Open Up (Part 15)

I had a message from a friend somewhat out of the blue the other day. We were briefly catching up. A lot of things have gone down in both our lives, as is inevitable when you leave a long enough gap between conversations. But it was nice to chat. Conversing with them always reminds me of writing here. They didn't even mention this blog, but it made me think. Gosh. I need to get back to this (or rather, I want to get back to this). So here I am. It's been interesting to see how the style of the story has changed over the years that I've been updating this. Maybe it will one day be a bit more cohesive, but I kinda like it this way.

Go ahead and acquaint yourself with part 14 here, or start from the very beginning.

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The session had not lasted as long as she had expected. What does one expect from such a performance, anyway? She asked herself. Not that she really minded the premature end. 

Pondering the pumpkin, Celia grabbed the discarded clothes and shoved them on again, waiting to see if anyone else would turn up for a private show. Although she could choose to log off with what she'd earned from the squash show, she didn't really want to be alone with her thoughts. At least chatting with the customers engaged her brain in some kind of way. Sometimes. 

Sat crossed-legged on her bed, Celia looked at the profiles of the 730 models online. The models highlighted at the top of the page seemed to be drawing a fair crowd at this hour. A lot of the girls also chose to exploit their own niche. Be that their large breasts, sizable butts, marital status, whether or not they had kids, their race, nationality, or age. There were a couple of familiar faces on the screen, those who really put in the work to maintain their spot on the top. The kind that did giveaways and had a green screen and multiple costumes, a whole set-up (that Celia was a little jealous of, if she was honest). However, it was also the new models that tended to be favored -  the newbies who hadn't quite worked out the many tricks of the customers so they could be taken advantage of easily. When Celia first started, there were often customers pretending to be models who just wanted to "show her how it should be done" and offering to take her under their wing if only she would provide a photo or two for them to critique. She hadn't quite figured that one out till too late that they scored nudes from her. She had to learn the ropes of it all fairly quickly. There had been some help along the way.

Celia had found there was a mixture of false niceties and genuine care amongst the models. She was always keen to make a friend. But for the most part, the girls were just there to do their thing and get on with their day. She didn't blame them for that. Other than IcedCoffee - although they had never shared real names, IcedCoffee had been super friendly and offered some advice. Had mentioned that the supposed "models" in her room were actually just trying to get whatever freebie they could. She had told Celia to enjoy it while she could. Looking back, it may have been more of a warning.

A message came through for Celia. 

londonlatino: im Colombian but living in lodnon 
londonlatino: London 

She tapped out a reply. At least she could respond to that one. 

sexycici95: lovely! 

sexycici95: London is cool, do you like it? Where in Colombia are you from?

Not that she had much knowledge of Colombian geography, but Celia thought it'd be nice to ask.

londonlatino: yeah is ok
londonlatino: you look very young
londonlatino: how old r u? would you rather get a creampie gangbang or on your face?

Celia sighed. She couldn't be bothered with it. Why was it so much effort to try and have some semblance of a normal conversation before getting straight into questions like that? 

Why couldn't he have just given her a city name? Maybe she could have given him some recommendations for London, even. 

londonlatino: you like to give head or receive head hmmm?

Celia logged off. Shoved her laptop away. The effort was gone.

The loneliness was still present. 

Open Up (Part 12)

Hello, everyone. It's been a time since I uploaded here. How are you all doing? Swell, one would hope. Let's keep on trucking on. Here's another lil snippet from a series I never thought I'd really continue: 

Have a little read of part 11 if you do so wish to reacquaint yourself, or from the beginning, here. 

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She closed her laptop. If Damian was going to be like this, so would she. Distractions were definitely needed.

Hey! What you up to? came the reply from Callum.

Would a photo be a bit too much? Nothing... overboard. Just, she didn't really know what to say. She had her face to do the talking for her. 

She was probably overthinking this. They had spoken before a couple of times. Mostly about random stuff. But, he seemed interested. That was all she wanted right now. Just a little attention. Something to help her ego after Damian's dismissal. Plus, they'd met once before, briefly, at a gig together. She assumed he wasn't a creep. And he lived close enough. He wasn't too much older than her. Seemed friendly enough. No harm in just hanging out and seeing where things led. 

