Just got off a conference call being briefed for a new writing project; writing SMS messages for a new client. Seem to be getting a fair few SMS projects nowadays, which is cool as it's an entirely different writing style. There's only so much you can say in 160 characters but that makes it more of a challenge.
Got a piece in the Daily Star today as well, all about sex and beauty - how shagging/masturbation are good for skin tone, muscles and all that kind of thing.
Back to work as usual. It's fun.
Man cashes $95,000 junkmail cheque (link courtesy of B3ta.)
It's been a chilled kind of day. Lots of sleep. Various emails fired off about work. A couple of projects in the pipeline.
Had a freelancing mate come over tonight. She's about to start a project mapping frogs. Yes, that's mapping frogs; where they hang out, what they do and all that kind of thing. Now I never thought that frogs had that active a social life but someone, somewhere cares about them enough to map them.
Clearly she's doing the work for love not money...
As frequently happens when alcohol and dinner are involved at the flat, we bunged on a Tom Lehrer CD. He's a fantastic satirist who I couldn't even begin to describe. Just listen to his stuff and see what you reckon.
I was struck by how relevant We will all go together when we go still is.
I reckon that it should be re-released as an anti-war anthem. He's got a skill for creating the best bad rhymes ever. But more to the point, something that was written in the fifties is still as relevant now. And that's scary.
New tests underway to find out. If it turns out that it works, surely, by the same logic, repeatedly slapping his beer gut would increase the size of a man's cock?
So, went to the Cake masked ball thing. It was crammed with beautiful people. I don't really do beautiful people, always feeling like the geeky kid at school - which I was - but these were beautiful people who all liked sex. So I was kinda popular as an 'industry' type. But it's still odd. Suddenly, by writing smut, I'm 'cool'. I've spent years adjusting - liking - not being cool so when people go "Oh my god, You're the one who..." and clamour round me, it feels weird.
There were apparently free drinks. Apparently. As the £9 for two beers we paid all night utterly failed to prove.
Anyway, we all had to wear masks - a very cheap £2 each for masks with feathers that looked posh and everything. However, I learned that masks are:
a) Bloody uncomfortable.
b) Impossible to smoke in.
Lighting a cigarette is not feasible in a mask. I never realised before how much you look to check, when you light a cigarette, that you're not setting fire to your face. I didn't (thank fuck I don't have menopausal facial hair yet) but I had to remove the mask to dare to get the lighter near enough to the fag. And putting it back on too quickly resulted in a shedload of smoke going in my eyes causing them to attractively water mascara over my face.
Other than that, there were gorgeous babes with their tits out, people who wanted to do business deals with me and free gifts (though what the fuck I'm going to do with a corset shaped brooch, I don't know).
All in all, a good evening.
Tonight it's the Cake masked ball/lingerie party. I'm wearing the leather dress because, well, I own very few clothes and I love the dress. Plus, I've had about a gazillion people email me asking if I'm going so needed to wear something distinctive as I haven't met half the people who want to meet up.
I'm feeling much better today. Mailed all the freelancers yesterday and loads of them mailed me back to thank me for being an ace editor and say they want to work with me in the future, which softened the blow a lot.
And there's something really ego-boosting about having people from most of the major women's mags emailing you to see if they can meet up.
I've had another rush of interview requests too. At one end of the spectrum there's AVN. At the other, there's a chance I could be doing Women's Hour.
Feeling good.
Must no doubt be masterful yet compassionate and eager to tame feisty fillies (deadline 1st March 2003)
I did an interview with a lovely iVillage journalist about great sex positions (tied into the video. And now it's up. Am chuffed.
Yesterday, they decided to can the magazine. The distribution fuck-ups meant that no-one could get hold of it. Actually, the sales weren't bad given the lack of availability. But they weren't good enough.
Today has been spent working out all the final budgets, mailing all the freelancers and feeling sorry for myself.
On the plus side, it was all very amicable and they liked my work so even though it's sad, at least I've made some useful contacts. And should have some semblance of life back again. Once I've caught up on my sleep.
If you view Iraq in a classical Newtonian framework, then you must concede that they either do or do not have weapons of mass destruction. It is this narrow mindset that causes such confusion in the uninformed.
But, over President's Day weekend at Camp David, I delved into the collected writings of Erwin Schroedinger, and now have no recourse but to conclude that Saddam both has and does not have weapons of mass destruction.
See full theory - link courtesy of other half.
Based on this knowledge, you can assess the level of the hangover that I've got today. As ever, am relying on the lard (French toast) nicotine and caffeine cure. Will shortly supplement it with the traditional 'lie on sofa and flick aimlessly through the TV channels until I find something I like the look of and promptly fall asleep, waking up just as it ends.'
