A little bit portfolio, a little bit clever & mainly moronic

Month: May, 2011

Jasmine Von der Bogaerde: The UK’s (more talented) answer to Rebecca Black?

OK I’ve been really lazy with my blog of late, but honestly I haven’t had time for (many) sexual antics (apart from my new purchase….

I think I wanna be a dominatrix?

But more on that later. If I get enough revision done today to satisfy the sense of guilt that I have been feeling then I shall write all about my leather bound antics. For now I am shamelessly reposting something that I sent to Lorna to be published in The Stag, soz. And it’s about music.
I like cover songs. I have no issue with someone covering a song I like. But I have a massive issue with ‘Birdy’s’ cover of Skinny Love by Bon Iver. I am aware I am bit late on this. Birdy, AKA Jasmine Van der Bogaerde is fourteen, and her song went viral a few months ago, facebook was inundated with links to her YouTube sensation. So far, so Rebecca Black. However, that is where the comparison with Rebecca Black ends. Van der Bogaerde does not lack talent, she has it in heaps. She is a classically trained pianist, with a gorgeous voice. Her cover of ‘Skinny Love’ charted at number seventeen in the UK and Fearne Cotton named ‘Skinny Love’ her song of the week on Radio One. Impressive stuff for anyone, let alone a fourteen year old.

But I hate her cover of ‘Skinny Love.’ It makes me feel angry. I appreciate she has a beautiful voice, I appreciate she is an exceptional pianist. It doesn’t stop me loathing her cover of one of my favourite songs. In early 2008 I became aware of Bon Iver (a play on the French ‘Bon Hiver’ meaning good winter) and the album ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’ stills moves me further than most. The album is wracked with passion and meaning. Not only has Justin Vernon (the singer-songwriter of Bon Iver) got a soulful voice, he is also talented songwriter. ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’ was written in Wisconsin during a three month winter, in which Vernon was halled up in a log cabin in the state’s Northern Woods. The reason for Vernon isolation? A break up. The break up was the inspiration for ‘For Emma, Forever Ago.’ Needless to say the album is packed with emotive lyrics and soft gentle melodies. My favourite line from ‘Skinny Love’ is a fantastic example of the raw emotion evident in ‘For Emma, Forever Ago’, ‘Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer/I tell my love to wreck it all/ Cut out all the ropes and let me fall.’ From Vernon’s husky, gentle voice this is truly heartbreaking. When a fourteen year old, with annoyingly perfect features sings these lines to me, atop perfect piano accompaniment I simply cannot buy it. Vernon’s pain and heartbreak shines through each perfectly constructed line, Van der Bogaerde’s does not. Simply because, she is fourteen, she is young, talented and lucky. By default she cannot flood the song with as much meaning as Vernon does. And for me, that makes the song weaker. It means less when it does not and cannot come from the heart.

Jasmine Van der Bogaerde will go far. Unlike her contemporary, Rebecca Black, she is gifted, incredibly so. In five years time I will be excited for her own contribution to the music world. But for now, she needs to get off my facebook and get her heart broken a few times. Then come back with a sensational album, which will make me kick myself for ever doubting her.

I’ve linked you here so you can hear Birdy’s cover, and here so you can hear the original.

And here is a picture of Birdy which perhaps highlights how annoying she is.

Punching her in the face would be oddly satisfying.
As ever, I’ve made huge sweeping statements and unfair judgements. Pick up as you will dear readers. More on sex later.


It’s 23.22. I’m sunburnt. My hand hurts from writing. My boyfriend is ringing me in about seven minutes. I have been revising for hours, in town, by the lake, in the library. I even went to Tesco. I booked my tickets for Latitude Festival. I handed in my last piece of coursework for the year and I actually put a suprising amount of effort in. I’m going to be Copy Editor on a university creative magazine next year. And of course my much talked about position as Literature Editor of The Stag, my university newsaper.

It’s 23.24. I’m in love with someone who loves me back. I’ve nearly finished my first year at University (something I thought I’d never be able to do). I get on with every member of my family. I have a job (even if I would rather stick my hand in acid than work on Saturday). I have friends, here and at home.

It’s 23.25 and I’m happy.

It’s 23.26 and everything is going to be alright.
It’s 23.27 and after two difficult years I’ve realised I’ve finally become the person I always wanted to be.

It’s 23.28 and I’m officially a sentimental loser.


