Well, it's been another fairly amusing week - for me at least, it could make utterly dull reading. But, hell, it's my blog. The 'being an extra on a porn film' thing was one of the highlights, given that I arrived at a grungy indie club in London at 10am, blathered to the cast and crew (in various states of undress - them, not me, though I did end up having to get more naked than I'd suspected when the director asked me if I'd be up for taking the top that I was wearing under my jacket off, then put my jacket back on again, so that I'd reveal a bit more, namely about an inch of midriff and a flash of cleavage [I use the term loosely. What I actually mean is the bony bit that would be hidden if I had any vestige of tits] It didn't seem like much to ask, given they'd done full hair and make-up for me, making me look like a proper girl for the first time in ages) then handed me a beer and told me my role was to lean against a pillar, smoke a fag and drink said beer. It too all of my acting talents, I can tell you.
It was fun being on a porn set again, not least 'cos I got to meet some porn stars I'd never met before, in particular Daisy Rock, who's as lovely as she is hot. We blathered about burlesque, I recommended she got in contact with my mum for vintage nipple tassles and generally sexy classy accessories (see, the sex industry is catching) and I found out Daisy lives in Brighton, thus adding another person to the Brighton sex industry contingent (ionie is moving here soon so it's growing fast) There was also a moment in the film where the director asked one of the male stars to drag me into the centre of the shot, so he took my hand, we danced for a bit (yeah, OK, dirtily) then he grabbed my hand and put it on his (jeans-covered) cock. I genuinely couldn't feel the end. Even when I stretched my fingers out to their full span. Still, it was flattering (and only a bit hot) that he appeared to be at 'full-mast' (then again, I guess it is his job - though I'd say that keeping his cock up throughout the entire scene, not just the bits where he's fucking, is taking things above and beyond the call of duty).
After all that excitement, it was off to a TV meeting where I was asked to come up with a dating show format to present (which has been a source of good pub debate ever since, with everyone trying to come up with the grimmest format they can)
Exercise-wise, I'm feeling quite pleased with myself, but less smug than last week. I did 14KM of walking this week but then, on the third day, when I woke up bright and early and ready for my walk, I realised my ankle is conspiring against me by hurting like a fucker (and an inept one at that). I didn't realise that a few strolls along the beach could actually result in a 'sporting injury' but, chatting to a mate who did a similarly easy route back to fitness a few years back, it turns out that even walking can break a chronically unfit person. I've been told to:
a) get posh trainers
b) rest my ankles
Having felt suitably un-guilted into exercise, I've spent the weekend doing b) (but not a) - I need to find some that haven't been made by 3 year olds but don't cost £100) - while simultaneously writing smut and subbing stories for Audible. However, the ankle seems less hurty today so I'm going to test out the exercise thing again tomorrow because, damn it, it made me feel good. And in new and unusual ways, which is always fun.
On which note, I was rather surprised/amused/embarrassed/intrigued to see pics of my Splosh experience online (though the lovely man who runs Splosh did mail to check it was OK. I couldn't see the harm. I mean, let's face it, it's not as if I have a career in politics beckoning - and even if I did, at least it'd guarantee some newspaper headlines)
Other than that, and catching up with a load of old friends, it's just the usual stuff. Got a couple of meetings about writing books coming up, some recording of filthy stories and a tonne of (well, six or so) interviews coming up about my latest book which is out on 21st Sept.Add in some commissions for articles and I'm back to juggling lots of work for the next few weeks - though I'm still determined to keep up some semblance of Brighton life if I possibly can.
There is another story that I'd love to relate but sadly can't, in any detail. All I will say is that sometimes prostate massagers aren't an appropriate choice of conversation topic. Who'd have thought it.Still, all's well that ends well.
Posted by emilyd at September 11, 2006 12:06 AM