so this crazy man posted to a site i sometimes read earlier in the year about a book he's writing called a year of festivals.
and now we're trading mails. it's quite nice to have a pen friend. it makes me laugh to read about someone else's over dependence on music and interest in football and scepticism about attending weddings, etc and it's nice to have random mails without there being a hint of it going anywhere. Jarvis is married and i'm happily not trapped.
Bizarrely, the Italian appeared on my phone again today. ever hopeful. i kind of beat him down about it really because i haven't even seen him for years and the possibilities of 'bedrooms sports' as my students used to call it in france all those years ago, has been so well discussed that trying to actualise any of it could only be a colossall ( i can't spell today) let down of monumnetal proportions. Add this to the fact that i don't actually want to sleep with him and it's a definite no no but the fact that he thought i was a hot ticket when i'd been kicked to the curb and felt about as desireable as a squashed turd lives long in the memory.
it's funny isn't it. Because he thought i was sexy and desireable and powerful, i was. i think that might be the trick to life.
And as for the current incumbent, talk about funny mood this week. Job and politics and birthday of the offspring aligning to make for a vague vibe of strangeness. and then i feel like i'm begging for a date if i say 'are you working this weekend'.
not a very satisfactory one. i realise in actual fact that it has more to do with hormonal me but hey.
i think this post will be edited to all hell in no time but in the short term:
thanks Jarvis for being a pal with an amusing turn of phrase.
Bring on the sleeping, may it bring the feeling better with it.
i'm off to hunt for posh cake now. i realise that's trivial but hey, i can't help myself
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