Celia tried a few poses, a little bit of leg, something sitting down, back arched? Maybe lying on her bed? Her heart wasn't truly in it, though.

She sent a picture. On her bed, hair up, a little head tilt. With the message: 'nothing exciting, yourself?'. The lava lamp glowing steadily in the background. Celia had mentioned the uses of the lava lamp before, in a brief conversation. Surely it'd be able to provoke something. The response was quick. 

Nothing, is it? Lots of potential for fun, then? I could be doing nothing, too, right now...

She smiled. Of course, her message had worked.  

Tapping out another message to him, she got her car keys and jacket, whilst looking for a pair of trainers to drive in. 

She could do with a little bit of nothing.  

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Read part 13 here.

Open Up (Part 11)

Read part 10 here, or from the beginning, here. 

Damian was staring at the screen thinking of a suitable way to answer her.

He had never been in the army. 

It wasn't even particularly a dream of his. He actually considered himself a pacifist. Damian hadn't known why he'd gone with the army thing. But he had. And now he was stuck in the weird tales he had started weaving. To the extent of having to send messages in the early hours of the morning to account for the time differences of the make-believe locations he was stationed at. The lies about his physique. The lies about his cock. Yet, they just kept tumbling out. But Celia had wanted to speak to him. They'd had a chance to talk. He'd listened to her rants. They had long phone calls about nothing. When she had trusted him with her name he had felt special. And both of them had enjoyed sharing one another's music tastes. 

Long ago, that's all it had ever been about. The music. A college band was started with two friends of his. They never got very far with it. But it was enough to make him miss it. Called themselves Mango Hangover. He had been the drummer. 

Those days were but distant memories for him. Now, he was a substitute teacher. Picking up some editing work on the side. He worked mainly in technical colleges. There were never many females around. The company of Celia was different to the others anyway. He kept her wanting more, knew that she would easily give up if he let himself be available to her constantly. She was a needy thing. He needed her, too. Just for different reasons. 

He began typing. Delete. Delete. Delete.

The music he was listening to wasn't right. He pushed away from his computer desk and strode towards the bed. He flicked through a pile of CDs that balanced forlornly on the bedside cabinet. There was always the record player, he thought. But he hadn't made much of an effort to replace the dust cover and he couldn't bring himself to clean anything. 

Damian went back to his computer. Going to YouTube, he decided on Christmas music. It was December fifth, after all. Chris de Burgh's A Spaceman Came Travelling played.

He started typing once again. 

Damian86: We should meet up.
Damian86: I have a present for you. 

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Read part 12 here.

Open Up (Part 10)

More of this. If you've been following and feel the need to catch-up, read part 9 here. Or, from the beginning, here. 

Big boning bonanza was still playing as Celia made her way back to her room. There was nothing particularly sexy about what was playing - Never Comes The Day by the Moody Blues - but that entire album did hold some special memories. 

She had left her laptop open on the bed. The light from the screen was the only thing illuminating the room other than her lava lamp. She'd had the lamp since she was seven. Her sister had received the same one but in bright green for Christmas. They'd opened them at the same time and immediately went to plug them in. Turns out they take a long time to actually do the blobby-fun-thing. Both of them had been a little disappointed. Although, after, when they had allowed them to warm up sufficiently, they'd been enchanted by the slow undulations of colour. So, it now stood proudly on her desk, its purple blobs casting weird shadows upon the single bed that occupied most of the space in the tiny room. 

It was a shame that her bedroom had become her workspace. There was a time when she felt safe surrounded by all her trinkets. The photos blu-tacked onto her wardrobe, the silly little lights she had placed around her curtain rails, the multiple cushions in which she had made a nest. Those things that she had taken time over to decorate her space now seemed kinda... sullied.

The photos of family and friends staring at her. The pillows which were now used to prop her up offered all the angles and opportunities to hump. Celia sighed. Even the lava lamp had not come out unscathed. 

