2013: The High (and Low) Lights

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CC Image courtesy of hoangnt on FlickrFor me, the best part of blogging, aside from writing the wretched stuff, is hearing that someone enjoyed a post.  So today, because I figured I deserve a holiday, I’m posting the best bits of 2013 according to you, my beloved (and for many of you I mean that quite literally – be worried) readers.

 

First up is Bright Star, a favourite of James’, in which I explain to Toby why I like Joe’s flatmate

‘He’s funny,’ I say.

Or rather he thinks I’m funny, which is much more important.

A grilling from Sandwich comes a close second.

‘I thought you were great friends.’

He actually said great chums, but it wouldn’t do to alienate readers.

 

Glossing over the surprised tone with which he said it, Flatmate pronounced No Sex and the City to be ‘quite witty’:

‘He doesn’t believe in sex before marriage,’ I say.

‘Oh God.’

‘He’s kinda the problem.’

CC Image courtesy of knowhimonline on Flickr

New Initiative made Lucy laugh out loud, twice:

Beatrice is Tinder-happy…

When they can spell, even if not attractive, I continyue writing.’

And learning to spell, presumably.

… whilst MBE is feeling increasingly cynical about the whole thing.

I’m bored of openers like ‘How are you?’ (bored), ‘Any exciting plans for the weekend?’ (no, I prefer boring plans), ‘what are up to this evening?’ (I’m not going to sleep with you just because we live three miles apart) – and the rest.

 

A compliment from my harshest critic always makes my day.  My mother’s top 3 for the year:

Story of My Life, in which Beatrice and I join stalking forces.

Flatmate gives me a dose of reality On The Couch.

And,

Love Poetry, in which I fancy a gay man.  Like you’ve never done the same thing.

 

So there you have it.  Written (fittingly) proof that this writer is neurotic, needy, insecure, and in dire need of validation and praise.  And that’s just the writing.

CC Image courtesy of PRINCESS THEATER - Raising the Curtain on Flickr


Pretty Ironic

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So when Sandwich grills me on the subject for a second timeCC Image courtesy of snapperwolf* on Flickr

‘How come Freddie isn’t with us?’ he says.

I shrug.  ‘Oh he came in a different party.’

‘Oh.  But I thought you were great friends?’

‘Yeah, well-.’

I break off to pass someone the butter, before turning back to him.

‘We don’t always go in the same party.’

‘Oh.’  He looks puzzled.  ‘Do you see him much, outside of dancing?’

‘No, not really.’

It’s the truth.

‘You don’t meet up for coffee – or drinks?’

Or casual sex?

‘No!’  I frown.  ‘Why are you asking?!’

He remains poker-faced.

‘Oh I just wond– .’

At this moment, Freddie appears, and claps us both on the shoulder.

‘Hullo chaps!’

He says things like ‘chaps’, but he’s pretty, so he gets away with it.

‘Hello!’ I say, smiling up at him.  We kiss on the cheeks.

Freddie looks from me to Sandwich and back, eyes twinkling.  ‘How are you both?’

Sandwich looks happy enough.

‘Good, thanks,’ I say.  ‘You?’

Freddie nods fervently.  ‘Yuh.  Really good.’

He says ‘yuh’ too: he’s really pretty. 

‘Are you having a good evening?’ he says.

Sandwich smiles his approbation; he’s not a big talker.

‘Yes!’  I say. 

Trying to convince Sandwich we don’t have casual sex.  More’s the pity. 

CC Image courtesy of Velvet Twerp on Flickr