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“Love is a many-splendored thing,
It’s the April rose that only grows in the early spring”*
If one agrees with the sentiment, then by my reckoning I must be a late August rose, and though the perfume still clings to my petals, the size of my thorns must surely prevent any would-be Romeo ascending my vine. All except for Main Squeeze that is – but let us call him Head Gardener this week, in recognition of his talents.
The chilly, grey, damp drizzle around my northern snug finally got to me. This week Main Squeeze and I are luxuriating in a stylish, boutique hotel in the Gothic quarter of Barcelona. What joy! I packed my red suitcase carefully: two vibrators, a VibraWhip, slave harness, silk shibari rope and sufficient batteries to keep my rabbits happy and hoppy. A last minute panic about hold baggage weight had me swap my leather and steel restraints for lighter Velcro versions. Yes, I am a switch, for which Ryanair makes absolutely no allowance.
Mother Nature works in mysterious ways. Just occasionally we can glimpse her intentions by stripping away the conventions of modern living and imagining a much simpler age. For example:
The male of the human species sleeps like the dead after a good orgasm, to give the female time to escape.
Rather than bemoan this common phenomenon, women should recognise the brilliance of the safety mechanism that Mother Nature has built in to our advantage. And we must simply teach the next generation of young men that ladies must always come first! Good old-fashioned, courteous behaviour benefits all of humankind.
Women are badly designed. Not only is our most intimate pleasure point situated close to our waste removal zone, our intimate docking station has few defences from nasty invaders. I don’t mean marauding Vikings, I mean irritants. Let me explain before you lose the plot completely.
Just as artists find it difficult to paint until slapped on the arse by their muse, so we writers find it notoriously difficult to put pen to paper at the best of times. Today is the worst of times. Not only did my heating engineers arrive an hour earlier than expected to fit my new boiler (before I had my mascara on!) but having assessed the extent of the job they announced it will take them all week. The doors are wide open letting the freezing February wind in. I have someone drilling through an outside wall to replace an ‘illegal’ flue. And another man is on all fours under my desk, fitting a thermostat to my radiator (only the first part of which I am comfortable with).