"The sex was amazing, until N-Dubz came up on shuffle…."

Music is something I’m really afraid of when it comes to sex. Sometimes it can be tantric and wonderful and really add to the moment. Usually it’s just plain embarrassing. The first time I ever did anything vaguely sexual with Tristan Sean Kingston’s Beautiful Girls came up on my ipod shuffle. (If you haven’t heard it, please listen here) Anyway, that was pretty awful for me. But, then I started thinking and chances are someone else (with slightly different music taste) would probably find it perfectly acceptable.

When I was about 15 people I knew starting actually ‘doing it.’ Obviously, I wasn’t having sex. But it felt like everyone was (actually, about 3 of my friends). I was round a friend’s house and she had her ipod plugged in and asked me to put some music on, so I selected her ‘Chilling’ playlist as that’s exactly what we were doing. She turned around irate and shouted, ‘Why the hell have you put my sex playlist on?’ Mortifying memory for me even after 5 years. Anyway, her sex playlist was nothing like I would have imagined.

In films (and I’m talking the kind of films I watched when I was 15 so The Notebook* etc) the music is always soft and gentle during the sex scene. I’m thinking more ‘Make You Feel My Love’ by Adele, originally Bob D before you all shout at me, rather than ‘You’re Makin’ Me High’ by Toni Braxton. So I always imagined that sex music was gentle and nice- my first sex playlist contained Death Cab for Cutie and Coldplay!

Then I gave up with music during sex by and large. Until I came to University, where the walls are thin and I live with fourteen other people who I’m sure would rather hear my music than the creaking of a very old bed and/or heaven forbid my cries of passion. I pay for my spotify so I didn’t have to worry about adverts thankfully, but the main thing I wondered was WHAT music to play. So much so that so far I’ve just chucked on my current month’s playlist and hoped for the best.

Today I decided, I’d like to create a sexy playlist. But what the hell music did I find sexy? And surely did it not depend on the type of sex I was having? Were songs about sex sexy? Or was it the actual rhythm that was sexy? Was a sexy song a song I’d listen to at another time? The Smiths are my favourite band but would it ever be appropriate to have sex to one of their songs?

So I did what I always do when I’m confused, I asked the good people of Facebook. And because my  friends are wonderful I got so many replies. And it was all so different. Slow RnB- Ne-yo, Pretty Ricky, Marvin Gaye. ‘Scary’ rock music- Nirvana, The Mars Volta. John Mayer. Prince. To name but a few. I asked my flatmates (who I love so much, there you go guys, thank you for reading) and everyone felt differently from Toots and the Maytals to Def Leppard. I was more confused than ever.

I started making a tentative list, and it all went wrong. I’ve had great sex to Arcade Fire but could I find a song that I found actively ‘sexy’? No. I’ve had amazing sex to Bon Iver but same problem. I think ‘Time is Running Out’ by Muse is a really sexy song, but I don’t think I want to have sex to a song with lyrics such as, ‘You will be the death of me.’

Everyone else seems to know what they like to listen to when they get down, whether it be Ne-yo or The Mars Volta and I just don’t have a clue.

So help me out everyone…here is my sex playlist, tell me what I need to do to it. Is it too slow? Is it too fast? I want it to encompass romantic lovemaking and also the occasional dirty fuck. Help! Is John Mayer too 30 year old mum? Is Ellie Goulding too main stream?

Here’s a link to my playlist: Sex?

Facebook me with your advice, I need your help. My sex life is suffering.

*I really don’t like the Notebook. Soz.

Of course I know what to listen to after sex… Always this.

Exciting News & A Couple of Romantic Truths

Hello all, I come with news from other lands. News from Surrey anyway. I have been elected Literature Editor for The Stag (university newspaper). How exciting!

Now, I will get on to be intended subject matter. I can wax lyrical about Feminism. I really do believe all the things I have written previously about women’s rights, gender roles etc see here and of course, the one I always implore you to read here.

HOWEVER, I cannot speak for all women, but this is all I have ever really wanted:

(How cool do I look with my ‘euro-trash, post-modern’ also unread, novel on the table?)

