There's a Fire still Burnin'

Things I found while looking for my father:

1. The blues
2. Bars
3. Smoke-filled rooms
4. Dirty women.

I had actually discovered all of these things before the old man passed away, but I never got to share them with him. He was weak and scarred and scared, and no longer the stud he had been in his navy days. He complained about the noise at a couple of my parties, and helped me once when I got pulled in by the police, and that was about it.

After he was gone, I went looking for lessons in how to be a man. And I went looking in the company of women. Not the normal way of doing it, I think, but it just seemed to me that the old John Wayne and Clint Eastwood type of masculinity was all washed up and nowhere to go.

I was sorry that John Lennon wanted to be with Yoko rather than Paul, and Marc Bolan ended up wrapped around a tree rather than Gloria Jones [G.L.O.R.I.A], but you know, I was right. It was the late twentieth century, and the way to be a man was to listen to the ladies, and find out what they wanted.


Mary Coughlan knew what she wanted.

I got a heart that's broken hearted,
How do I mend it?
I got a crying jag that's started,
How do I end it?
Well, honey, if you're gloomy
Come around and do me
Meet me where they play the blues

A day or two ago, I started singing this song to myself. (Yes, dear reader, I had a 'crying jag'. ) It's an old jazz standard from the twenties written by Jack Teagarden, but Ms Coughlan, being a fine, forthright, hard-drinking Irishwoman from County Galway, upgraded the lyrics a bit so that you knew exactly what was on her mind.

And you know, there's crying yourself to sleep, and there's crying yourself to sleep. Sometimes , the experience can be improved, without in any way changing the underlying mood or denying it, by matching it to the right music and the right company.

People have said they've seen you dance
In hideaway places
People have said you find romance
In others' embraces
Well, honey, if you're dreamy
Come along and see me
Meet me where they play the blues

Eyes that flirt with a tear
Are common round here
And misery loves company, they say
So I'll linger 'til dawn
While the trumpet wails on
And I'm hopin' you'll happen this way

I'm sick and tired of sippin' wine
And watchin' the bubbles
How did our dreams get out of line
And land us in trouble?
Well, honey, if you're learnin'
There's a fire still burnin'
Meet me where they play
I want you wehre they play
Meet me where they play the blues
MARY COUGHLAN

Manchester, so Much to Answer For

Welcome to the North.

Something for the Ladies

Nothing brings out my feminine side quite like high heel shoes made of chocolate. Thanks to Lisa Katayama @ Tokyo Mango for this item.

Normal?

"It may be normal, darling; but I'd rather be natural."

Solstice of Sexuality

'TIS the year's midnight, and it is the day's,
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ;
The world's whole sap is sunk ;
The general balm th' hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed's-feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr'd ; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compared with me, who am their epitaph.

Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring ;
For I am every dead thing,
In whom Love wrought new alchemy.
For his art did express
A quintessence even from nothingness,
From dull privations, and lean emptiness ;
He ruin'd me, and I am re-begot
Of absence, darkness, death — things which are not.


All others, from all things, draw all that's good,
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ;
I, by Love's limbec, am the grave
Of all, that's nothing. Oft a flood
Have we two wept, and so
Drown'd the whole world, us two ; oft did we grow,
To be two chaoses, when we did show
Care to aught else ; and often absences
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcasses.


But I am by her death—which word wrongs her—
Of the first nothing the elixir grown ;
Were I a man, that I were one
I needs must know ; I should prefer,
If I were any beast,
Some ends, some means ; yea plants, yea stones detest,
And love ; all, all some properties invest.
If I an ordinary nothing were,
As shadow, a light, and body must be here.

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew.
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun
At this time to the Goat is run
To fetch new lust, and give it you,

Enjoy your summer all,
Since she enjoys her long night's festival.
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call
This hour her vigil, and her eve, since this
Both the year's and the day's deep midnight is.
JOHN DONNE

Cheese and Crackers

"It says here that my son was cavorting on a beach in Ibiza with someone called Helena Christensen . . . Why is that in the newspaper?"