Not that the pillows hadn't suffered enough at her own sweet expense. It was just that now she felt she was always performing. The omnipresent beady eye of the webcam had made it. Different. If her moans weren't loud enough or long enough or if her body wasn't contorted at just the right angle she felt like she was doing something wrong. It was frustrating. Particularly when she was never getting off on the job anyway. 

Celia opened the site. Damian still hadn't messaged. Her legs bounced. Instead, she typed out a message to the Instagram guy. There were always other options. 

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Read part 11 here.

Open Up (Part 9)

Read part 8 here, or from the beginning, here. 

Celia got up to avoid the onslaught that would have been the full force of Barry Meowinglow. Heading downstairs, she went towards the kitchen to find something suitable to satiate her dear cat. She considered doing some washing, too, whilst she was at it. Maybe that would be a more productive way to spend her evening. 

She filled Mr. Meowinglow's bowl with a pouch of tuna goodness. Celia enjoyed the sounds of him munching away, despite them being a little... wet. If he was content, then that was the most important thing. 

If only it was as easy for her. The life of a cat was a sweet one. Although, that being said, Mr. Meowinglow's life had been filled with an almost improbable amount of disaster. Celia had adopted him at four months from a local rescue centre. His profile had stated that he was not very good with children, dogs, or other cats. He'd been found in a box outside the butchers. She had contemplated the reasoning behind this - was it the easiest location to dump the poor thing? Had they panicked and thought 'Ah, well at least the butchers will know what to do with it'. It was rather odd. But, at least Mr. Gillian had found Barry before he had starved or got too dehydrated. It was also probably where his obsession with venison sausages started, too. 

Barry seemed to attract disaster. A few months after she had taken him home and things were starting to look up, Barry went missing. He was gone for five days. Nobody knew where he'd been. They'd been posters and desperate Facebook pleas for his whereabouts, yielding no results. The silly thing had eventually turned up as though nothing had happened, shouting loudly outside the window. 

Then there'd been foxgate. Barry had nobly decided that defending the honour of his garden was to fall directly on his furry shoulders. The fight had been valiant, but ultimately, the fox got away worse. Celia watched it unfold. The fox, minding his own business, had then felt the heft of Barry Meowinglow coming at him full cat-sprint. It had been a sight to behold. Of course, the one scratch Barry had managed to come away with had ended up badly infected. 

He was still wonderful to her, though. Despite his affection levels dropping massively after food was safely deposited in his belly. 

Celia checked the time. 19:27. Was it really that early still? She supposed there was time to do the wash and maybe even get round to cleaning the kitchen. Perhaps after she could hop back online and get the American crowd. Although they were always the most unpredictable. She shuddered a little, recalling a very large man and his obsession with Clifford the Big Red Dog. That one had been a waste of good facepaint. Although the lead had sorta come in handy. 

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Read part 10 here.

 

Open Up (Part 8)

Read part 7 here or from the beginning here. 

The sailor socks went. After only twenty seconds of struggling.

Instead, her normal bestseller was the whole schoolgirl thing. Despite her own disgust at the whole kinda... well, nonce vibe, she worked with what she could. And what she had was a small body and a young-enough-looking face. Apparently, she screamed "innocence" to the hordes that were into that. Particularly when performing with the pigtails.

Celia smelt the school uniform. At least, the small piece of material that dared call itself one. She hadn't got round to washing it properly since the last time. And when had that been? Tuesday? Wednesday? Christ. That was bad. Even for her. She sniffed again. Not that it smelt... bad. Just. Musty. 

And a little like her ylang-ylang lube. 

Nobody was really doing much in the chatroom. When they all started chatting amongst themselves like this, it was always a weird one for Celia. Was she meant to keep doing what she was doing? Stop and try to join in the conversation? Tell them to shut it; otherwise, she wouldn't bother? Yet, the slow flow of tokens trickling in at least made it kind of worth it. She could forget they weren't there and just dance to the music she had put on. 

