Matters Of The H***t

Dear Dobson,

Given your absence I’ve unilaterally decided to fill our sacred space with the sound of my own voice.  I can hear you breathe a sigh of relief along with our avid readership.

I was planning on sleeping, but even after a very satisfying DP wank, slumber isn’t coming easily.  To add insult to injury I’m listening to Ben Howard – obviously my mind isn’t functioning too well this evening.

It would seem there’s a whiff of spring in the air and it’s not only the climate that’s thawing out.  The Ice Queen is melting and she’s not very happy about it.  Life always feels much easier when things like emotions and feelings are kept to a bare minimum or shared exclusively with those you’re secure with.

What’s fairly annoying is when someone you’ve not even known for that long, comes along and inadvertently finds their way into those frickin’ emotions and feelings...  Imagine for a moment, if you will, that I have a heart; a big, beating, passionate heart.  Imagine, again, this heart is in the middle of a maze and there’s a chap who’s just entered said maze.  At the moment he’s on the periphery, which is relatively safe yet provokes some fear and tension because he’s slowly going to make his way to the centre - nothing surer.  When he reaches that ‘big, beating, passionate heart’ at the core of the maze he’s going to pull out a big feckin’ carving knife and do some serious damage – or something.  Isn’t that how it goes?

Fuck it.  I need a post-orgasmic pee…

Come back soon.  Who knows how much longer folks will be able to handle this drivel.

Frankie

Arse Issues

Dear Dobson,

Welcome home.  Can I begin by saying:

Not only did I choose this because of the song – I thought you’d appreciate the literal, visual interpretation of the lyrics too.  It reminded me of some of our dance routines.

I feel for you and your arse issues.  I’ve had several of my own recently, but those are mainly to do with too much anal sex after what has been a veritable drouth.  Imagine having an enema for three consecutive days and you’ll get the idea – what’s tragic about it is that I don’t seem to have lost any weight as a result.

I have decided, as one of your closest friends, it is now my responsibility to take on your wine consumption by proxy.  I know, I know, I’m a selfless fecker.  You’ll be pleased to hear that tonight I am indulging in a nicely chilled Penis Grigio, it’s absolute muck but was on offer at my local wine merchant (aka Costcutter). 

When I was younger, so much younger than today, I often questioned why women of my mother’s age all drank spirits...  Their reasoning is becoming more apparent with every passing year.  I imagine the only downside to committing to a lengthy relationship with gin, vodka or whiskey would be what doctors have termed the ‘Foie Gras Effect’ on your liver.  I will consider this carefully when I start pissing blood, but until then I’m happy to go with what I term as the ‘Que Sera Sera Effect’.

On that healthy note, I’m off to bed for a wank.  I think this evening’s stimuli will be the aforementioned Hugh Jackman in Les Mis, on his death bed (in his death chair) with David Essex hair.  I’m wet already.

Frankie

Gin?

Dear Frankie

Ah crap.

White wine is doing the same.

Stay warm.  Am off to try and get through snow to work.

Dobson x

Red Wine Wind

Dear Frankie

After two and a bit decades of drinking red wine my body has said 'enough is enough' and given me the gift of horrendous wind whenever the amber nectar is consumed.

Basically I am a red wine fart machine.

The sort that stops you sleeping and makes you double over like a hunchback on a bell tower.

As Dorothy Parker said "What fresh hell is this?"

And I speak as a woman who has had PND, miscarried, been burgled, lost all her confidence at work, gained and lost 25 pounds and had regular therapy for a year.

Why wine, WHY???

Anyhoo.

Nice to be back. Needed the break to be honest. Last term was crazy so it was an easy decision just to shut up shop for a few weeks and go on stand-by. 

I am in survival mode at the moment. I want a 'normal' existence for a while, 'spesh while we are in the middle of winter. I am trying to make work work for me, not out to prove anything, but gain back some sense of pride and perspective.  I like to get home to the kids and switch off.  I may have to switch to gin. There are times in life when compromise is of the essence.

Right. Will see you at Les Mis at the O2 where I have been informed that 'inappropriate' behaviour will result in the management asking you to leave.

So that's wanking to Shugie Jackman out of the question.

Love

Dobson x

First Entry Of The Year - Fnar

Dear Dobson,

It is good to be back on virtual terra firma, ready to provide yourself and a handful of strangers various insights into life as I know it.

It has been a strange period for me and, for once, I’m not referring to menstruation when I say that.  It’s not every day a girl can admit to having befriended a couple of genuine Vikings and had them living in her house for four or so days.  However, that is one of many bizarre things that have taken place of late.

There has been far too much jazz, liquor and a host of other substances on offer during the festivities...  I feel that, for now at least, I need to pull my proverbial socks up and start behaving a tad more responsibly than I have been.

Showing my commitment to this resolution of sorts, I found myself out on a date this lunchtime...  I never fail to marvel at how members of the male species have the power to conceal what’s genuinely going on for them!  It was a nice date, interesting chat, a good looking chap with an admirable penchant for gin but I must admit that when it was time to leave I didn’t expect to see him again.

Apparently we’re going out tomorrow evening.  Who fucking knew?

Frankie