"She's a well-known supermodel, William."

"Oh really . . . so it's a good thing?"

This is, apparently, a true story from the life of William O'Malley Armstrong, whose son is Rollo (of Faithless) and whose daughter is Dido. (What would we do for embarrassment, eh. if we didn't have parents?)

Helena is pretty hot, and you know what turns her on?

"Whenever my head is like a maze, I turn to the easy things in life, the things that mean the most to me: Sex and cheese. These things are connected.

"There've been times when I've bought a whole pound of cheese and walked down the street and eaten it in one go... I think it's incredibly sensual."

"Actually I've seriously thought about getting a cheese tattoo. A nice Edam on my shoulder, maybe."

Once again, I find myself going for the mad chick. This is, after all,

a woman who dated Michael Hutchence and Heath Ledger. Do I really want to join that club? Would I ever be able to satisfy this woman, except at great cost to myself?

Except maybe she's onto something. Cheese is sex. Maybe cheese is the new drug of choice for the guys who want to get the girl.

Anybody got any cheese porn I can borrow?

Not Tonight... I'm Blogging

46% of women would rather go without sex for two weeks than go without access to the Internet for that long, according to the Wall Street Journal.


That includes 49% of women aged 18-34 (oh dear...), and 52% of women aged 35-44 (yikes!)

I know I would find life difficult without broadband, but since I don't currently spend 8-10 hours a day having sex, I don't feel I can make a valid comparison.

Spooky Girlfriend

I want a girl to make a mess
To do no wrong she must confess
And then perhaps hitch up her dress
'Cos when the flashbulbs explode
She's such a sensitive soul...

I want a girl who is helpless and frail
Who won't pull on my ponytail
I want a girl who has no past
She's made up now
But that won't last
'Cos when she sits on my knee
And then she whispers to me

"Can't you see
I could be
I could be
Your spooky girlfriend"


The broken toys are all scattered in the attic
Newspapers play with the words of the fanatic
While the greeting cards are your most poetic lyric
And the flat champagne is sweet sugar syrup

I want to paint you with glitter and with dirt
Picture you wit innocence and hurt
The shutter closes
Exposes the shot
she says, "Are you looking up my skirt?"
When you say "No"
She says "Why not?"

I want a girl to turn my screw
To wind my watch, to buckle my shoe
And if she won't her mother will do
Cos when she does as she's told
We'll all turn platinum and gold

But when she sits on my knee
I hear her whispers to me
"Can't you see?
"I could be your spooky girlfriend"

Elvis Costello

Mess On Your Hands

Today is Global Handwashing Day, sponsored by UNICEF, and it seems that the further north you travel (in the UK, that is) the more likely you are to meet someone with poo on their hands.

The London School of Hygiene & Tropical Medicine, tested commuters at bus stops outside mainline railway stations, in the morning rush hour. Here are the results:




City
Newcastle
Liverpool
Birmingham
Cardiff
London



Men
53%
36%
21%
15%
6%


Women
30%
31%
26%
29%
21%

I think it's interesting that there are huge regional difference between men's standards of handwashing, while women are more consistent (but grubbier than blokes, it seems, in the Midlands and the South.)

What is it with Northern men? I suppose they just love their allotments. Or fisting.

Perhaps Wife In The North can tell us. Or Belle de Jour. Belle has a new book out this week and was on the radio just now chatting to Mark Lawson - I would have preferred Nigella.

Women's Petition Against Coffee

I know I am depraved beyond redemption. It is not yet nine in the morning, and I am already sipping the rich, dark brew. And thanks to my habit, Thoufands of Buxome Good-Women, are Languifhing in Extremity of Want (sic).

Coffee was introduced into England in 1650, and clever people very quickly lost interest in the Civil War and became scientists and merchants and natural philosophers. The Queen's Lane Coffee House in Oxford was established in 1654, and I often go there when I'm in Oxford and feel like getting in touch with the spirit of the Enlightenment and dispelling a hangover.

