big hot sweaty love

i have been accused of not loving my regulars enough. and this despite the fact they are sufficiently few in number to allow me to feel (nay, demonstrate) a deep personal (if not actually moist) affection for each one.

you who write here are my brothers and sisters; you put up with my endless soapbox ranting about why i hate the tories, why things that annoy me slightly somehow threaten the existence of all worthwhile members of this species, and why cricket is the clearest expression of the eternal soul of humanity; you listen (virtually) without visible yawning or derisive laughter (please don’t feel you need correct me on this one) as i bang on about how the north east of england is the land of lost content where the sun always shines and happy naked children run carefree through the giant rhubarb native to the region; you smile good-naturedly as i regale you with efforts at amusingly quirky stories about ‘life’ or some such, about isinglass and drunken friars who never existed; you suppress your snorts of incredulity as i maintain that dylan can actually sing (and not in the same sense a tortured corncrake sings); you pick up things that are barely ideas and run with them to produce vast surreal screeds of narrative about … well frankly i couldn’t begin to say what.
you indulge the (for me) pleasant fiction that what i write has the slightest shred of significance. you wonder simply with me and together we whisper into the void. i am grateful. it’s good to know you all and you truly have my big hot sweaty love. is my tongue in my cheek? (mmfgh … gruggh … ahunngj … checks quickly) well only partly.

xxx – fidel, you have your answer.

and breaking news: the guy who nicked a bolivian spider monkey from chessington world of adventures (well that was an adventure) gets a year in prison – a tory councillor who prostituted a woman with learning difficulties (gratefully plagiarised this from sparklematrix) got a suspended sentence. so does that mean that the monkey is more or less important than that woman? hmmm tricky one.

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20 responses to “big hot sweaty love

  1. I would love to hear Dylan sing a song with “corncrake” in the lyrics.

    …but yooo dint see the corncrake did ya
    no you couldn’t see the corncrake…

  2. ‘wooooh kiss me mr corncrake pleeeese’ – outtake from desire

  3. I…{checks road map)… wha? …

  4. I’ll have the loove but not sure about the ‘sweaty’ ‘Hot’ is also ‘k

    Re the Monkey and the woman with learning difficulties, prostituted out by a Tory. The difference is the monkey could not give consent. When you are a female human it has to be proven that you *did not* give consent. It would seem.

  5. It would seem. That it’s enough for the entrepreneur to speak for you on that matter. {She gave consent. I said so. }

  6. seems, madam, i know not seems. just looks like the courts reckon a monkey (cute tho it is) is worth more than a woman.

    sadly, my dear sparkle i am more sweat than heat, but i’ll do my best.

  7. […]i bang on about how the north east of england is the land of lost content where the sun always shines and happy naked children run carefree through the giant rhubarb native to the region”

    *small sob*

  8. don’t – you’ll get me going too – sniff…

  9. “I’ll have the loove but not sure about the ’sweaty’ ‘Hot’ is also ‘k”

    I’m a moist gal meself – go for the moisture every time.

    There’s that rhubard again – can you get high on northern rhubarb? Is that why it’s special? Bags ready in anticipation the answer is “yes”. Can you send me a sample first before I commit to full residency?

    As for corncrake – was this what tori amos was really talking about when she said she was a corncrake girl?

    “Jimmy crack corn (crake) and I don’t care? “(Sorry, the Brits may not know this one – they will think I’m mad if so)

    (Goes back to picking fluff off the carpet to recycle into a knitted jumper). Mad???

  10. Can we do the vast surreal screeds again please? Well, maybe not so vast this time but it was fun – I want to resurrect the trans-genderedly confused Mara/Watson character for a start – I am casting Robbie Williams for this part.

    Also, I have a compulsive need to elaborate on Columbo the disheveled crumpled “LAPD Ma”am” detective inspector.

    I even promise to include sturgeon’s bladders and isinglass (or not if that’s what you want) – even a few chemical formulae – fidel and I can collaborate – deal?

  11. But Dylan can actually sing…

    I know Jimmy Crack Corn even though I’m a Brit. It’s a song from my childhood.

  12. hey dp we all know jimmy crack corn and we still think you’re mad. personally, that’s the way i like you.
    the vast surreal screeds were great – but way too much effort for me, what with all the dusting i have to do round here now that tergeist has gone – i miss him – sniff. that’s why i sat there and marvelled at them rather than writing the damn things.

  13. oh witching one; we know that what dylan does goes as far beyond singing as the lightning that burns through our veins exceeds a AAA battery.

  14. Well, exactly. 😀

  15. Right I stand corrected on the Jimmy Crack Corn issue – so it is more or less universally known.

    NO comment on tori amos and her corncrake girl song lyric? Sorry, I wish I could say bob dylan sung it or wrote it.

  16. sorry dp – liked the corncrake tori amos pun – and i would have settled for dylan thomas singing the bloody thing just so long as it wasn’t her infernal ululating

  17. sw – oh let’s not forget her litanous proclamations about being the professional widow “honey bring it close to my (ahem)…..” etc

    Being a corncrake girl is much better for her psyche.

  18. never actually listened to it long enough for the words to permeate the consciousness

  19. That’s lucky for you then.

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