Celia had made a few different playlists. This evening, she had a playlist she had christened big boning bonanza, which, in her head, had been very funny and clever. Her other playlists shared similar themes; a playlist to get ya kissed and horny beatz for crusty meat. She drew the line at anthems to make you cums. Couldn't bring herself to pluralize ejaculation like that. 

The tokens were drying up. Celia was left with a tie that reached an inch above her belly button and little else. Nobody wanted to take her into a private session, then. She could only dance for so long. And she would rather not give the lurkers in the chat a free show, either. Celia dragged her laptop so that she was back on her bed. Not her most flattering angle, but whatever. There was a soft thud at her door, followed by a louder, more persistent noise. Looking up from her screen, she saw a flash of fur come striding into the room. 

Barry Meowinglow had entered, and he was hungry. 

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Read part 9 here.

Open Up (Part 7)

If you've forgotten - read part 6 here, or from the beginning, here. 

In the end, the call had lasted all of four minutes and thirty-eight seconds. And two of those minutes involved removing the damn socks (and only for him to ask her to put them back on). They were a lot of hassle.  

sailorrguyyy: ohhh my hearty , you beauty , chat soon ;-) 

Celia knew she should have made the chat last longer. Teased him a little more. Undressed slower. Made him feel special. Actually try and get her money's worth. But the socks had already seemed to take forever. The private sessions were always valued higher than the other stuff. Obviously. You were there to perform very personal kinks. Some involving the right clothing, the right music, the right words. Some of them involving the correct fruit or vegetable. 

She had tried to make enough just on the sorta-subtle-half-nude stuff. That didn't last very long. And, well, there were only so many out there who were willing to substantiate their foot fetish with the correct coin. 

So this is where she had ended up. Despite what it may mean for her future career options. 

At least, she thought, there were a few good ones to help pass the time. 

Celia opened the conversation with Damian. 

The bastard was offline. He couldn't wait, like, five more minutes?

She clicked back to her page. It's not like she had anything else to really do. Her night was free. Even if she wanted to see her real friends this evening. Celia's mind even went back to the mild flirting she had struck up with a guy on her Instagram. Maybe they could meet tonight? 

But there were things she felt she must accomplish first. Another few hours of hanging around in her chat room would have to do instead. 

First, she would change her socks. 

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Read part 8 here. 

Open Up (Part 6)

Read part 5 here, or from the beginning, here.

Damian86: I don't think we're compatible.
Damian86: Although I'll admit there are a few decent songs.
Damian86: You're not off the hook tho.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She didn't want him to dislike her music. But she was grinning. Curiosity got the better of her.

sexycici95: Which did you like, then? 

Another chat popped up.

sailorrguyyy: ahoy stranger! 

Ahhh. Shit. 

One of the few who pretended to be in the navy. They tended to be American. Although this particular character always put on a British accent if she was performing for him. It was never a very good accent.

sailorrguyyy: it,s been a while and i thought we should be reacquainted , i am feeling frisky after my time at sea now

She had also never understood his punctuation usage. Another thing that grated on her. Although at least he never called her baby. Only vaguely nautical-themed terms of endearment.

sexycici95: Oh, steady now sailor! Of course. How can I help you tonight? I'd love to rock your boat. 

Only a mild feeling of queasiness spread through Celia's body. Give them what they wanted, though. And you'd only reap the benefits.

sailorrguyyy: a quick show now , get me going like the clappers , maybe you can wear those cute socks of yours again hmm ? the blue and white ones ? i liked those a lot ... as you know ;-) 

sexycici95: Of course, I'll be right with you, Captain... 

Where had she put those socks? 

Opening her drawers, she rummaged through the various knee-high socks she'd acquired over the years. Such attire always seemed to get them going.

Yet another message popped up:

ilynoise78: Today I dreamed of taking a shit on your belly, take that dump and smear it on your pretty face before punching your clit like a punching bag until you piss

At least she could ignore that one. Fucking trolls. They'd really just go all out to get some sort of response from you. But honestly? Punching my clit? Christ. That one pained her. Her poor clit.