Yes, they are from Tristan. Yes, they are roses. Yes they are in my favourite colours: pink and cream. They came with a handwritten letter. (Obviously written in his hand, otherwise it would be weird…)
I hate stereotypes. I really do. I never ever want to what people expect me to be. I try as hard I can not to stereotype people (although I probably do all the time…definitely in this blog) but I love receiving flowers. And I think all women do really. There is something about a perfectly chosen bouquet that no other present can beat. It’s the very best way to say I love you.
The letter was the best of all. For all the men reading this, write more letters in your life! Fuck it, for anyone reading this…write more letters. They last forever and they are so much more personal than an email, a text, a phone call.
If you don’t believe me, imagine these words handwritten:
‘Before I met you, I fear I was sleeping, missing out on countless opportunities in favour of chasing fruitless pursuits…..I love you for everything. Your optimism, your passion, you kiss and the ice cream stain on your coat.’
-Tristan Redburn
So I might be a Feminist but I still want to recieve flowers and letters like this. I mean in all honesty, who wouldn’t?
Tristan, this is for you.
‘If they stop loving you, I won’t stop loving you. If they stop needing you, I’ll still need you my dear.’
You know what that means ❤

Stockings and Suspenders: Sexy or Sickening?

I love underwear. I am more gentle with my bras and knickers than any of my dresses or shoes (even the ones I spent over £50 pounds on) and I am obsessed with beautiful lingerie. But prior to this year’s Valentines day I had never bought ‘sexy’ underwear. And by ‘sexy’ underwear I mean the kind of underwear you don’t wear under your clothes. The kind of underwear that is a set of clothes in itself. I’m talking the whole hog- suspenders, thong, corset, babydoll, whatever.

It was a bit terrifying going shopping for this underwear. I felt like I was walking around harbouring a dirty secret. My first stop was (and oh god, don’t judge me) Primark. Now, I am going to say loudly and clearly if you are ever trying to be sexy do not buy a corset from Primark. Sexy is more than aesthetic, its the way something feels and most importantly (cliched but true) it is the way it makes you feel. I don’t think I would feel sexy wearing uncomfortable, badly made, itchy fabrics. The corsets in Primark feel either slimey or just plain itchy. Plus, the colour scheme sucks.

My next stop was Ann Summers. Now I’ve previously described here how Ann Summers made me feel. Yes, it is an adult’s playground in luxury colours with the feeling of a very high class Parisian boudoir but it’s also a little bit intimidating. I wandered around nervously touching outfits I felt I’d need a couple of very stiff drinks before I even contemplated wearing them. I was asked if I needed help by a shop assistant and I really did need help, so I said yes. And she was lovely. She asked me my budget (limited) and what I was looking for (something that my boyfriend will like and I will not feel ridiculous wearing). The first thing she pointed me towards with underwear in a box. Now I’m not going to lie, I’m a complete and total snob, but underwear in a box, really? I can only describe this garment as akin to fishnet tights. It was almost like a see through, skin tight and very short dress. It was also hideous. In fact here it is so you can decide for yourself:

