Unsurprisingly, Guardian readers have been rubbishing my so-called sex scene in today’s paper, where I was one of several writers asked to try to turn on women with words and so further help fuel the incredible Fifty Shades of Grey publicity campaign.
As EL James’ S and M trilogy continues to break all records, and swell the coffers of my publisher, Random House, with its multi-million sales, The Guardian asked if I would submit an offering, along with people like Jenny Colgan, AL Kennedy, Will Self and Jeanette (hot scene) Winterson.
So here is what they published…
I felt like an adolescent boyfriend being taken back to a new girlfriend’s house as we went up in the lift. I didn’t want to stand too close to her as it carried us to our floor, even after the intimacy of our walk. She was clearly feeling the same sense of excitement tinged with unease. She even said ‘Here we are then’ as she fished her swipe card from her bag.
‘Is this the moment when I ask if you want to come in for a coffee?’ she said, smiling.
She was standing about four feet away from me. I looked long and hard, trying to read those eyes. Was she still pulling me in, or pushing me away? Then, before I knew it, I was kissing her.
‘Are you crazy!’ she said, drawing away. ‘Not here!’ She unlocked the door to her room and pulled me in.
It was dark inside. The change of atmosphere froze us momentarily, as if we suddenly realised the enormity of what we were doing. Maya walked across the room to turn on a lamp. Then she sat down on the side of the bed and kicked off her shoes.
I walked over and stood by her. I held my hand towards her. She took it, and I sat down beside her. Then I bent my head towards her ear.
‘You said I was the best friend you’ve ever had,’ I whispered. ‘Can I be the best lover too?’
I mean God Almighty, you’re not going to get too frisky on that, are you? No wonder the words ‘lame’, not to mention ‘limp’, were coming onto my twitterfeed. So in the interests of that old pal rebuttal, here is the rest of the scene I sent them.
I felt so much better now the words were out. My heart slowed, I let out a big sigh, and felt the dryness leave my mouth.
She didn’t say anything, so I reached out to touch her hair. She closed her eyes. It wasn’t an answer to my question but I took it as permission to go further.
I kept my fingers in her hair and with my other hand caressed her closed eyelids and then her cheek. Maya shot her hand across to hold my lower arm and for a moment I worried she was angry, felt I had gone too far, and she was going to move my hand away, but then I realised the firmness of her grasp was to encourage me. She wanted more. Her eyes remained closed, as she fell backwards on to the bed.
‘Look at me,’ I said.
She opened her eyes slowly.
‘I love you,’ I said.
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I wish I’d seen it before, just how much.’ I moved my hand to her shoulder, then the back of her neck. I had touched her arm many times, but never her neck or her bare shoulders. The skin was softer than I could have imagined. I ran my forefinger round to her throat, then traced a line down to the place where her skin met the neckline of her satin dress. Then I allowed my hand to slide underneath the fabric. She wasn’t wearing a bra. I reached down to cup her breast. She breathed in sharply, leaning towards me. I felt dizzy.
I took a deep breath, my hand immobile for a few seconds, just holding a breast that had fed so many fantasies, so much frustration. It felt better than the best of any fantasy. Then I indulged another fantasy. I gripped the expensive fabric of her green dress in my two hands and I tore it. With a shimmer, the silk fell away to her waist. It was the first time I had seen her breasts. Though there were several highly erotic scenes in An English Rose Abroad, Maya had never been filmed naked from the front. Now there they were, perfect objects of desire, my hands touching them and my lips moving down to kiss them. I ran my tongue around her nipples and then into the valley of her throat and up to her lips.
‘Kiss me,’ I said, and as she did I felt both her hands on my shoulders, then running down my back, up to my shoulders again, as our tongues ended a two-decade courtship, circled each other again and again, till I sucked her hard into my mouth, and she me into hers. She grabbed at my belt, helped me open my trousers, then force them to the floor as she pulled me on top of her. My hands fell away from her breasts but I wanted them back there, to make that moment of first contact endure. I raised myself up so that I could keep my mouth on hers but also touch her nipples once more, then I moved down to kiss them, and as I kissed and nipped and bit, she grabbed my hair, tugged it hard and began to emit little gasps, momentary bursts of sound that said to me I was giving her pleasure. Her pleasure was now my sole ambition.
She brought her mouth back to mine, then tugged on my shoulder, and I was lying on top of her, the outside of my thighs touching the inside of hers. I felt her calves on mine as she locked her legs around me, our tongues danced around each other once more, and she was wriggling beneath me, her hands on my hips, Then she was pulling me towards her, directing me to everything I had ever hoped for. I thought the walls were going to fall down as we stroked and screamed our way through hours of pleasure to the union for which my whole life had been a preparation.
Now ok, I accept the odd ripped dress might not match a whole load of spanking and roping and generally inflicting pain upon one’s partner, but the stuff The Guardian did not print, I hope you agree, is a little steamier than the stuff they did.
There is more where it came from, as the whole scene was taken from my second novel, Maya, and was nominated for the Bad Sex in Fiction Award (one of those awards it is good to get nominated for, but which you’d rather not win). From what I can gather from the millions of women reading Fifty Shades, they seem to think it is the good sex in a badly written book that explains the phenomenon, but the phenomenon is astonishing.
Of course what happens now is that millions of men will read it to find out why millions of women already have. I cannot imagine EL James ever realised the full scale of the commercial success she was unleashing, and nor did her publisher, frantically trying to find new freelance printers to keep up with demand. But they know now, and are appreciative of this incredible bonus to their year on year planning.
