my nearly-regular Champneys recharge (where the bar will be raised to previously unimaginable heights of non-strenuousness) next week until Thursday and then it’s one more week at home before I’m heading west for the Isle of Man and Cardiff – more new territory! Yay!

London, I’ll be back before you know it. Proper update when I’ve come round a bit…

Oxford (as suspected) turned out to be a charming city with much to commend it, not least my very nice apartment whose kitchen was almost better equipped than my own – when I return I will be sure to stay longer and take advantage! The punters, as ever with the exception of Adultwork (for the first time ever not a single person whose contact originated from the site managed to secure a booking, largely because anyone mailing me at half past three wanting a four pm appointment is on a hiding to nothing faster than Usain Bolt after a Red Bull binge) have been delightful – perfectly punctual, well mannered and properly scrubbed and I am very much looking forward to going back.

I was fortunately able to get out and about for a couple of hours one afternoon, and happily managed a visit to the aforementioned Pitt Rivers Museum as well as the wonderful Natural History museum it is housed within (currently boasting ‘Swift Cam’, a live feed from the nests in the eaves and a kind of passerine Big Brother only better, since the characters are entertaining, likeable and far more articulate than their TV counterparts). The PRM is exactly as described last week and really demands more time than I had to spare but is well worth a look; artefacts are arranged and displayed by their nature rather than their age or country of origin which sounds eccentric, but if you want to look at flutes, masks, wedding rings, religious figures or water bottles from every imaginable culture and era, you just find the right case and lo and behold, there they are all together to be usefully and interestingly compared. Perfect!

The dimly lit maze has too many good bits to list without filling the whole page, but favourites were the Haida totem pole (at 11.36 metres), a curly wig from Ancient Egypt, an eye cleaner from 19th century China (see pic – me too) and best of all a ‘Phantom Shield’ from Papua New Guinea! The comics left behind by US soldiers in the 1940s after fighting the Japanese along the coast became popular with the native people, and among the super heroes featured the Phantom especially was considered morally upright and thought to be indestructible. He was therefore an eminently suitable figure to adorn a battle shield (some of these can still be bought, apparently – don’t tempt me). There were also ‘tea bricks’ which were used in trading and smelt very appetising to a Yorkshire lady on a warm day, but in the absence of an obvious source of hot water I left them be and went to look at the shrunken heads.

No time for the Ashmolean, sadly but definitely on the next visit! Meanwhile back at the ranch, availability for the coming week is sparse indeed; there are scattered appointments left and the intervening time will be constructively (or at least entertainingly) spent as always. Since I will be missing one of my regular evening gentleman this time, I have even managed to appropriate a discounted show ticket for ‘Chicago’ to while away an evening and am already getting extremely excited at the thought of high-kicks, sequins, and the requisite special-treat trip to the big KFC on Leicester Square after.

So to practical matters; I am packing right-now-this-minute and will arrive bright-eyed and neatly trimmed in Cambridge later today – there are scattered appointments remaining tomorrow afternoon and evening whereas Tuesday is almost fully booked – room for a little one, mind! London-wise, again the last few appointments are dotted about a bit, but juggling is very much my thing and I will as always endeavour to make room for the pleasant and polite. Email, as ever, to book – the new BlackBerry has a far better hit-rate than the old and I ought to receive enquiries straight away.

To Cambridge! After I’ve had my Weetabix, anyway.This weeks deliberate mistake – well, you’ll have to wait and see. Let’s see if our resident troll picks it up…

Oh, and a nice gentleman asked me if I could please put more pictures of my feet on the blog please. In case anyone was wondering.

After a peaceful time yesterday ambling about the flat preparing for my trip and congratulating myself on my efforts to travel lighter (packing ruthlessly is far more difficult for me than I ever anticipate, even though I have never and will never be one of the covering-all-possibilities types who cannot even leave for an outcall without kit that would shame the stockroom of a provincial branch of Ann Summers) I have been surprised and flattered to have received something of a last minute flurry, after a week of slow and steady enquiries in more the fashion I have become used to; unfortunately there is only one (longish) or two (shortish) appointments left tomorrow, and these most certainly will not be going to any of the Can’t Read Won’t Reads from you-know-where.

The time may well in the end be allocated to the Pitt Rivers Museum, an Oxford University anthropology and world archaeology concern whose collection of artefacts (currently among them Ghost Forest, should I fancy a meander on the lawn, although as yesterday was the first day it has not rained in Scarborough for an age, I can only assume that the clouds are lying in wait for me there) I have read eagerly about following a recommendation from a gentleman in Cambridge (next week, keep up) and I gather that the methods of display very much reflects my preferred style of home decoration in that lots of things which enraptured their owners (and hopefully others) are packed together in abundance whilst following a rough-ish theme. If this indeed turns out to be the case I can now stop apologising for the Steptoe’s Yard effect I have always wound up with and enjoy the newly-acquired knowledge that interesting things are meant to look like that.