It looked worse in the box
So on this rather beautiful woman, it doesn’t look too bad. In fact it looks quite good. But she is shaped like a french fry and unfortunately I am shaped more like a potato wedge. Getting my size 12 bum and hips into a piece of sexy netting that exposes my less than toned stomach was about the least sexual thing I could imagine, so I politely declined.
I ended up with a babydoll, in black and red, with gorgeous black lacey knickers to match and plain black suspenders. Even when it comes to sexy underwear I am plain it seems..
The best part about what I bought was the knickers actually. I refused the thong- I’ve never really ‘got into’ thongs massively. The knickers are made of the nicest fabric ever, although they bloody should be for £11. The whole little lot (incl. suspenders) came to £43 (a small fortune to a student.)
At first I was estatic with my purchases. I felt the seixest I’d ever felt when I tried the whole outfit on in my room with my high heels. Then I realised the suspenders (despite being reasonably expensive) were rubbish and kept slipping down. Plus suspenders don’t really suit people with thighs that aren’t sinewy and willowy. Also I couldn’t wear the babydoll without a bra because my breasts looked terrible and were in danger of spilling out. Then I felt ill because I’d spent my food budget for nearly 2 weeks on clothes I was only going to wear once or twice and that would of course be hastily removed. The nicer the underwear the quicker it comes off. Depressing.
Then I started really thinking. And I don’t do this a lot, so it’s pretty exciting. And I was wondering what do I think is sexy. I could tell you what I think is sexy about a man. But what do I think is sexy on a woman? Honestly, I think small breasts are sexy. Really small ones (which sucks because mine do not fit into this category.) Hips are sexy. A not completely toned stomach. And tight black underwear. Not lacey, plain. And a black bra. Simple. So why the fuck was I trussing myself up in satin, lace, and god knows what other fabrics?
My beautiful friend Ava (go watch her videos, she’s brilliant) suggested that Ann Summers was a bit of a male fantasy land and to an extent I agree. I don’t find the clothes sexy, or ir if I do, it is a certain type of sexy. I think a man is sexiest when he is being himself, confident and happy in a nice suit or a good pair of jeans. Perhaps a suit is dressing up but it certainly is of a different calibre to world of corsets and babydolls. The kind of sexy Ann Summers clothing promotes is a bit fake. A trussed up, over done version of sexy. The models don’t look like real women with their perfect bodies, blow dried hair and falsh eyelashes. Also, who the fuck wears stilletos in the bedroom?
I’m all in favour of spicing things up in the bedroom and I suppose these outfits could do just that. Its just I feel that so many of them don’t tap into a female fantasy. They don’t make the woman feel sexy, or even think about what a woman would wear to feel sexy. They are all for show. They only work from the outside. I’m going to use this particular garment as an example:
To me this is a male fantasy (it’s also crotchless). When describing this product on the website the writer constantly states that it will, ‘guranteed to get his attention’, what about guranteed to make you feel gorgeous? This isn’t even metioned.
I’m trying not to go on a Feminist diatribe. I’m trying to just evaluate how I feel about Ann Summers. I could be wrong. If it works for you, that’s great. If it does make you feel sexy, then that is brilliant. But what I worry about is women wearing these clothes not for themselves but for a man.
Maybe I’m just bitter because outfits like this are definately not designed for my 34F breasts, ‘child bearing’ hips and slightly more wobbly than I would like stomach. And let’s not talk about thighs at all. On the plus side, I certainly won’t need to invest in Ann Summers ‘instant boob job bra’.
Not needed for today, thank you!

Man Up. No, Shut Up.

I have half an hour before I need to get ready for work (yes it’s 3.30, but I work in a hotel so 9 to 5 doesn’t really exist). Anyway, half an hour is just about enough time for a mini gripe: I really hate the phrase, ‘Man Up’.

I have a vivid memory of being genuinely upset about the death of my Grandma’s dog. I understand this is hardly, as tragedies go, massive but I was young and I loved that dog! I was crying, and perhaps a friend could have suggested that I was overreacting or that worse things happen etc. No, I was told simply to ‘Man up’

I have two problems with this phrase:
1) It suggests that men don’t have emotions, that men are always tough. And this is bollocks. Moreover, it’s wrong to suggest that to be manly, a man must be strong and silent. Men have emotions and should be allowed to express them.
2) Why should a woman be told to act like a man? What’s wrong with being a woman? And why does showing emotion make you a ‘woman’? Why does being strong make you a ‘man’?

OK I know it’s only a phrase and maybe I should ‘lighten up’, but it’s not so much the phrase but the values the phrase promotes. The idea that to be a respected and successful woman, women should take on more stereotypically ‘male’ characteristics. Perhaps the most prevalent issue for me is the fact that I feel so uncool saying these things. Feminism isn’t cool or sexy. But, really, what’s cooler than standing up for your rights? What’s sexier than having an opinion?

I have to go to work now so I can’t develop this argument as much as it warrants, but I would implore you all to read ‘Female Chauvinist Pigs- Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture’ by Ariel Levy. It pretty much presents the same argument I’ve attempted in this blog but much more articulately. Levy is the modern day, post-feminist answer to Friedan, and she’s excellent.

‘What a woman was criticized for doing yesterday she is ridiculed for not doing today.’-Edith Wharton, 1915

Finally, on the subject of Feminism…
I shall shamelessly plug myself here, only because it is my favourite thing I’ve ever written.

I’m Writing About Sex.

I write this with shaking hands. It’s my first foray into content of a more sexual nature. I’m actually laughing now. OH AND DAD, SERIOUSLY…PISS OFF. I can hear you shouting at me from the bathroom, and yes, it is funny shouting, ‘Mum’s on the bus!’ mimicking my South London accent once, but over and over again can get quite annoying. Also, you’re in the shower, can’t you wash yourself instead? So there you go, now please stop reading.