If anyone fancies anything a little more highbrow and historical, then Random House are keen to remind you there are other books available for purchase at the moment, such as this one, Burden of Power, and that signed dedicated copies can be ordered by emailing firstname.lastname@example.org
My first book, The Blair Years, extracts of all my diaries, was a Number 1 bestseller, and the second bestselling book of the Blair era after Tony’s Journey. The fact that Fifty Shades is selling more in the UK in a week than mine sold in total, despite that No 1 slot, gives you a sense of just why the Random House smiles are so wide in these difficult economic times.
Meanwhile New York rope-sellers say they have never known such demand, and I am wondering whether to rush out my next volume, Fifty Shades of Power, the Clare Short fantasy years, before sanity returns to the market.
Thanks for that!!
Blame it on Mills and Boon, they started the wet knicker brigade, but as is usual, as with general porn in the internet age, it has got pornier,
But, as I have always said, what is the problem? Porn is only a biology lesson, really.
And may I say, the most perverted ladies that I have ever got friendly with were farmers daughters, with all that breeding going on around them, five legged stallions and things, and amourous bulls mounting stone walls for relief, and things. Those with cats and dogs with their balls/ovaries in tact will know what I am on about, when their brains travel to another part of their body, in season…
Song for such, a repeat, beeb like,
mmm, horsey english ladies, mmmm, get on my horrrrrssssee, yee-haaaaaarghuuu!
I entered the room, that she demanded I enter, to meet her. The walls were plain, uncluttered, which was a suprise. I saw her seated, at the far end of the room, seated in a chair that was right out of my grandmothers house – she had found my secret, that I… well, was I? She had the same dark hair, eyes blue with the tide in sea of life as my early goddess. Could it be, she was trying to recreate my first love in life? At first I thought, “What a manipulative cow”, but then quickly thought, “She must have put a lot of thought into this”.
So I gave her a good seeing to, and it was nice, on both sides.
And now we are married (the Mills and Boon add on – optional)
“my bestode underneath excited was able to play though her open cave between her thighed roof, since thatkfully each of us between us were at that perfect boby height to each other standing, with her feet a foot and a bit apart, while I an inch or two, as she bended her lower back back, for contact on my bulb with her filament….
ach, I could go on all night, don’t encouage me. : )
Whatever else she straddles, Maya seems to straddle the decades. Take this, for example.
‘Maya kept running her warm fingers over the back of my neck and spine until I had an erection again. She guided me into her body and, once inside, I felt so content that I didn’t dare to move for fear of spoiling everything. After a while, she kissed me on the ear and whispered: “I think I might wiggle a little bit.” When she moved I discharged instantly. Maya gave me a passionate hug as if my performance had been the greatest thing she had ever experienced.’
No, that wasn’t Alastair but Stephen Vizinczey in his novel ‘In Praise of Older Women’ (1965), a book I had occasion to refer to a few posts back on this blog. It’s about a young man growing up in every sense of the expression in Hungary during and after the Second World War. As for what King Kong and Godzilla got up to – say no more!
The words ‘Clare Short’ and ‘fantasy’ should never be placed in the same sentence. Ever.
another vid for Andy Murraymint for that patch of grass on SW1, remember it is all madness, go for it Andy, full-on, might as well, love from Wales/Cymru. You have our permission to win it, and put up with fifty years of english SE england crap from tomorrow on, that no doubt the cunts will only remember you for, but that is them, Andy.
And Federer is from that swiss banker cunting country, hypocrisy in present motion. Bastards.
Pathetic WWII twats – baffles me the fucking swizz, unlike Osstereich,
who actually produced a Hitler,
Ja, Sigird und Marina! peep-peep
Yes thought something was wrong – how many words had they actually asked for Ali?
I believe this is known as “Vanilla” lol
Llangollen International Music Festival is finishing tonight. Don’t know who the winners are yet, will look into it in the next few days, since it is all confusing.
BUT, I will post my favorite act and winner from last year, from Odessa, a city in Ukraine, on the north coast of an inreadilbe sea, the Black Sea. The lady here, say no more. Was told her name, but can’t spell it in Ukraine,
Quite a girl. As I said elsewhere, she reminded me of the then living then in oz ozzie girl who came to Britain, to be ripped off by british record companies, as they do,
English SE England twits! No sense of the future, and how people regard us. When they drag themselves down, us provincial simple cunts are being dragged down too. Twats. But who is simpler, now that is the question, ey?
I thought that was very nice AC, both the bit that the Guardian published and the bit they didn’t. I am not unfamiliar with your writing in this area though as my friend back in the day used to buy the occasional copy of Forum magazine from the local newsagent. I wouldn’t have had the nerve! But we enjoyed reading it.
I won’t be reading this fifty shades of shite book, spanking and roping doesn’t do it for me. I think most women (not all I know) like a bit of romance and lurve even in their sex lives.
oh jeezus, wish closed harpists that live on hidden welsh farms would post on you tube please, and not let me have to hear from oriental ripoffs, not that there is nothing wrong with that, just like to see a farmers wife playing “as the wheat grow”, but it is no doubt struggling at the moment with all this rain,
Brilliant harp playing, young lady, may I say.
Saw a girl from my school play a three row harp – how she got her fingers into the middle row is beyond me. I was was young mesmorised, and thought, this country, that I live in, is certainly different, they have deep hidden things, rarely seen.