I have also included above (for those who didn’t believe me!) further pictorial evidence of what happens when I am not wearing my glasses, although the huge bruise acquired by tripping over a solid, but otherwise very comfortable hotel bed is far less apparent than the clear similarity of my foot to the Monty Python opening-title-squashing one (belonging to Cupid, no less). A brief missive then, since we will shortly be arriving at York and I have not had breakfast yet – last minute would-be Oxford visitors are welcome to get in touch and chance their arm. I will not be taking calls until after 2pm today, but emails and polite, specific text enquiries are welcome (unless of course you are reading on Adultwork, in which case it’s time to have another crack at those turing letters).

Location report to follow!

In addition to a steady stream of eager gentleman callers from all corners of the globe, I have taken the bull by the horns and not only attended a long overdue eye test for some new spectacles (those who have witnessed me squinting myopically and stumbling Magoo-like around the room when I am without corrective eyewear will know exactly how vital a move this was) but have also finally upgraded my work phone; those who were aware of the previous appliance’s now terminal decline (and especially those who have been inconvenienced as a result) will be pleased to hear that a shiny new BlackBerry Curve has been procured and set up, Call Blocker Pro installed* and the initial horror of slowly realising that the latest operating system has inexplicably dumped my very favourite beeping noise (prompting a slightly panicky and tearful dash around the horribly addictive CrackBerry forums in search of Notifier_Cricket) has been abated when a download was located and installed. For those who (like me) were fond of the old handset, it is now proudly housing the Adultwork SIM, a role which fortunately does not require it even to be switched on.

Having, like others, replaced dancing on the grave of the NOTW with a growing sense of horrified wonder and disbelief over the past few days at just how far the whole debacle seems to have gone (not to mention enduring envy at Rebekah Brooks’ hair, which has remained fabulous throughout), there is little to do comment-wise bar wait and count the rolling heads. I would point out to the gentleman who saw fit to email me out of the blue for no reason other than to ‘correct’ my supposedly inaccurate use of the term ‘hacking’, that he is sadly wrong – the term ‘tapping’ would apply only if actual telephone calls had been intercepted and eavesdropped on whilst they were taking place. Accessing somebody else’s voicemail (or email, bank account, I could go on) without their knowledge or permission, using a password obtained by unscrupulous means is very much hacking – I do agree I could possibly have used the more specific term ‘voicemail’ instead of ‘phone’, but fortunately everybody else seems to have been able to follow my meaning. I trust this clears things up, and hope you manage to find a constructive hobby soon.

The week has been a little frantic as mentioned already, although leisurely interludes were to be had with intrepid visitors from afar, as well as my recently stepped-up fitness regime and preparations for my forthcoming awaydays – Oxford is first on the list next Monday and Tuesday, and whilst availability is gradually ebbing away there are appointments to spare (just). Cambridge and That London to follow shortly afterwards – both filling up fast, as is this week; two appointments left on Friday and that’s it! I have also seen an upturn in outcalls lest I found an opportunity to rest on my laurels – I have visited Hull, Beverley and York in the last five days alone and this has corresponded nicely with the almost-constant pouring rain, giving me ample opportunity to test drive not only my lovely Prada rain mac but my rather posh frilly Austin Reed umbrella, which I purchased during a trip away with a gentleman a couple of years ago and have never quite dared to unfold in Scarborough because of the wind.

This would have been about it for this week (book now for tour appointments, no same day blah blah), but since in (literally) the last half-hour I have for the first time had occasion to actually remove someone from my premises following a deeply unpleasant near-miss, I would also remind potential visitors once again of the importance of reading a lady’s advertising before booking, if for no reason than to avoid similar scenes. And if you don’t have time to do that, don’t turn up half-cut and reeking of stale alcohol in the middle of the day expecting a proper service and make offensive and patronising remarks when this is refused, accuse her of being the police and then laugh at her when you are categorically told to leave after several attempts of politely requesting that you do so – in fact, don’t laugh at me at all if you wish to hang onto your scrotum. To all punters who think this sort of thing is an occupational hazard and doesn’t matter, bear in mind that you could have been the person who called yesterday fancying an afternoon appointment today, and was turned down.

Phew. And on with the circus! Fewer clowns for preference, please.*if you have ever telephoned me and been drunk, explicit, rude or otherwise twattish or demonstrated a complete lack of knowledge of my appearance/fees/services/location (or more likely my name) coupled with an unwillingness to find out about same from the comprehensive information provided or attempted to contact me at a ridiculous time of night, and now find that you are mysteriously being sent straight to voicemail every time you try, Call Blocker Pro is why. Of course you won’t ever discover this since I know you won’t be reading, particularly as there are no titty pics on this page.