Picture the scene. Romantic holiday in Bath with the boy. Wandering the streets of the beautiful city hand in hand, Georgian architecture everywhere we look. Then up pops an Ann Summers. Now, Ann Summers is a place I’ve only been in a handful of times. A few times circa 2004 when it was ‘like dead funny’ to try and get into the ‘restricted’ section of the shop and gawp at the dildos etc. Then later, this year for Valentines Day when I decided ‘sexy underwear’ was needed. My second visit blew my mind- Ann Summers is like an adult’s sexy playground. A sensual mix between a teenage boy’s wet dream and a very high class porn movie (you know, the ones that are less pornography and more art). The satin, the black and red, the champagne flavoured lube, the vibrators in tantalising and vibrant colours, the dildos that managed to epitomise masculinity and yet also poked fun at it! Amazing!

Now, I’m beginning to sound like prior to my visit to Ann Summers I was some poor little Victorian lady with my piano legs covered up and ‘sex’ was a dirty word. Not at all. It was just quite an exciting experience.

Anyway, so Tristan and I decided to take a look in Ann Summers and we had a right giggle at the large dildos. Me holding one up tentatively and saying, ‘For your pleasure?’ or ‘Do you feel emasculated yet?’ Aside from an awkward scrabble where we both ended up with ‘Champagne’ flavoured lube on our hands (don’t bother with it- it tastes just like very sweet and very cheap tinned peaches) it was an enjoyable experience for the both of us. Whilst tentatively fingering (ha) the vibrators I said to Tris, ‘This’d be amazing’. Obviously, I was holding the ‘rampant rabbit’, which as far as I can see is the ‘Rolls Royce’ of vibrators. Tristan responded with, ‘it’s a shame we can’t afford to use any of this stuff eh?’ It seems that exotically coloured pieces of vibrating plastic in the shape of bunnies carry a hefty price tag. Then I came up with a rather uninspired idea, ‘Wouldn’t it be great if people paid to read about our sexploits? Then we could buy all this crazy shit and then I could write about it?’ Tristan then replied, with a comment which just about sums up why I am completely in love with him, ‘You could send it to The Stag.’ The Stag is my University Paper. I don’t think the Stag or the good people who read it want to read about what it feels like to have my bits lathered in decadently flavoured lube. Much less I don’t think a free paper would pay me to write about them!

Then we got talking about it more seriously. We’d left Ann Summers by this point and had a small play fight, culminating in me spitting on Tristan’s hand and having my spit rubbed back on my t-shirt (never said we were the most sophisticated couple) and I started to think ‘Why the fuck not?’ I mean everyone who reads the Stag is 18+. I can send my articles in anonymously and they won’t pay me but I can still send articles in. And hey no one else writes about sex in the university paper. If they don’t publish them I will write riotous articles about CENSORSHIT (or some other hilarious pun involving the word ‘censorship’ I’m a little bit pressed for time).

So Tristan’s cool with it, I’m cool with it. We’re both adults who like sex. And I’m an adult who likes writing, why not combine these two pleasures?

The ideas started popping out of my head:

Ann Summers: Resplendent or Repressed? (All credit goes to Ava, who is far more liberated and cool than I ever could be)
The Art of Anal (a bit of a joke that one)
Ditch Your Man, Buy a Vibrator?
etc etc.

If you own a vibrator, I’d really love to hear what it’s like, so don’t be shy get in touch!

Finally if you’re into sex blogs read this one:
Brighton Ivy It’s really rather good
And if you enjoy that
Then read her bloke’s blog as well
Both are brilliant!

And Dad, if you read that, please never ever discuss it with me.

Anyway, get in touch with your views on sexploits etc. Tell your sexy stories and tell me your views! I love you dear readers. I’m going to have my lunch now.


Today is the day of the referendum. My facebook has been flooded with statuses telling me to vote (in the main) Yes (not sure why they felt the need to capitalise it, but hey ho) and I am very happy about this. Not because I am voting ‘Yes’, but simply because it means that people are voting!

In the most recent general election there was a 65.1% turnout with 29,653,638 votes cast ( And we all know it is the young people who don’t vote. But you should vote! It doesn’t matter whether you are voting yes or no, I couldn’t care less WHAT you’re voting I’m just asking you to vote!

I do understand the argument that if you don’t understand what you are voting for you shouldn’t waste your vote at all, however it only takes a google search and about 5 minutes of reading to get your head around whether you like AV or you like FFTP.