Thank you Alastair, made my Saturday night, went overboard with my original shite comments, just to help Andy, tomorrow, in “things”. Go for it Andy, for gawd sakes. Love from Wales/Cymru, Andy.
notice Sigrid is expecting, ja,
Il est tummy ist full. Enshuldegung, neine! Not me, : ))))
I suspect it’s ‘fifty shades of shite’ too Gilliebc and won’t be wasting my money to find out. I spotted this pretty negative review written in a style suited to Alastair’s blog (via @Ceilidhann):
Well yes, there has been a couple, rumpy pumpy, one asked if I had got there, think she struggles with ogasm, while the other one couldn’t stop singing, she came more than a London Bus, It takes all to make a World up, I think.
A girl I know that comes too often, a well known girl, met her about eighteen months ago, but we didn’t shag, since she is a quarter of a century younger than me, and she was going though her own shit, but she liked me, as all ladies do, even now, Lindsay. Did a good job to calm her down a bit,
Lindsay, asks me what a welshman is like, and I told her, they’re extinct. Lindsay vid I told she would like, and she did,
Then she turned around, expecting, and after a second, she turned her head, with that look into my eyes what she wanted. I thought, no, I’ll let her wait, so I stroked her with what I got, and then she looked back again, I stroked her with more friction between her thighs, and when she looked back at me at the third time, I drove it in her, and sent her up the wallpaper, squealing…
said appears in the middle of here in the middle singing. Something tell me the pearls of odessa didn’t make it this year. Sad. Anyway,
song for such young lady,
yeh, move it, luv, right up and down to be true, do dah do dah do.
When I saw this being played by a welsh harpist forty years ago, it was incredible, with tenor welsh male singing alongside. Looking at the wheat grow.
oh fucking hell,
Looks exactly like me, and I am from Wales, Carmarthenshire. not fucking Lancashire mun!
I’m working on the sequel – ‘Fifty Whiter Shades of Pale’. Set in Alaska it’s about eskimos and what they get up to behind the scenes in igloos. I’ve said it before but I’ll say it again – ‘We’re all Inuits together’.
Ah yes, the Welsh triple harp. Well the Welsh stereotype does harp on a bit, as Hotspur would have agreed after his encounters with Glendower (I know, Glyndwyr). Or, more recently, “WHAT DID THE MAYOR SAY?” ” I was coming to that…”
Very good, and a real cool cat in the background totally unmoved and more interested in playing ball. A good excuse for me to plug Turlough o’ Carolan, Ireland’s melodic late 17th/early 18th century harper, and to congratulate Paddy Malone and The Chieftains, who I was lucky enough to see in June, on clocking up fifty years of creating happiness.
My other half tells me there’s not much sadism and that in reality its all very romantic! Now where did I leave that lassoo…
Apparently it was a quiz so yes, you’d imagine they’d have allowed authors to do their own cropping!
Apparently a lot of the sales have been to Kindles etc (the modern version of plain brown covers?) …
You have a lovely sense of humour Dave.
I like the look of that bloke Ehtch!
I had always pictured you with slightly longer, more disheveled hair. No offence mate. It’s kinda nice to know you at least look like a regular guy.
Good link Janiete. ‘Heinously written’ I suspect, is an appropriate summation of this book.
After I’d posted my original comment I suddenly thought that ‘very nice’ probably wasn’t quite what AC was expecting or hoping for. Whoops:-)
That’s more like it! I must add that book(of Stephen Vizinczey’s) to my ever growing list of essential reading:-)
I;m not surprised by the success of this book. I used to write short “erotica” for female friends, both straight and gay, and they all wanted action, not build up, and fairly graphic descriptions. The wordy stuff was for after the main event. Mills and Boon type prose was out until the orgasm. The only one who ever pulled me up for anything was a lesbian friend who was shocked that such a mild mannered chap would use the c word and make the story so personalised. But could I find anyone to take me seriously and publish my work? Could I (sexually explicit word)
Trouble is I am nearing my sell by date, and am quickly fraying at the edges. Ah well, time ey? Waits for no whatevers.
If one has tins of food to sell, Dave, one sells tins of food. But I try and diversify at times, and not be too blinkered. Now Tom Jones, to keep slightly on topic, is still regarded in the top ten in ladies polls as a, umm, ladies man, even through he’s passed seventy. Must be something in the water.
And Dave, have read Borrow’s “Wild Wales”, what you mentioned the other day, a few times over the years. He went on a walking trip round Wales to try to get over depression, it is said. Interesting book – shows that Wales within the mind, as a people, hasn’t changed much at all. Still a bit strange.
I commented to people on Friday that BBC and World Service both seem to be going into advertising now – I heard 50 shades of Gray mentioned 3 times during the early hours of Friday morning! Also plugs for the Hunger Games. Is nothing sacred
oh new balls please, it was looking so good after the first set. Federer showed too much of his class, Juantorino the Cuban style, as David Coleman once said in one Olympics, when he opened his legs in that 400m, on beeb telly coverage once.
google it if confused what I am on about. Colemanballs.
But might as well post some basic poetry, and when I say basic, I mean well basic. Practised this for years, since young. 18 certificate.
Suck my cock, it’s a stick of Blackpool rock.
Ask your granny, to show her fanny.
Marinate it then lovely, tastier taste then my fanny.
Get your gums, around my plums.
Bacon butties it be, curtains pulled back to see.
Suck my stump, it’s a peppermint lump. (vul.)
Why waste entrance, not buzz button entranced.
By the way, for those that do not get it, Father Ted no doubt, the last one was a reference to a wimmins clitoris, but no doubt in this biological porn age, I think I no need educate. Father Ted?
More tea Father, custard creams with it?
Been ranting on this again, as one does, latest of my crap is this, non-porn, porn is a sideshow to this I said, I quote, meesel’,
“You think? WWII is allegorical how we are as people we are now. So I beg to differ.