But not everyone approved of the change. The Women's Petition Against Coffee is a satirical pamphlet about men who never fight with any weapon except the tongue, and are 'unfit to be the life-guard to a cherry-tree' (mmm, you bitch.)

The women's petition concludes with these stirring words:

Wherefore the Premises considered, and to the end that our just Rights may be restored, and all the Antient Priviledges of our Sex preserved inviolable;
That our Husbands may give us some other Testimonies of their being Men, besides their Beards and wearing of empty Pantaloons: That they no more run the hazard of being Cuckol'd by Dildo's:

But returning to the good old strengthning Liquors of our Forefathers; that Natures Exchequer may once again be replenisht, and a Race of Lusty Hero's begot, able by their Achievments, to equal the Glories of our Ancesters.

We Humbly Pray, That you our Trusty Patrons would improve your Interest, that henceferth the Drinking COFFEE may on severe penalties be forbidden to all Persons under the Age of Threescore; and that instead thereof, Lusty nappy Beer, Cock-Ale, Cordial Canaries, Restoring Malago's, and Back-recruiting Chocholes be Recommended to General Use, throughout the Utopian Territories.

In hopes of which Glorious Reformation, your Petitioners shall readily Prostrate themselves, and ever Pray,&c.
FINIS.

I like my coffee like my women. One or two, first thing in the morning, before I start work. Then another, a couple of hours later.

I am really not sure what a back-recruiting chochole is. It sounds a bit gay, if you ask me.

I Like Me So Much Better

A message from our sponsor

I had a friend called Keith whose sage words of advice in times of trouble were

• Get Drunk
  
• Get Laid
  
• Get Over It
  

He didn't stand by that rule all the time. For example, when a large truck compressed Keith's brain into a smaller space than the space it was meant to occupy (to whit, Keith's skull) he went into a coma for a few days, then suffered total amnesia, which left him unable to remember that he had dumped his girlfriend three months previously, and started seeing someone else. The dumped ex, who had been wondering how to win him back, got to the hospital before the new girlfriend, and Keith's life got a little bit complicated.

But we're talking about bad sex here.

I don't mean baaaad sex, involving an Isaac Hayes CD, a bottle of supermarket vodka, and some MDMA. I'm not talking about Coyote Ugly sex either, where you find yourself gnawing your own arm off the next morning just you can get out before the other person* wakes up.

*I'm making an assumption here. I hope I haven't offended your lifestyle.

I'm talking about transition sex; the times in your life when bad sex can be just what the doctor ordered - or just what the nurse offered, if that's your preference.

Now, before you think this is about what I got up to last night, it isn't. I got up to the Merry Monk last night, where I had three pints of cider, and discussed Russian hackers attacking the local authority's housing benefits system; that's what I got up to last night.

There were no scenes of a sexual nature, or people of a sexual nature. It's not that sort of pub. This is just a long-winded introduction to the little tune that's going round my head this morning.

Ida Maria has written a brilliant song about meeting a guy, and not knowing what to say, and finding that she's just talking complete bollocks. (You're going to tell me this has never happened to you?) She even finds herself smoking a cigarette, and she's not really sure what for.

But she suggests that the guy take her home, and then she suggests that he might like to take all his clothes off. Which he obligingly does (he must like her, I guess.) And she immediately feels much happier. She likes him much better when he's naked. She likes herself much better, too. Result.. Happy ending!

All the clever
things I should say to you
They got stuck somewhere
Stuck between me and you

Oh I'm nervous
I don't know what to do
Light a cigarette
I only smoke when I'm with you.

What the hell do I do this for?
You're just another guy
OK, you're kind of sexy
But you're not really special

But I won't mind
If you take me home
Come on, take me home

I won't mind
if you take off all your clothes
Come on, take them off

'Cause I like you so much better when you're naked
I like me so much better when you're naked
I like you so much better when you're naked
I like me so much better when you're naked.
IDA MARIA

I Kissed A Girl

This was never the way I planned
Not my intention
I got so brave, drink in hand
Lost my discretion
It's not what I'm used to
Just wanna try you on
I'm curious: for you
Caught my attention


I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my friends don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it

No, I don't even know your name
It doesn't matter
You're my experimental game
Just human nature
It's not what, good girls do
Not how they should behave
My head gets so confused
Hard to obey


I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my friends don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it




You girls you are so magical
Soft skin, red lips, so kissable
Hard to resist so touchable
Too good to deny it
Ain't no big deal, it's innocent


I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my friends don't mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don't mean I'm in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it.