Had near crisis last night when we arrived at the venue for other half's birthday thing. It was supposed to be an Irish pub with a 2am licence. In the last three weeks, it's been converted into a truly dreadful hotel bar without a late licence; all plinky-plonky music and overpriced cocktails. More to the point, the entrance had moved so that you had to walk through the hotel to get to it.
Neither other half or I had any money in our mobile phones. Luckily, a mate called us to see where we were, found us then lent me her phone to IM everyone who was travelling down to see other half. It was one of the new MMS phones. It took four of us (another mate arrived having figured out where we were) half an hour to figure out how to send a text message; at least two of the four geeks. (Later, we tried to figure out how to send a picture. Six people, including several very high level geeks, couldn't work out how to send it. And we weren't even that pissed. Decided had exceptionally bad user interface and gave up.)
Highlights of party:
- Errr...
- I'm not entirely sure...
- Clearly I had far too much to drink...
Was other half's birthday yesterday but he decided that today was his official birthday cos he's got a load of mates coming down to see him. Thus much inebriation is sure to follow.
He liked his present: a microphone and pair of posh headphones so he can get a new demo tape together (he's looking at getting back into radio news - took a break after his time as Head of News at SBN to do geek stuff but misses doing news.)
Is ages since I've tarted up. Decided against leather dress as I've worn it to loads of other parties recently. However, leaves me with girlie dilemma of what to wear. This weather is the worst. Slinky frock are too damned cold, I've never been into cardigans but jumpers aren't exactly top foxy gear. I guess I should go shopping but I find the entire clothes shopping thing deeply dull (hence, my wardrobe comprises of two black skirts, three pairs of black trousers and numerous dark red jumpers. Basic approach to shopping - go in, find something that I know I'll wear because it's identical to everything else I own, buy it. Realise I have in no way expanded wardrobe but simply made the time between washing clothes longer as have more of the same.)
Hmmm, have just remembered the stuff I bought for the photoshoot. Slut clothes here I come...
After wondering how to make onion gravy for years, I finally figured it out the other day when deeply pissed. It's an essential addition to my new favourite snack; mini toad in the hole - dead easy if you buy the Aunt Bessie ready-baked Yorkshire puds Just cook sausage (works just as well with veggie sausages.) Chop each sausage into three bits. Bung into Yorkshire pud. Top with onion gravy.
For onion gravy, chop random amount of onions - two or three should be enough for 12 Yorkshire puds worth of gravy. Fry them until they're going brown Put in a teaspoon of sugar to make them darker. Stir for a bit. Add a taplespoon or so of flour. Stir it around till all the onions are covered and gloopy looking. Add beef stock cube (or veggie if you're that way inclined. Best of all, add real beef stock.) Stir around. Add water and leave to thicken for a few minutes.
Just been on NewsTalk 106 taking part in an hour long discussion about whether the Irish are prudes. I was quite chuffed to be on a panel that included the editor of Irish Tatler, Vanessa Harris and novelist, Sheila Flanaghan, along with a doctor and a bloke from Pfizer.
Talked about the Lovers' Guide video (big surprise) Cliterati (even bigger suprise) and whether people over-analyse sex too much.
I reckon that talking and learning about sex is a good thing. However, it's the comparisons that suck:
"Oooh, the average person has sex 150 times a year. I'm not getting enough/I'm oversexed."
What's the point of comparing yourself to other people? If you're happy with what you're getting, why waste time feeling inadequate because someone else is getting more action than you (if they were even telling the truth when they answered the survey anyway)?
It's another one of those media request moments. A women's magazine is looking for people to keep their eyes open during sex to see if it makes a difference. You'll need to talk about how it feels, how it was different from normal and be photographed. If you're interested, mail flic.everett@clara.co.uk
The US deliberately giving cutesy names to nuclear weapons. Because clearly, they're not weapons of mass destruction.
Just got a copy of the Daily Sport to see my piece (the full centre spread!) which is flagged on the front page:
'10 ways to make a woman orgasm.'
Is it just me that thinks the word 'make' implies 'whether she likes it or not?'
Still, Sport readers knowing women *can* have orgasms is probably a step up. (Middle class pre-conceptions? Me?)
So on to the article. It's just so classy. It's illustrated with three pictures of bare-breasted young ladies, who contribute their own orgasm tips ('I like wearing a nurse's uniform.''I like bonking in unusual spots.' Bless.) There's an inset picture of me with the caption 'Writer: Emily' (proof that I'm a writer, I guess.) And then it goes into the tips...
It's an amalgam of my stuff with 'Sporticisms' (so someone else got the byline - grrr - but my name's in bigger type in the strap, so who cares.) My favourite bits:
"From buying sex toys to getting your missus to stick her fingers up your arse, the video promises to transform your bonking."
I wrote "Just relax and enjoy your erogenous zones being played with." They added "Surely not too difficult if your lass is giving you a top gobble."
