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.

However, the whole debacle did prompt me to ponder how far anybody should reasonably be expected to go in terms of taking responsibility for their advertising, particularly if written English, designs and layouts and general marketing nous isn’t really, well, their thing. Leaving aside the issue of plagiarism which is in my view unforgivable whatever the circumstances (and equally, I’m not talking about calling on a mate to proofread and so forth which I have done for plenty of folk myself), when is it better to get stuck in and be able to take pride in your hard work, knowing that it is all your hard work, and at what point do we say – ‘Hmm, I’m not actually very good at this. Nah. Best get somebody else to do it and no one’ll ever know’. To me, this is when things get, well, a bit fuzzy.

As those who know me well will be very much aware, my mathematics in general (and mental arithmatic in particular) is such that I would never, ever be able to fill in a tax form by myself; as I have stated before, I could not score a darts game with a gun held to my head and whilst a Self Assessment form is hardly decimal fractions, even the sight of a page of figures literally makes me want to burst into tears and faint dead away (we’re back to the old movie ladies again). Therefore, I pay my fabulous accountant to do it it for me – he is worth every penny, and I have never, ever claimed that I do it all myself. I would probably still be paying for pro-photographs had I not been so disappointed with the second (and last) set I had taken, but two years later I’m very glad I am not and as far as I can tell, so are my lovely punters.

Apart from that, I’m (along with most of the ladies I know personally in one way or another) apparently in something of a minority – I write everything on my own site and am responsible for all my own odds and ends of advertising blurb (I certainly did not put the site together in the first place, and am still completely untechy – the patience of my longsuffering website lady in teaching me how to add, edit and prat about with it knew and still knows no bounds), I take my own pictures and do all of the resizing and faffing before I upload them to my Gallery. It should go without saying that I answer my own phone and emails (it still amazes me how many people ring and ask if they can speak to Amy) and I had always assumed that all other genuine independent workers were the same, but it seems not. This week I have not only heard about a lady who had no idea what the front page of her website even looked like (and didn’t recognise it when it was shown to her), but spoken to another who checks hers so seldom that she had no idea which photographs were on it, and also been told of yet another who on the phone spoke what was apparently rather apathetic-sounding but nevertheless flawless Queen’s English á la World Service, yet in person boasted a broad and lovely Blackburn accent (and rather tellingly, had a decidedly patchy recollection of the telephone conversation which had taken place some four hours previously when questioned).

One of the things I value more than anything else about my business and the accompanying freedom in my personal circumstances is the opportunity to try out and learn so many new things – I know from speaking to many other ladies (who often, like me, had grown up being led to believe that they would never amount to anything much bar filling shelves or getting the washing done) that many have been amazed at the discovery of administrative, marketing, accounting and general organisational skills they never realised they had, despite often having run households, raised families and held down more two or more civvy jobs at once while doing so. These are officially, I’m told, called ‘transferable’ skills and are nowadays recognised as Worthy Strings To One’s Bow. Whoring as the new gateway to Alan Sugar-dom? You betcha. How bizarre then that so many miss the trick?

I do keep things fairly simple for myself in that I do not cultivate any kind of separate persona – I am (for better or worse) very much as-seen and the thought of having to live up (or in some cases, down) to some false, manufactured creation (particularly one manufactured by somebody else) would be a horrendous strain; I would certainly not be able to write this blog, for example, although incredibly that doesn’t stop some who just find somebody else to do that for them too. Unfortunately, they inevitably get found out, and what begins as abject laziness soon becomes a hell of a lot more work in maintaining the illusion – work I know I couldn’t be bothered with when it’s easier to just be yourself in the first place. So does this make me arrogant and overconfident, or just happy and comfortable in my own skin? Bit of both?

If this missive seems overly self indulgent or congratulatory, that is not my intention. How others conduct their business is entirely their own affair, although I will confess to being childishly irritated by the passing off of the work of others as one’s own rather than admitting to the fact of being too damn idle to put the effort in yourself. So somebody else has ‘helped’ – why not at least concede we all have strengths and weaknesses, and be honest? But it matters not. As I have found out this week, the truth will out eventually. And after some of the conversations I’ve had lately, I have never felt so glad to be truthful in the first place.

Not the emailers, all of whom (AW excepted, needless to say) have been fine. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I have turned down EVERY SINGLE person who has contacted me by telephone for the last five days – admittedly there have been a few I have missed as I do not answer my work phone when outside the house, at night, in the bath, watching TV, cooking, sleeping and so forth but as the site says, by far the best way is to email. Unfortunately it is becoming apparent that nobody is actually reading the site at the moment, and in all honesty I have virtually reached the point where I remove my telephone number from it altogether.

I have been told that my website isn’t working properly so ‘I couldn’t read it’ (how fortunate then that the top left corner where the telephone number is displayed is working fine), I have been asked for ‘details’ so many times I have actually begun hanging up and texting my website address, eliciting responses everywhere from silence (which admittedly was sort-of the point) to ‘fuck off slut’ and worse. The most far-and-away difficult part to understand would currently appear to be ‘no same day bookings after 12pm’, but for the life of me I cannot see how this brief, unambiguous statement is any more complex than (say) the average episode of The Apprentice, which most adults seem to be able to follow without recourse to a reference library, a translator or an online dictionary. As those who know me will be starting to suspect from this post, I am fast reaching the end of my tether.