She needed to start the show with ol' sailor boy, he was always a high tipper, but she was dying to know what Damian had responded. But first things, first.

She had socks to find.

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Read part 7 here.

Open Up (Part 2)

There were a lot of customers who would lie about their profession.

So many "teachers" wanting to undergo student roleplay. Apparently a whole load of army guys too. The thing is, or at least, perhaps that's where the beauty lies... You can be anyone on the internet. The men got the chance to be whoever the fuck they wanted to be. And with the bravado of their new-found career brought forth the sadness of their goals.

"Can you just listen for a bit."
"It's just. You're different."
"Wish you could be here instead of the wife."
"Only able to do a quick show love gotta be starting the lecture at two."
"Back at base now yeah. It's lonely out here"
"Make me cum please bby"

Bizzyboi81 started a conversation: How much to get you to peg your nipples?

Sorry, what?

Bizzyboi8: I want you to put pegs on your nipples.

Fucks sake. Guess he's in it for the shock value.

Sure! I can do that. Hmm, maybe 600 tokens... :)

Have to find the bloody pegs first. 

Anything else?

Bizzyboi8: I want my name written on your tits

Yes! Of course Master.

How on Earth. 

FUCK'S SAKE. 

Going to have to buy more pegs at this rate.

And on it would go, depending on the situation. The thing was, for the most part, it wasn't a terrible way to earn money.

At first, anyway.

It wasn't as though she experienced any stigma about it from the family. They all knew, of course. That's just how it had played out. But it was still not something you'd just casually bring up at dinner (unless, of course, you did). It suited her schedule just fine and allowed her the flexibility of all the other life commitments. Maybe she was after something more rewarding. More so than a couple of faked orgasms on screen. And honestly, they were all faked. How the fuck anyone thought she was getting off for real was incredible.

"I can tell when it's real or not and I'm so happy that I can make you happy bby"

Oh you really know how to please me :) Oh! Yesss! Ahhhhh! Mmm! and whatever symphony of faux noises she could muster to create the crescendo of another lie.

Etc etc etc.

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Read part 3 here.

Open Up (Part 1)

Another message popped up. Another customer.

blur23: I want to fuck a pumpkin on Skype for you. How much to just watch?

She clicked off the conversation tab.

Perhaps, way back, she would have been shocked at such a statement. That was before. Now, it was just another random message to add to the barrage of weird or fucked-up things she read on an almost daily basis. She wasn't about to kink-shame now. Everyone had their own... thing. Hers wasn't watching pumpkins.

Plus, Halloween had already been. Maybe that was the only thing left to do with the pumpkin, she mused.

Another message.

Bone1000: hey gorgeus

Hey you. She replied. One of the regulars. She waited until the response about a show would come. That she could handle.

Sometimes, it wasn't all bad. Sometimes she just kept people company. They kept her company, too. She enjoyed the attention most of the time. There was always an abundance of compliments.

"mmmmmmm sexy"
"so cute!"
"love your tits, sweetie"
"making me hard bby girl"
 "you're so much different to the rest of the models".

And such.

Early on she had found herself grouping the types of men (and the odd woman) that visited her room. It was somewhat easy to recognise the categories. The ones who wanted to shock. The ones who needed the release. The ones who needed the company. Someone who would listen to them. Anyone. Even if it was just a cam girl. A lot of the people were lonely on the site, she had come to find.

She was one of the lonely people, too.

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This was something that's been lurking in my drafts for a while, now. I reckoned it was time to release it into the wild. Hope you enjoyed. Maybe I'll write some new stuff in these weird times. But, maybe not, too.

Stay safe and try not to overthink things now wonderful people x

Read part 2 here.

On Not Going to Plan

There was a time where I had the idea of posting monthly on this here blog - and it worked - for a while, anyway. But, well, sometimes things don't go to plan. You'll notice I haven't been around since the August. I truly don't believe it's November, where did the time go?

Many things have happened between then and now.

Lots which I shall not speak of, but also many wonderful things too.

I went back to Poland, and had a fabulous/messy time, involving very late nights and places that looked a little crack-den like.