And best of all, referencing the tip about enjoying erotic massage:
"It may sound a bit gay but if it guarantees you a shag at the end of it, it's gotta be worth it."
Look closely at this ad for Flirt vodka. (Link courtesy of other half.)
Applied for this Porn blog job and sadly didn't get it. On the plus side, did get a nice email from Nick saying that I'd been recommended by several people, which is nice (thanks very much if you did). It sounds a bit different than I originally figured it was going to be anyway, so I guess that, for the time being at least, my random witterings on filth will be confined to here (well, and the people who pay me to write about filth).
I have descended to new levels.
OK, so I'm really keen for the Lovers' Guide video to do well. It's now number eighteen in the overall top 40 and number one in the 'Special Interest' chart. I want it to be number one in the top 40 too. But even at its current ranking, I do think it's rather cool to have written a video that's currently outselling 'Spiderman', 'Bridget Jones's Diary' and 'Moulin Rouge'. Even if they have been on sale longer so it's not a fair comparison.
No matter how squeally I get about doing this video thing (I've yet to get out of the house and into a shop to see it in store. I fear I may rupture people's eardrums with girlie squeals if I do) I didn't realise how far I was willing to go to promote it. Until now.
One of the things that I did to help in the PR effort for the Lovers' Guide video was write a piece on 'orgasm tips' for the PR agency to punt out at the tabloids.
I deliberately kept it incredibly mild - tabloids being really rather coy about sex unless it's some scandal with a Page 3 Girl/ footballer/ politician. It was still considered too full-on for most.
All except The Daily Sport. Who are running it tomorrow.
Rather than being outraged and feeling my feminist hackles raise, I asked one question.
"Do I get a byline?"
I am outraged at myself.
They've just requested a photo to run with the piece.
I've got to admit, I never thought I'd have my photo in The Sport. My mother will be so proud.
The Flirting Thing (dating email list from the people behind The Frday Thing) found a feature on the old Lovers' Guide site that they took issue with. Got to admit, I don't think I'll be replicating the article on the new site. Or at least not this bit:
'People who have nut allergies can have severe allergic reactions if they kiss someone who has eaten nuts or products containing them. You may not know they have a nut allergy, but if they do hopefully they will have told you.'
The Flirting Thing's comment:
"It makes you realise that the first court case in which someone who suffers an anaphylactic shock sues someone for a) kissing them after eating a bag of dry roasted and b) not supplying the requisite warnings. It’s going to rip the romance out of that first kiss:
'Kiss me you mad, impetuous fool - oh, and by the way, are you allergic to nuts because I’ve just had a bag of cashews. Or is it only peanuts that get you..?'
Ben Hammersley.com: getting a dose of the Trotts
Made other half smile. Which is impressive given he's had no sleep for sixty hours, thanks to designing the magazine. Have the repro people made it easier or harder? Hmmm.... I wonder.
Today started in one of the nicest ways, with a cheque arriving in the post; a sizeable one for some work that I thought I'd have to invoice-chase on. This is a good thing as it means that I can afford to buy something for other half's birthday on Saturday. I have no idea what it's going to be yet but I'm pretty sure it'll be something geeky. Cos he likes that kind of thing.
Why didn't I pick a man who was into football; infinitely cheaper than computer peripherals. Ah, but I loathe football. And standing in the cold in the mud. And meat pies are fine in their place but I'm not exactly enamoured with them. So that would be bad. (I hasten to add that I do know the offside rule but that's just a matter of female pride. And watching Spain demonstrate breaking it again and again and again in the World Cup when they played against Ireland. OK, I got excited at that match but that's cos it's Ireland. Couldn't bring myself to support England ever since they seemed to develop an uncanny knack for putting wife-beaters on the team and didn't see that letting them play was sending out a terrible message to kids. But I digress.)
OK, reading. That'd be easier. But then again, as I've got over 400 books (Discovered one very dull Sunday. Counting them seemed a good thing to do as I rearranged the bookshelves. God knows why.) it would probably be a bad thing to have a fellow reading fiend as a partner.
Music? Well, he likes it enough but every time I find something I think he'll like, it turns out he's already got it on vinyl.
As it is, I have to call in the reserves to help me find something computer-related that's suitable. It's not that I'm not geeky - but other half is at a rather higher level than me, to say the least. He uses Linux. He got very excited discovering an open relay on our street. He once DJd a party using his PDA wired into the speakers and has DJd other parties using his laptop (good justification - he can play music through a radio automation system thus DJing from the comfort of the bar). I've lost count of the amount of random wires in the house but don't dare throw away the carcass of any computer (and there are *many*) because he usually ends up doing something clever with it.
Which is useful. And explains why we have a server and a wireless nework in the flat (IMing each other to say 'fancy a cup of coffee' is going too far. But it still happens.)