The most frustrating part is, with a couple of notable exceptions, I daresay most of these callers would be perfectly amenable clients. However, in common with anyone else who a. works from home, b. provides any sort of service where getting along with one’s customers is reasonably important and c. is extremely clear about how they conduct their business and expect to be approached, the thought of being alone with a complete stranger who telephones me and asks for the most basic information, the underlying implication being that my carefully written wishes, expectations and terms are not important enough to even be skimmed over, let alone read and respected, is completely unacceptable to me, and not something that I am prepared to take a chance on. If I’m honest, even the specific questions aren’t the problem so much as the lazy, dismissive tone of so many – there is a world of difference between the dreaded ‘can I ‘ave some details, love’, and the gentleman who rings and explains that he daren’t read the website because he is at work, but could I please just confirm my ninety minute incall rate, and whether I am available tomorrow afternoon?

The most blatantly offensive of the lot, the ever present yay-I’ve-got-a-free-hour-and-want-to stick-my-cock-in-something-NOW!!! who rarely even know to whom they are speaking, Gawd love ‘em, are the easy ones (hanging up is not hard to do, after all). I refer to the people who ring not knowing a thing about me, my fees, my services or even that I am in Scarborough, people who ring at ten o’clock at night or six in the morning – this last from a gentleman who in the same sentence first claimed (via voicemail) to have got my number from ‘a friend’, and then solemnly asked, presumably with a straight face, if I offer a ‘totally discreet service’; obviously whiling away the hours with friends discussing Prostitutes We Have Seen is not only commonplace, but the new benchmark by which discretionary behaviour should be judged. This one also instructed me to ring him back at six pm. I do hope he isn’t still waiting.

I can only speak for myself, but if I am going to spend large sums of money on anything, let alone something intangible that doesn’t last that long (a hotel stay, a fancy meal, a haircut), I make it my business to find out about it first. I not only read the blurb provided by the object of my desire itself, but I look at review sites to find out what other people thought and even if I can’t find anything else to go on, I at least find out how much it costs and how best I go about obtaining it. It can sometimes be the case that I cannot find out this information easily and have to contact someone involved to make specific enquiries, and in the event of this I do so politely and concisely, since I am aware that they have better things to do than chat to me about nothing in particular, and that others may also be trying to contact them. I would not, for example, telephone the Four Seasons George V and ask ‘wot are ur rooms like?’ or (twice this week) ‘ow much is it?’.

Most people reading this who have met me will be well aware of the response that queries like this are likely to receive, and it’s true that no, I am not the most patient person on earth, and yes, I detest talking to strangers on the phone when I am not expecting them and I am perfectly happy to concede that I can be my own worst enemy – my chosen medium will always be the written word, coupled with a brief confirmation call at a pre-agreed time so everybody knows where they are. But I don’t think it’s too outrageous to politely ask someone where they got my number from, or direct them to my website when it is abundantly clear that they have no idea who they’re even talking to apart from that she is probably genetically female, has a pulse and offers sex in return for money. Is it?

Rant definitely over, with apologies to the gentle and respectful folk, who are far more likely to be reading than those being discussed. I’m off to get some fresh air, buy some wool for my new knitting, have a swim and watch more of The Wire over homemade toad in the hole after. To give the numpties their due, a bit of extra leisure time is no bad thing! Still; grrrr.

Having had my evening appointment regrettably cancelled (probably just as well given the dumpling-fest), I have been checking online listings and am planning a walk across town to the pictures. The Crazies is currently (and somewhat regrettably since I have never to date seen a poor showing from Ben Kingsley, including his cameo in my second-ever-favourite Sopranos episode) beating my first choice of Shutter Island purely by virtue of starting within the next hour and a half, and as those longer standing readers will already be aware, I have always been of the unshakable belief that you can’t go far wrong with frenzied zombie rednecks (in the celluloid sense obviously; those seeking the real thing would be best advised to attend the first day of the sales at the Sunderland branch of Primark).

As those of you arriving here by the traditional route may well have already seen, yesterday was spent meticulously cropping, resizing and uploading and my lovely new pictures have started appearing on the Gallery page, albeit after a couple of false starts. I will never be techy and finally crawled from my chair some three hours after starting with searing backache, a spinning head and eyes like Scotch eggs,  but needless to say I hope they prove popular and equally that I have not inadvertently removed too many favourites. More will be following soon when I have time, energy and slightly embarrassingly, some clothes to put on for a change (any suggestions welcome, since I am becoming aware my penchant for wandering about joyfully unfettered is beginning to take over a bit). New ‘outdoorsy’ ones will also be following as the weather improves, and improving it is; my journey here included my first sight this year of lambs, primroses and the unarguable sign that summer is approaching, an optimistic-looking family of holidaymakers alighting at Scarborough station sans flasks and waterproofs.

In terms of Easter availability; I will be back in Scarborough for incalls on Wednesday 31st although availability is shrinking, and Thursday likewise. Friday and Saturday are already booked. Sunday, in all honesty, is as yet undecided (the possibility of being presented with things bearing the codewords ‘Green and Black’s’ will certainly affect the process). As ever, as much notice as possible please and to the intrepid travellers amongst you, please do keep in mind that it is Bank Holiday, Easter and school holidays all at once and thus the chances are that driving and parking situations are likely to be, well, fraught.

London? Unless you wish to visit on Thursday 8th – sorry.

Demand for this visit has been such that I am, however, in the process of compiling a standby list for the other days – if you have a preferred time  in mind and wish to contact me (or be contacted) in the event of cancellation then please do get in touch wth details. To all other idle readers, have a very happy Easter! (and for those who were wondering, Scottish updates hopefully to follow soon…)

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