As we speak, we are all going through an attitude adjustment through necessity how we were from our blood sucking closed mind times selfish dog mangered past. I am a realist, join me if you want, but if not, prepare to be left behind in times. Knock your wooden coffin up now, for your mind.”
And may I say to Waters and Gilmore and the others, thanks for letting above film be free viewed – but keep on the eye on admin twits corporate that fancy pulling it without your permission.
I like Pink Floyd, you might notice, even if Public School infested, but they seem to be my and others the insiders, path and road in the wrong direction redirected helped.
oh bollox, might as well do a good job on Tom, three incredible vids, showing, within himself, when looked around. He is man out of control, the smell brings him around,a lady perceptive, like a horsefly around horseshit, a man with THUNDERBALLLLLLS!
Yeh, lady darling, shake it, for me.
Even more, I could go on until the cows come home, ok, look and listen to this ladies that bother here, 1975,
Think this bloke could do a job as Burton, if he went to accent classes, and sent down to me to educate him in things – BEHAVE! he’d have to ask first…. no, only joking, honest. : )))
Furthermore Dave, George Borrow from ones interested in giving him an intro to Wild Wales, I quote, book at hand,
“When Wild Wales was first published, it was not much of a success The reviewers considered Borrow eccentric rather than original and did not appreciate, as we do, his zest, energy, and inexhaustible interest in human beings”.
Think that sums it up fair. Song for George B,
sorry, that was quotes of course, song,
Iberia George is more famous for.
Been borrowed a tin of food, from Portugal, Fado, Lisbon, just come in to sell, enjoy, desfrutar, stack them high, sell them cheap…
Any good Dave? OK, so the black eyes I fell into, so?
What about ‘Mark Wright’ and ‘sex god’?
Yes, I’ve noticed more film/theatre reviews included in news coverage. Not as if they haven’t got plenty of real news to cover.
!?! What has happened to this site today? Someone forgot to put a shilling in the meter?
Anyway, spoke to Tom from across the Atlantic, on saying his vid I will well recommend for October 2014 when we will get loads of visitors from the World coming here. I have said I am working on it to be on repeated spool at the Boathouse in Laugharne with other brilliant made vids from people. Missed Tom in Pendine when he made this when I went off to be a capitalist fascist, earning coin. BASTARD DAMN! I would have given it up all for Tom to give me a bit part, and met that scumptious ginger parted irish loverly lady going in and out of Carmarthen bay tides, oh yes, oh deary yes…
Remember all, hundreth Dylan October 2014, tickets are almost sold out, only a few seaside caravan mobile homes, honest, maybe… Carter and Clinton will be there, I have heard, alledgedly.
notice the english underwear wet englishwoman knickers thrown to Tom, there in the first vid? The legend is true, and set up.
But yank ladies took it onto a new concept with him, they have totally no shame, and what makes it worse, their yank husbands didn’t mind at all. jezzus wept!
Furthermore, ladies, when looking for broadminded husband/partner. Look no further english girls, leave those english men in their pubs.
Vid of a story of me with an english girl wrote, years ago,
Dave, suppose I should mention a portugal lad lives nearby, and has educated me. We call him chainsaw, since he works for the local forestry. From Porto, get’s sent brilliant old port from his family there, incredible stuff, onoroso well better than that, nectar grape.
Song for chainsaw,
How is China going to cope with us in their future times?
I do not know if it was due to reading George Borrow at such a young age, or it was naturally within myself to be such, but I have always been a good traveller, always found a young lady easily to look after me and my balls, without question. What is it with me and George?
she missed a few notes though Dave. but I suppose you have got to be welsh to notice that… in the last minute, when the cameraman goes to the otherside of her..
Still, a good performance though, six and a half out of ten. : )
Oxford Uni ladies, Gavin Henson is coming from down a road from you. pass Magdalene and carry on, the otherside of the park from there,
Gav in motion,
London Welsh in Oxford, well known welsh thinkers early stop off. A song for Gavin, that I know he likes, from years ago, he told me,
Mystery it has certainly been, Gavin, ey butt?
aileenia, or something like that, in the front row three middle a year before, in 2010, when she was eighteen, a couple of minutes in,
The one in red are the senior ones, and the ones in white are younger ones, if you are too simple to simple notice.
I recommend a visit to the Ukraine Black Sea coast, through the bosphorous Constanople Istanbul needle, on a boat.
Alastair, de girno de festo,Tati, Italiano non de francais. Il est non anglaise, at least, et non gallaise!
Da iawn, tres bien,very good, umm, umm, napoli ice cream!
Ref Twitter Alastair: you bump into some dodgy people Alastair. I wouldn’t give my time of day to Coe – Steve Ovett was the man. And this constant bothering Gary Lineker baffles me, have you tried getting in touch with Alan Clarke? Now there was a true goal hunter, not this sore toe Lineker. Lineker is a total nonce, one hundred percent. He’s a twat, but I am welsh, and allowed to say such.
when on beach, if you are mousey, makeup a tepid low strength bleach solution, turn your head upside down, squirt it all over, eyes closed, wait a couple of minutes, then dive headlong into the sea, giving it a good wash. and hey presto, you are a sea beach blonde god/goddess.
Wonder how many people that have a pet dog, nipped obviously, has seen two bitches going at it hammer and tongs with each other. Quite bizarre it is. And as soon as a dog gives them each a good seeing too and hits bingo, for pups, they are back to normal. Barking it is, as in mad nature.
Alastair, what do you think of the idea that porn is the modern-day opium of the masses? Nice but terribly addictive to the exclusion of many other things that matter.