Wrocław was very pretty and did not disappoint. Things didn't go quite to plan... but it was definitely a fun time.

Then of course it was back to France to enjoy the autumn session. Lots of emotions were felt. Goblins returned. It was an interesting time, even if things didn't always go to plan... ( like, if there were multiple fire drills, or kids having to go to the hospital, or wasp stings... or power cuts)

                                   

And since I have returned home, I have enjoyed spending time with my wonderful friends and catching up with camp pals where possible.

However, it's really nice to be on my own bed right now. At least, until New Zealand in a few weeks time... 

Should prepare for that, I guess. 

Hope that any of you who do read this are leading lovely lives and I'll make an effort to update y'all on my travels. 

I also figure if you don't have too much of a plan it can't go wrong. 

We Like to Play Hard & Stick to the Schedule

My time working as an English teacher at a summer school in Cambridge came to an end on Sunday.

The last six weeks provided some rather unique challenges, which included such delights as:

• Preventing children from eating poisonous berries (and sort of failing).
• A 9 year old with a sugar addiction and a propensity for acquiring debt.
• Getting students to come out of their rooms during a fire drill (and failing).
• Chickenpox. A fair amount of chickenpox. Too much chickenpox.
• Identifying the source of a very pungent smell located somewhere in a girl's room.
• Guarding a broken automatic door at midnight to ensure no randoms walked into the building.
• Some intriguing comments from colleagues.
• Noodle hour.
• Students masturbating wherever they deemed fit. Like, in class. 

Yet, despite these things. It was a good time, a great time. A rewarding experience for sure. I was lucky to teach some amazing students and meet some great people over the summer.. There were some excellent performances (see Shakespeare Enters) and also many moments of joy throughout the course. It helped that I worked with some lovely people.

"We know we have a great team, we know we have a lot to learn but still we keep playing"... 

Here's to keeping on playing (but sticking to the schedule).

Ugly Enough To Be Rather Attractive

It would seem like the whole notion of dating and messaging people on specifically-designed apps has always been an interest of mine...

Hence why I have stumbled across such a video on YouTube that shares the results of a rather intriguing study conducted by one of these types of sites (but has since been deleted).

Although I shall try to explain briefly the workings of the study, it'll be far better if you watched the video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qLNwa_hoz4w

Essentially, people who are observed as having a generally lower score of average 'attractiveness' (this was a 1-5 rating scale) created a polarized effect - in that they would also score as being (a fair amount) hotter for a statistically significant group of people.

Thus, if your face causes an amount of debate or controversy as to your supposed attractiveness, you're more like to have some people think you're REALLY attractive, or REALLY ugly. But if you're just a generic kinda cute, then they'll be fewer people trying to hook up with you. "Men who think you're hot will add to your message count, but men who think you're cute will subtract from your message count".

A point to take away from this, I thought: "If someone doesn't think you're hot, the next best thing for them to think is that you're ugly".

So...

What to make of the findings? Well, basically, it is thought that men may feel this way as they assume they do not have a lot of competition with women who may attract these varying (largely polarized) opinions. They may assume "Hmmm, maybe she's lonely, or maybe she is just waiting to find a guy who appreciates her..." and so they shoot their shot. Whereas, the generically attractive 'cute' girl may find herself without an abundance of dates or potential suitors based purely on the fact other guys are assuming she's already receiving a whole bunch of attention.

Anyway, a lot of this has come about because I have shared a fair amount recently about my dissertation with my colleagues (to be read here, if interested) to the point that I've found myself exploring even more of the realm of all that is online relationship and vaguely SWB - perhaps it's time to delve deeper into the different categories, or even an update to my previous research.

Of course, it's always worth  questioning the validity of these studies (y'know, like, attractiveness as a measure, for instance, but I find them pretty fun to read nevertheless)

Hope this has been enlightening.

Leave comments if you so wish.

x

North Wales

Everything you could have wanted from Wales was delivered in one beautiful weekend. There was delicious food, a gorgeous middle-of-nowhere cottage, verdant countryside, an abundance of sheep, and inevitably - when the rest of the UK were basking in sunshine-  a whole load of rain. It was a perfect time to experience Bounce Below, a truly delightful cavern experience, and the fastest zipline in the entirety of Europe.

