Stendhal and me

Falling behind with the diarising again, when you’re at home rather than in a stranger’s house as I was at Edwardstown there’s 1001 things you can fiddle about with, including gardening, funny porn sites, trying to master digital camera software, painting the walls, blogsurfing, pet fussing, visiting next door, new recipes, exercising, email crap, playing old records, reading old records, shopping, visiting the local watering hole, even watching telly. So it’s time to bring out the lash and play the workaholic.

My pedo figure plummeted yesterday (today’s the 27th), going below 10000, and well under it, for the first time in almost a week. If I’d gone out to the West End open night I’d have been fine, and might’ve had something interesting to report as a bonus. Now I have to claw my way back to respectability. There’s a party on tonight and I intend to attend and make up for lost ground. It really is hard though in this heat, you really want to lie back and think of those loves you never knew, rather than trying with boring repetitions to sweat your stomach away.

Sex? On the back burner, which doesn’t work and hasn’t been repaired for years.