From that perspective, the phenomenal response to Fifty Shades might be seen as another step in the decline and fall of Western civilisation, millions of people w*****g away as the boat goes down.
good grief! remember this well too, when I was eight. Nice blonde hair, and wotsits in it, twirled, remember them well from black and white telly, in 1970, when eight. christ! eight! wish I was eight again…
I am becoming a dirty, dirty, old man…
blame the beeb, and Carry on filums….
confession, I would have been happy to have been Princess Anne’s stable boy, when she was young, where I would hope we would have serviced each other’s horses….
She has got balls, Anne has…. I like that, in a woman…
Song for Anne,
ACH! – sorry Anne, join the queue……. might get round to you in, say, five years, you missed your chance in 1978…
might as well post the final hanky scene from above movie. Well, I blubbered, gallons, and those that didn’t and don’t, are cretinous human robots of life, sniff… PRRRAAAAAPPP!
May I say, would gladly desperatly would have shagged Danny Craig, if I was born a woman. Met the bloke years ago in the late 1980’s in the boot and shoe pub up on the rows, and blinkers nightclub, when lived in Chester. Who could not forget those laser sky blue eyes of his, ey? I certainly didn’t, but he liked my peculiar green olive celt eyes, that changed colour with the sun… HARRUMPH!
more tea Vicar?
Might as well post another song that haunts me from my pre-eight year old mind, on when the South Bank arts was built next to the Thames London, think Melvyn Bragg will get wet with this, to hear an old six year old remembering it, giving him a good reinforcement door the arts and farts, from wherever the opening orifice comes from, pumped,
I have a lot of time for brit artists, as you may notice. I try and be one, think I am doing well, since young, pavement and nightclub art, unseen.
“Sniffer” was de man, Ehtch! You are so right!
oh fuck, please no womaaaan, nooooo….
: ) my 1960’s, still remembered, as a young child. Had this sixteen year old that ocassionally babysat for me, blonde, well tall, and when I asked her to show me her young tits, she did, and even at a young age, my eyes went out on cartoon springs… Still know her, and when I see her, she gives that look and wink from her eyes. Our well old secret. MY GAWD, perfect blamonge moulds they were.. O-O, even if I was five.
We played cards when I wasn’t trying to look down her wooly jumper.
Alan Clarke got england into the quarters via a penalty(irony?), in Mexico 1970, but Alf picked Jeff Astle the brummie against the germans, and look what happened? Ted Heath and his fucking yacht!
said it before, and ois will say it again, the oirish invented the auto-pilot, for a wheelchair… a bottle of Jamesons whisky, on a pole
WHOOPS! Allan, of course, sorry Al. still think lineker is a nonse, though. Allan at his best, centenery FA cup final 1972. Gary – watch and weep, a true man in footie action,
YEH, Mick Jones, going up the steps then, with his shoulder left ten foot behind him, dragged along, displaced, to pick his gong up from queeny. Now that is what you call balls.
Very old mate of mine looks like Tom, Wayne, lives up the road now. Ladies couldn’t leave him alone, but as Tom, married young and still is. Me and him going out for a few pints, soon they come sniffing by, for Wayne, and soon spit is exchanged with him, in friendly diplomacy. His wife knows he is a male tart, and is understandable how he uncontrollably is. Only in Wales.
Hang on, my girdle is giving me right gip, let me stand up and adjust it.
Ahh, that is better, what were we talking about again?
Sex? overrated, outside that moment, of come.
and don’t ask about dog lock, crazy crazy. It will forever be in my memory remembering my Auntie Betty putting a bucket of cold water over two stuck, to shock the dog to de-erect within his mate. One of the funniest things I ever have seen, bitch going left, while the dog wanted to go right, tug of war like.
Thunderball first vid at fifty seconds point. Yes, that was a pair of english wimmins knickers thrown to him, he has told me it was. Dirty dirty english ladies….
Typical Dylan Thomas! We’ll only just have recovered from the 60th anniversary of his death before we have to start drinking in memory of the centenary of his birth! As for what went between, the sloe-black, crow-black jury is still out and about!
Yes – ‘The Bible in Spain’ etc. Now where can I get a left-handed Portuguese guitar?
Tip, rub the back of your ears and then rub it onto the back of the hand of your lady. Don’t ask, it just works.
Met Ted Danson’s misses in Carmarthen about ten years ago. Ted was doing his environmental bit, checking up how the coast of south-west wales was recovering after that total oil spill during Major’s government.
You know her, she was in Back to the Future part two, Mary, Mary Steengurgenohaurr or whatever her surname is. Incredible stunning lady, she clocked me straight off as she approched me walking towards me on King’s Street. Took me by surprise, but knew exactly who she was, that western film she did with Jack Nicholson I always remembered her first, boiling chickens for food.
Anyway, to speak to an american, let alone a top american actress on King’s Street Carmarthen that day, made my day. To tell you the truth, I think she fancied dragging me back to the Royal Ivy Bush Hotel, where they were staying, to abuse me, to be truthful. Think Mary resisted. bollocks!….
Yes, it went something like this – “OK then Huw, stop going on, here you go, get your eyes round my jugs. Happy now? Right, let’s get on with cards, I raise you ten matchsticks, and raise you another ten to see you….”.
edit – sorry Mick, of course, it was a dislocated elbow. Just look at the state of it at the end above, big bulge from there, he was in pure agony, no doubt took a stab of morphine to get him up those steps to get his medal from Queenie. The memories fade, the details fade, but him struggling up those steps don’t.
Anyway, a shoulder is only up the road from an elbow, ey lad?