It was also particularly lovely when visiting the village of Portmeirion (which was utterly cute, and I totally recommend, regardless of weather... and when you can just walk in for free, well... even better) 

 

Here are some photos that document the experience:

On Feminism and Language

Again, this is a post for me to say: I have nothing new for you (or rather, there were many topics I was thinking of breaching, and yet - be it the Eurovision boycott, the horrendous new Alabama state laws on abortion - or even the news of Grumpy Cat's death. At the heart of it, I just couldn't bring myself to face these topics).

Thus, I present to you a blog which I follow and for those interested in all things linguistic, could perhaps learn from and enjoy: https://debuk.wordpress.com/

It's from the delightful Debbie Cameron, a fabulous linguist and feminist. If you so wished, you can also find her on Twitter at @wordspinster

Peaking Too Early

I've just returned from yet another stint in France - but I shall save you all the time of recounting this recent camp experience (there's only so much goblin stories one can take, I understand). Instead I'd like to broach a subject that came up whilst having a chat with my colleagues.

The idea of having 'peaked too early' in life.

I mentioned the fact that I felt that at the ripe age of 17 - I had encountered the best year of my life.

Not that my recent years haven't come up to scratch - they're certainly filled with even more than I could have dreamt of when I were but a youngster, taking her first steps into the world of travel and other good stuff.

But everything had a certain freshness to it.

This is not me just being reminiscent of the halcyon days of youth - I distinctly recall acknowledging and being very aware at the time that I was living a pretty good life (in fact, I felt so touched by Sylvia Plath's writing on the subject* that I was inspired to write a piece on it back then, which shall be forgotten to those long lost tumblr posts of mine...). So it's not just nostalgia tinging my past with sweet memories.

I had the absolute best of times. And none of the responsibility that came with the bad times. I was living a very good life with very good people, experiencing very good things. Everything since has been tinged with the guilt of adulthood and other menial, sad shit.

I'm just lucky that I've continued to appreciate the good moments, even if they're not quite on the ranking of the 17th year... (although they are at least on par).

Yet, here's to even better times.




(P.S. feel free to let me know the ranking of your years, much love to everyone) xoxo


*“Somehow I have to keep and hold the rapture of being 17. Every day is so precious I feel infinitely sad at the thought of all this time melting father and farther away from me as I grow older. Now, now is the perfect time of my life.” - Sylvia Plath. 

Copenhagen

Celebrating 6 years of even more good times with Ethan.

We went ahead and took part in our favourite activities - art galleries, people watching and finding the best food.

With our Copenhagen card (which was very useful) we visited the ARKEN Museum of Modern Art where we enjoyed some of Van Gogh's work and life. Plus, a trip to the Kunsthal Charlottenborg was a fun (and enlightening) experience. The SMK - National Gallery of Denmark was however a true delight. Particularly the work of Lilibeth Cuenca Rasmussen and her Family Sha la la choreography (which can be found on YouTube).

Further to our enjoyment of the many art galleries, we went to the National Museum and learnt about Danish society and how it's evolved throughout history (lots about Vikings, too, which was pretty cool). We also visited the Round Tower and the Christiansborg Royal Stables.

Food-wise - an evening tasting menu at Høst was full of tasty morsels and the wine-pairing (which included a fine Japanese beer) was bloody good. A visit to the food halls is also recommended, although you'll be stuck for a place to sit around lunch time.


There was a lot packed into our little trip.

Friendly people, beautiful country, beautiful food, beautiful company.

On Poisoning Your Spouse

It's been an odd couple of weeks (although months, now, really), my Nan (on my Father's side) was admitted to hospital after a fall, and is now in residential care due to her being completely bat-shit crazy (and not at all well).

So there's been that.

This is something we had sort-of been prepared for given her declining state.