KATY PERRY
(That's her up there with the knife...).

Every now and then
you find someone you really like,
but sometimes in the end
they may not fit you right

My baby's in love with a shoe salesman
the man who works down the block
yes, she's in love for the first time, again
he's got her heart tied up in a knot

With all his talk about the price he can give
he's got her sold on the life they could live
just like the slippers in the window there
he says they make such a cozy pair


My baby's in love with a shoe salesman
it makes me feel like a sock full of holes
it all began when she window-shopped
an' pretty soon he was holding her sole

Now she's in love with that man down the street
and he's in love with her feet
I try to think everything is alright,
but who's gonna keep my feet warm at night

Oh, I love her even though
she's made a heel out of me




My baby's in love with a shoe salesman
now I don't fit her,
no, I don't fit her
now I don't fit her anymore.

Adrian Belew

Unexpected Conversation of the Weekend

Host: "How are you enjoying the party?"
Gordie: "Great. I was just talking to Derek"

"Ah, you met Derek. He's a good bloke."
"Yeah, and his mum's really nice, too."

"Don't go there."
"Uh?"

"Just don't go there. It doesn't matter how big your dick is, or how thick. If you sleep with Derek's mum, you will wake up in a pool of blood, going Oh. My. God."

"Thanks for the advice..."

Call and Response

"A regular booty call partner can be much more satisfying for a woman than a string of one-night stands, because it usually takes a few sessions to teach a new man the various routes to your happy place.

"And if you're not demanding orgasms from your casual sex,
then you're kinda missing the point, aren't ya?"

(thanks to Em and Lo for that little tip.)

Sex and Shopping

Cosmopolitan magazine claims
that women think about shopping
almost as often as men think about sex.

I don't believe them. Do you?

Melting Point

"Melt down over
women and gays"

I thought it was a recipe involving chocolate...
(possibly a suggestion for using up leftover Easter eggs)

But in fact.... it was a newspaper headline in The Times today,
about the current state of the Church of England.

All I Want, Part 3

So... this is what I did today: writing, and housework.

And what I wanted to do, was exactly what I was doing, but to have somebody there that I could stop every once in a while, and kiss. And talk to. And cuddle. And then carry on working.

All I Want, Part 2

Eros, again now,
the loosener of limbs
troubles me...
Bittersweet, sly,
Uncontrollable creature.

All I need is a little time,
To get behind this sun
And cast my weight,
All I need is a peace of mind,
Then I can celebrate.

All in all there's something to give,
All in all there's something to do,
All in all there's something to live,
With you ...

All I need is a little sign,
To get behind this sun
And cast this weight of mine,
All I need is the place to find,
And there Ill celebrate.

All in all there's something to give,
All in all there's something to do,
All in all there's something to live,
With you ...

AIR

Pet Boys

If you're one of those smart, modern, professional women who juggle their lives, and you can't make up your mind whether you want a dog, a boyfriend, a baby, or just a shiny new sex toy, there's good news from Asia, where the Koreans have invented a new kind of relationship that combines elements of all four.


Pet Boys are young men who offer themselves for adoption by lonely women, who get to keep them and do pretty much what they want with them. The idea started out as an 'anime' cartoon about a woman who is always unlucky in love, who picks up a homeless boy off the street one day and takes him home. Evidently plenty of Korean women liked the sound of that.

And if you're a nineteen year-old masochistic Asian boy, I suppose being kept in a closet full of high heeled shoes, and taken out occasionally and used for sex, must be ... well actually, I'll let you make your own minds up about that. Watch the video.