Yep, I might talk bullshite at times, but this time not, Richard.
Anyone remember Gary Sprake lamping an Arse forward in a league match? Totally flattened him, out for the count he was. The ref totally missed it, and the linesmen. But most of the Leeds crowd didn’t.
Billy Bremner just looked at Gary bemused, and said “what the farck!!!”, thinking what had got into the lad. Gary from Swansea had his tipping point, and those Arse players back in the day were right SE england living c$%nts, and deserved it.
Dave, all the Dylan Thomas’ botherers will be here and heard, from all parts of our planet. But us welsh will prevail, despite our se english concerntrated norman style government from Westminster, paying their cleaners at Whitehall just a basic wage, in central London. !?!
Anyone see that on the telly last few days, think it was C4 Dispatches, again, shite stirring, as they marvellously do. : )
Furthermore, keep forgetting to ask Tom if he filmed the NYC hospital scenes at ROE Pendine officers mess, that is for sale at the moment. Certainly looks like it. And the NYC scene is done in a pub around there, could be the Beach Hotel lounge in Pendine. But I am only guessing. Tom Knight did a lot of work to film this, being an east coast yank from over there. Fair play to him, ey Dave?
oh dear, a cacker, sorry to here that Dave, 50% premium on these for some reason.
Why don’t you do a Jimi Hendrix and turn it upside down Dave? Piano johannas, for instance, have the notes only going in one way.
By the way, my dad is a cacker. and I am fairlly amberdextrous, by genetics I suppose, and am able, well back in the day I was, to cross a footie ball from corners almost as good with my left, and bat too crickers lefftie – I invented the reverse sweep, honest….., in my backgarden, back in 1971, and all my friends went, “what the farck, out, that is against the laws of cricket”.
Typical Lords longroom fucking reaction, and these were coalminers sons from the end of Wales for fuck sake!
Anyway Dave, some Jimi for you, my favorite, I think you might agree too,
A great lad, for a cacker… , ey Dave? : )
ROE as in Royal Ordinance Establishment, as in the 1950’s. The radar station they had on the right hand side of the road as you went into Pendine, from Laugharne, by christ, was huge, and going to a caravan holiday camp in Pendine far end, was interesting, seeing that huge thing going back and fore, back and fore, on friday afternoon after last testing, before those lads went on the piss at their varoius messes. Was there in the ninty nineties, during the week, and being waken up after a night on the piss in Tenby or Saundersfoot with ta-ta-ta tat rat, into the fucking sea, in testing fuck knows what.
As I do at times like this, find a song for them, this will do,
Fokke Wulf 190 lost his way, thought he was heading south, actually was heading north, but that what people say, as in propaganda, he wotsited from the nazzies, and landed in RAF Pembrey, in west wales, when he was was handsignalled by an RAF pilot in a Spitfire local, saying more or less, fuck this, we know you are not numbnuts, come talk sense, and he landed.
David Harvey, potmaster and other jobs in the western isles, jack charlon, made irish footie, Johnny Giles, brilliant modern thinking these days manager, Paul Reaney, the first niggar succesful in brit footie, though the establishment saw him white as the ace of spades, albert johansson leeds remembered, I could go on.
A clip of Albert, brought over from SA by Leeds, you fucking numbnuts!!! Why do you think I support this club? From miles away?
He serously gave up a lot, his mother and fathers families need repremand, I think. He talked of Nelson, constantly.
sinjun, oh give me fucking strength!!! He’s scottish you english se cunts!! what bunch of stuck in ninsense history prats.
Greaves and Sinjun? oh yeh, that would have been popular on ITV then in about 1990.
suppose it would be usless to say I beat her in cards, and to say she was a true blonde, but no bacon butties – awe. Dark hair, oh shut up Huw, you perve…
But though, my god, she corrupted me, thankfully.
No.only joking, she did nothing of the sort, she was brilliant, nothing like this went on, I in older age did, but mayb quite a bit did go on, when she always wanted to talk to me when she went for a leek. OK, things went on, and it was me, loving ladies from a very very young age. Didn’t have a clue about fanny pads then though.
Marina, und Sigrid, I find some people need something strong, if naturally cannot find strength within themselves, with things. I find myself, I am strong, so do not call, for such things, Marina…..
Song for Marina, again, the silly old fool I am,
Ja, sveiss Marina. Zo?
lowering Marina on her back,
semi naked, onto my kitchen table.
olive oil out, not for cooking with,
well, not what on telly see, in morn.
pop the cork, puddle on navel, spill,
spread around, up and down, abound.
mention, better not stain undies, top gone,
breast roasting soon, nipples awake, proud.
thighs and legs attention, yes, you do know,
ankles and feet given a good massage abouts.
before I knew it, a pant from her and knickers off,
up the M1 I went, to slowly visit her service station.
Behave yourselves, I was talking of my favorite car, a Morris Marina, for gawd sakes, I ask you.
As if. : ) filaments and passages, well massaged, oh yes.
grabbing the dado rail at the top of her bedroom wall, squealing in intense pleasurable surprise, hoping for more decorating tips from me, but was it the intense pleasure that she hadn’t felt before that made it so good?, was it because her husband was downstairs, puffing a pipe with slippers on?, was it because that she was experiencing something that she would not experience again, as she sang, bit lipped, all over the bedroom wall by my third foot, up her, sending herself wherever I mastered.