What I hadn't been prepared for was encountering the woman who has lived opposite my Nan for essentially all of the time I've been on this earth (but also for the many of years preceding that, you see, she knew my father as a little boy, and he's not exactly young).

 Today I (truly) got to meet her and learn about... well. A LOT.

Let's start with the facts. Just so you can truly get the image of this incredibly... vibrant woman. She is an elderly lady, a smoker (and asthmatic) who lives in a small town in Essex, born in the East End of London, who was sent into care at a young age, along with her older sister, after both her parents contracted tuberculosis. There were many beatings in this care home. She also grew up Catholic. She had a son who was schizophrenic, who died fifteen years ago.

She also tried (on multiple occasions) to kill her husband.

He's dead, now. Not as a result of her. But, still (the image of her blessing the father, the son, and the holy spirit then immediately exclaiming "you bastard" shall remain in my heart for a long time now).

He used to hit her. And he used to ask for a lot of things she wasn't able to give ("It was only six weeks after the birth of the little ones and he was trying to... I had stitches everywhere, so...")

So. She decided to visit the chemists. She decided to purchase some, let's just say, items which wouldn't allow a whole lot of action after use. And she put it in his curry ("curry is good for hiding that sorta thing, y'know").

 I didn't know. But I do now.

By her own words, it was three months after the incident that things were truly able to function again (she also repeated her motions of blessing at this point).

And there are other tales. Really quite gruesome tales. However, if I could convince her to write her own book then I believe hearing it from the horse's mouth would be far more entertaining. Also, of course, I would much prefer to be able to recount her own version fully. She definitely has a way with words.

It was certainly an interesting day today.

Paris 2.0

Unlike last year, (coincidentally, around the same time) where I booked only the day before to visit Paris, this time I gave myself an entire two days.

But I had sort of planned this time, I guess. It was more about visiting people (or one particular person) than the place.

Together we saw Bohemian Rhapsody (I cried), with an abundance of popcorn, and enjoyed a kebab and Thai food. Mostly we chilled, for they were recovering from surgery. It's pretty funny watching anybody high on pain medication. 

So that was good.

I finally saw the Eiffel Tower. Somehow, on all my previous visits to the city, I'd never quite made it. It was... okay. Not that it isn't a pretty interesting piece of architecture, but the crowds and the overwhelming amount of insistent folk trying to get you to buy random crap sort of took away from the whole thing. But, overall, I'm happy I went. At last. 

It was a thoroughly enjoyable time.  

Malta

Our journey was quite surprisingly unremarkable - there were no issues travelling, and we arrived without hitches to our destination (courtesy of our lovely taxi driver George - who did have to collect some cream for a random skin allergy - but, well, that couldn't be helped) which was an Airbnb right upon the harbour of Valletta. It was the cutest little place, and totally ideal for our stay. 

What distinguished Malta for me is the fact all the cats on the island looked content. Which seems like the most solid basis of any rating scale, if you ask me. Just how smug does a feline in your community appear? If, like Malta, there are lots of happy, fat and very satisfied looking cats, then already I'm going to be excited to stay. 

Of course, that wasn't all Malta had to offer. There's a deep, dark history to the island. Being in such a prime location in the Mediterranean, Malta has had it's fair share of colonisations throughout the years. Visiting the Fort Saint Elmo was an intriguing experience, offering a lot of insight into the Great Siege of Malta in 1565 and this continued with a visit to the Palace Armoury in the Grandmaster's Palace. So many weapons, including some of the armour that belonged to the knights from the Order of St John.

We also had the chance to witness the 50th anniversary of the Middle Sea Race. It's pretty amazing how all of the island (or so it appeared) ended up sitting and watching on whatever surface faced the harbour. 

There was a lot of wine and a lot of good food. Particularly, the people at The Pulled Meat Company, who went out of their way to accommodate us and were kind enough to give us complimentary bread and drinks when our food took a little longer than expected (not that we were in any rush). There was also a great seafood linguine from Ginger, and a tasty sea bass dish from La Pira. I highly recommend. 

Go visit Malta. Be it for the history, the food, the wine, the scenery...  Or the very smug cats.