I went down to my local polling station at 3 o’clock and I was the only person there. I was told by the people working there it had been ‘very quiet’, their half finished sudokus and cups of tea said it all. It made me so sad. Voting is YOUR right given to you by YOUR government!

I reckon it comes down to this:
If you love England… VOTE
If you hate England… VOTE
If you love the Government…VOTE
If you hate the Government…VOTE
If you’re ambivalent…stop being such a waste of space, no one likes people with no opinions

We are lucky to live in country where we can vote, regardless of gender, race etc. It’s easy to think ‘one person won’t make a difference’ but if everyone had that mentality… Plus, this is YOUR vote, don’t throw it away! Incidentally we have no excuse the polling station is open today from 7am- 10pm.

Please, please, please vote. It does matter, your opinion matters! If you do vote, I’ll shut up and I’ll give you cookies 🙂

If you’re unsure, this website is amazing and you can even link it to our national obsession facebook!

P.S I voted no. Soz guys. I’m not a worthy student.

P.P.S Doesn’t matter if you vote yes or no, just vote!!!

Writing & Sexy Things in a Paper Near You?

I’ve really been neglecting my blog of late. Sorry blog.

Talking of neglecting things I wanted to write about something which really annoys and saddens me: my ability to start and not finish anything. This blog is a good example of this- I leave it for over a month and then post, then forget about it, then get excited over it again…

Anyway, I went on a little sojourn with ‘ma boy’ to Bath over the Royal Wedding Weekend (and it was lovely- wonderful city!) and whilst I was away I realised that I had to write 1000 words of fiction for Friday for my creative writing coursework. Boyfriend was slightly irritated with me for not realising whilst I flippantly replied ‘It’s fine I’ll bash it out in half an hour.’ And, all arrogance aside, I did ‘bash out’ 3 different pieces of 1000 words in length over the course of two hours. Pretty impressive stuff, and the quality was good. I really should get my head out of my arse, don’t worry I’m getting to the part where self loathing creeps in and you can like me again. I had three stories: one set on a imaginary island about a girl who befriends a deaf boy (think fairies, mermaids etc); one about a woman who commits a murder in Walthamstow and of course the good old statue story.

The statue story, incidentally, is something I’ve had in my head for years. When I’m bored on trains or waiting for things I like to embellish it. Yet, despite having thought about it for about 4 years I’ve only ever written about 2000 (and that’s being generous) words towards its creation.

The point I’m trying to make here is I can start something but never finish it. This mainly applies to writing, but I’ve always wanted to be a writer (in a vague, abstract, airyfairy way) but I’m far too lazy. It makes me sad, when I think about these ideas, the stories, blowing away into the sky never pined down by a pen and slowly forgotten. The details bore me: the punctuation; the family histories of my characters; the moments of low drama… Oh! To write only the love scene, fight scene and death scene!

My main ambition in life has been to write a book that some reputable source such as the Guardian would describe as, ‘beautiful’. However, ‘beautiful’ books don’t sell many copies and my book would have to be a best seller. So not only would it be ‘beautiful’ but it would be one of those rare books which is penetrable for both Literature buffs and the Waterstones masses. In short: a masterpiece. I even have a plot for my book. It is whimsical, ridiculous, full of tedious metaphors and ‘erotically charged moments’ and whatnot. This dream is unrealistic even for well established writers; let alone 19 year girls who cannot put pen to paper. If you do ever see my name in print, please buy the book purely on account of the fact I actually managed to write it!

NOW DAD IF YOU ARE READING THIS FOR GOD’S SAKE STOP!! I HAVE ASKED YOU TIME AND TIME AGAIN AND IF YOU DON’T STOP READING IT I WILL HAVE TO DELETE MY BLOG. I love you, but please desist, what you are about to read is ‘of a personal nature’ and will only upset you! Go on, click off now. Thank you.

Stop Reading Here If You Are:
A) Offended by lewd or bawdy content.
B) My Father
C) Anyone in my family at all.

In an aside, I’m thinking about writing anal sex . The idea came from a conversation with Tristan in Ann Summers and he’s very much in favour. If they publish it I will super impressed and if they don’t it’ll give me something wonderful to complain about.
 It makes compelling reading in one of my favourite blogs: Anyway, tell me what you think via facebook, email or whatever dear readers!

I’m off to the pub.