She thought, “oh gawd, if my mother was here now, she’d want some of this, oh yes..”. : )
as for Di, she was a private school head fuck, as it obviously turned out, but as for Marge’s daughter, wotsername, would have loved to have done the dirty on the quiet with her, or did I? Oh yes, pull her hair back, and watch her enjoy, ms amstrong-jones,
Sarah – capricorns get on well with taurians, just give me a shout, if needed within your court.
what? WHAARRRT? Just giving my humble services to help out, if needed, that is all, stonker at the ready.
yes, when young, my eyes lite up whenever saw Sarah, for some reason. Must be chemical biology, via the eyes. No other explanation I have for it.
Been told by someone that was involved in royal security in the 1950’s, Princess Madge was firearms trained, and actually kept a derringer in the top of her stockings, just in case, on her adventures around 1950’s London Town. Believable, but it could have been a browning pistol, but I don’t think so, too bulky, a smith and weston slimline maybe, yeh, more like it.
helps to find the flament when they are well trimmed, as in bald. Otherwise it is like looking for an acorn in a forest.
Cup of tea time I think. Think I’ll have a couple of digestives with it. No, I will spoil myself, choccy digestives, three of them, or six…
no dark hair that is, it matched, blonde upstairs and down she was…
No bacon butties though, hidden valley it was, camel toe I suppose, if you know what I mean. Like some scenary when viewed, geography around, but also without a forest, trimmed fires hoped.
Playing crickers for Seldon, over in near Kingston-upon-Thames, opened, sweated for about forty out, a ladies match was going on next pitch, went into clubhouse, brow dried, water swigged, and a sweet blonde came in, says she is number six, and spin bowler, we talked, about cricket, bails and balls and all that, above board, wished I pushed it further, but I looked for a sign from her, if she want. Anyway, I was knackered, been on the pop the night before didn’t help. But she was sweet, in her little white skirt – would have loved to see her bounce up to the wicket, to bowl some googlies, kept an eye on adjoining game, but I was covers all over the place fielding, we lost.
Saw her in the clubhouse after, should have spoken to her again, but the lads would have taken the piss out of me, in front of everything. bollocks!
massaged and writhing,
she wanted see mountain.
what mountain I asked,
she gasped, any, any.
well, give me a clue,
you know she said.
got an atlas, point it out,
no bookshelf, that, there.
my trousers, is that it,
no, she panted, underneath.
what my boxers, no further,
ah, I see, you only had to ask, spit it out…
and when I said she was a number six, I mean, she was a number six, she told me, in so many words, that she had an interesting job, near Vauxhall – I managed to get that out of her…. : )
Would have loved her bowl me some mind googlies, but I think she tried, but I spotted her hand. MI5 need to do better.
you know the depth of yours, but do you know the length of mines.
Lady, put your lenghs of plastic down.
Let’s have a look… Exide batteries?
Duracells last longer, long lot longer,
don’t you know that babe?
I need to educate you darling.
Anyway, have some true pink..
flip, reading back. I should have posted Mary with that male slag, Nicholson, I suppose,
And I am not bullshitting here, I met her on King Street, in Carmarthen, when her hubby Ted was checking out how well oil soaked south-west Wales beaches were recovering.
Ok yes, I was a bit tongue tied with Mary, a little bit – should have put her over my horse and took her to my welsh hovel, to give her a good seeing to, it looked she wouldn’t mind, oh yes, her eyes sparkled in hoping adventure, when she puddled into my old celtic olive green eyes, changing colours as the sun hit it, as I swung my head, in conversation.
Anyway, Mary, next time we bump into each other, ey?
got on well with my uncles and great uncles cows they got on their farms, by christ, some of them fell in love with me
And don’t talk about the visiting bull, he wanted to be mates with me, looking for tips, since he thought I was in with them… jeezus!
Think Kate will go far speaking to Sarah, think Wills likes her too, Auntie Sarah.
There is a perfect secret, of picking up languages what the local say, look sideways nice into their eyes, their face emotion, and soon you know what they say, and work from there.
People were baffled when I spoke to european dilaleceted, and knew what they say. That tirol osterreich waitress in Mayrhofen is a perfect example, we totally communicated, in all ways, smoking especially, life and stuff, discussed, after ways. She couldn’t speak an ounce of ehglish, but as soon as she served me on that first night, she wanted me, as an adventure. OK, so i had a bit of german in my voicebox, after watching all those war movies…
Just to take it darker naturally, sexually, tip for ladies, work on exposing your swelled other mind downstairs, pulled back with fingers, for guys to say hi, hello edison, before they enter inside.
Just a thought. Tulip from Amsterdam?
What makes you think I like these two, ey,
Beide aus Österreich, mit ihren bergen und passagen, auch wenn es ein bisschen gott zu belästigen! Was verbergen sie, ihre sexualität wanted?
Ich weiß, die Menschen gleich sind in der ganzen Welt, sie wollen rumpy-pumpy, wirklich.
Hechenmoose, Kitzbühel up to Pass Thurn, an hotel I stayed in mid winter, skiing. Left a cassette to the barmaid, when on my way I went, and she said, in Austian Tirol german, “why didn’t you give me this earlier in the week, and I would have given you a good seeing to”, as she gave me a large smacker on the lips, in goodbye, a local lebewohl.
oh jeezus, suppose I should mention Tina, a house we stayed when our house was being built, had a corrugatted out house at the back, and I was in there, and Tina, same seven age as me was constantly knocking on the door wanting to see me, so I let her in, so there we were, me showing what I had, her showing what she had, totally buckarsed naked, kissing. True story. We welsh are dirty, from a very young age, it seems, that I have found out.
Totally dirty saying, right out of an average jock strapped changing room, and was once said by an old BBC snooker commentator, super honest….
“when the red is snookering the pink, pot the brown”
I still don’t get it, as if….
Suppose I should fill in on above film clip – since all the men died in the US civil war, ladies were desperate for, umm, men to work their, umm, homesteads, so ladies were allowed to save men from the hangmans noose for nicking horses, or something, and that is why Mary ended up with Jack, the filthy beast….
Brilliant filum, I recommend it.
notice Albert Steptoe here looking on his latest 1969 laptop, reading me here online, jealously…
BIG WHOOPS! Harold Steptoe, of course, memory mind fuck of mind of mine. Bit like remembering ladies names you did the dirty with years ago, I suppose, and getting it wrong, oops.
Suppose I should say, artistic ladies look into my eyes, and find it had to leave, as the sun hit them, rather than it, I still have two, that work. They range from olive dark green on a cold winters night, to sky blue tints within them irised, when the sun hits them, for an hour or so. Even indoors, they entrance.
Well, that is enough about me, and my best feature, though those peculiar celtic cheek bones of mine get attention too, being stroked by ladies, and the occasional man… when I have gone into the wrong Dog Tree pub, which for some reason I have always had a habit of doing, the Hole in the Wall pub in Torquay is one example….
I was luck to get out of there without my arse being re-reamed… Re?? don’t know why I said that – ok, so I stuck a dildo up it, one pervy girlfriend dared me, so what was I going to say, no?
Song for my gay hopefully happy friends, of both sexes,
Shut up fellas – I will get round to you all, one day…. : )
Anyone know Ben wotsishame from NYC Cash Cab, he is a big Dylan Thomas fan, I have been told, and he is proud, in a respecable way, that Dylan Thomas died in New Yawk, helped he says in a big way how it is now, in being internationally altruistic, without any sort of republican bigotry. What was his name again, a funny fella, find vid time again,
Ah yes, Ben Bailey – he has that funny face you just can only get on with, I just larrve love the yankees, even thought they don’t exist anymore.
Heard the GB olympics ladies footie team came out with this last night in their changing rooms, when someone pointed them here there, I quote,
“man has only one hunger, to see good footie, but more if we slip, and ride up and give them a show, a cunt or some tits”.
Go for it Rachel Hankey…….
As Raj said in The Big Bang Theory, “ah, menopause, natures natural birth control”,
with the help of browns cooked by late sixties ladies with tea…
oops, Karen Carney I meant,
She looks better with make-up on, and when it hasn’t run, with sweat.
If I had that certain get up and go, handling such people to organise things, I would love to invite Sigrid und Marina to Wales to do half a dozen gigs, 1,000 plus audiotoria, they would go down a storm.
Will have to get in touch with people that do such things around here, and to see what they think.
More from both here,
I say, ding-dong!
And of course Franzl as backing act to them, of course,
I only use google translate to check my spelling honest, and they put the circumflexes and accents and other dodahs on top of letters which is nice, I think. Even helps with english spelling when I choose translate english into english…
Got a welsh selection too, if anyone wants to speak to me in cymraeg, dere man, peidiwch ag gofidio, fe fydda fi yn dim fel athro Lladyn henadd i ti, na!
(trans from welsh), welsh, come on, don’t worry, I will be nothing like your old Latin teacher to you, no!
Bugger it, might as well post one of my favorite Soft Cell songs from decades ago, been told sounds stunningly good these days, by kiddies these days, here goes,
Might as well do the same for Essex, yawn, Depeche Mode,
Ford Capri city, sharon and dave sunvisorred car.
Jesu Christo, Marina looks sweet there.
She is the dark haired one, by the way….
If only, etc….
01:25 , not Franzl one, mmmm…. just look at the bum on her? woof, woof-woof..
Disbelievers, just to say welsh are old alpine celts, in proof the welsh word for that old commodity salt is halen, deives from the very old near Saltzburg (!) halstatt race from there, before romans went adventuring. It is said at first romans paid their soldiers in salt, when they move fairly north from Rome, to around the Alps.
Again, another lesson that is rarely taught, by north of the rhines, and norse men, in establishment Oxbridge.
notice beeb four last night screened that doc about essex dagenham dustbins last night again – kosher it is. Love the falla that narrates on it, always, cushty he is to me,
One month left to watch fella, then pay up, or I will send the laaads around, you beeb tealeaves.
More from the same fella, starring that c*nt Brad Pitt, of all fellas, popped the corks out of me russians when i saw ‘im, and me shell like, he can do good gypo, I fought,
wharrt? russians? russian spies – eyes, for gawd sakes son!
…sorry, this is better, non-baseball bat, for the fella, narrating, from the end of Southend Pier…
Respect Guv’nor. Juss give me a shout if you have probs in your manor, and my welsh lads are yours, yours for naffinck, except your daughters….
WHO THE FARCK MENTIONED GAVIN AND STACEY, EY???
i’ll give them a megal,
whoops, he says…
..i’ll let it rest,
I am the sweeney son, and I haven’t put my trousers on yet – your nicked!
Get your knickers on love, and you darling….
young relative of mine, I can spot them, he’s a bit of wayyy, he’s a bit whoaaaa, and when asked if he mind doing a bit of bird, and he said he certainly doesn’t, can spot them mile off. He’d stroll it, I can tell, soap in showers, everything..
Now then, this is the question, is he going to do something what he is good at, or play a life clown, as I sense he could play?
Could be totally wrong, he might avoid bullion, diamonds and readies hunting, or bob hope of various descriptions, or charles white trails, but I am not holding hope out he doesn’t. I sense he will, one day, get up to something. Watcha!
Lives in England, by the way.