Anyway, after the niceness of getting a cheque, I then got an apologetic mail from repro. There was a *huge* error in the latest magazine; three pages run from the last issue and one page with nowt but a pull quote and half a page of blank space. I loathe confrontation but had to write a deeply shitty email to them explaining why this was not acceptable. I was stressed all night about the response, certain they were going to try to pass the buck/wriggle out of it/be mean. So getting an apology within 30 mins of them getting into work was a very nice surprise.
Then off to lunch at Grouchos (schweedie, darling etc etc.) I'm not a member but one of my clients always insists on meeting there, and who am I to argue, given that only members can buy drinks there? As ever, no sign of celebs (though I did see a TV presenter who I can't remember the name of in All Bar One next door when I went for my next meeting.) but they do do extremely nice burgers. Great meeting, lots of potential new work (well, with the last issue of the magazine out in six weeks time - and only four more weeks of editorially things to do - I've got to set up some more options) and generally a fun time.
Next meeting also fun and may also lead to work.
Then, bought a copy of Cosmopolitan and there's a huge quote from me in their lead feature, along with a Cliterati mention.
Decided, as I was in town, to go to Borders and discovered, because I've been so busy working, that three (well, four really) of my favourite authors had got new books out so bought them all. They're all deeply trashy (I mean that in a good way!) reads: The Devil You Know by Louise Bagshawe, Love Lives by Josie Lloyd, Emlyn Rees and Spellbound by Jane Green. Even better (and again, I mean this in the nicest possible way) the meeting I had scheduled for tonight got cancelled because the person I was supposed to be seeing has flu. So I have a whole night of deep bubble bath and trashy novels. Bliss.
So, my other half came home from the anti-war march and then reported that a lovely person from LBC commandeered a helicopter to help CND spot how far back the crowd went.
Her name rang a bell. I checked. Sure enough, she's the woman who narrated the Lovers' Guide video that I wrote.
I know the world is full of strange coincidences but on a march with 1.5 million people, that's still pretty damned spooky.
Jamie Oliver porn. Please.
Maybe he's perceived differently in the US.
I was chatting with a male friend the other day and we got onto the topic of orgasm. I said that one of the best ways to improve (heterosexual) sex for everyone would be if we all had a chance to spend a day as the opposite gender; to have sex from the 'opposite' perspective and see what it feels like.
I'm curious as to what a male orgasm actually feels like and he was similarly curious about female orgasm (I heard someone describe male orgasm as a single blast from a trumpet and female orgasm as a horn solo but that doesn't really give a huge amount to go on.)
We agreed to try to write down what it feels like. This is my attempt (As with all the sex stuff on Cliterati, link is for adults only).
It's possibly one of the hardest things I've ever written and I'm still not sure whether I've got it. It's hard to describe something when you're unsure of the frame of reference - after all, feeling isn't necessarily a universal thing - imagine describing pain to someone who's got nerve damage and can't feel it or being cold to someone who's only every lived in a warm country.
And even when you do have similar frames of reference, who's to say orgasm is the same for everyone? I certainly wouldn't assume it was, regardless of gender.
A friend of mine wrote this. I was chatting to her only a couple of days ago about her shit of a partner. And then this happens.
Having grown up with two stepfathers who both had 'evil cunt' moments - the first one more than the second - I want to give her a huge hug, the money to get divorced and try to help her realise that she's worth more.
She does realise but it's a case of levels.
Now, that level's been reached.
I hope.
How come Blair hasn't stuck his oar in about the English Cricket Team going to Zimbabwe? Thousands - hundreds of thousands - of people have died there because of an immoral dictatorship.
Strangely, rather than declaring war, he's letting the cricket team claim that it would be too much a financial risk for them not to go. 'Unfair on sport'.
And the media are quoting Gatting on why the English team have to be allowed to go. This is the the man who happily let 'his' team play in South Africa at the height of apartheid when Mandela was still imprisoned.
Blowing the crap out of thousands of people and potentially starting World War Three. That's a moral choice. Stopping eleven people going to play a game - no, that would be too much hassle.
After all, there's money to be made out of them going...
Interesting article on Christian porn (including 'The Last Schtupper' - what a title.)
Link found on bbcity
BBC reports 750,000 people at march. other half (and the rest of the CND types) were told by police that it was 1.5 million. The old cut it in half thing is true.
Still, even on their figures, 1.25 per cent of the population (or 2.5 per cent as it really is) turning out to protest should surely be a sign of how important this is, particularly when you add in the marches elsewhere in the country, the wusses like me who wanted to go but can't cope with big crowds, the people who were working, the people who are too old or ill to go on the march and all the kids whose parents wouldn't let them go.
How much arrogance does a government need to ignore this much public feeling?
Then again, how much arrogance does the average politician have?
So, anywhere between 500,000 and two million people have been out in London today protesting against the war.
Blair's response was a piece of sentimental pap, obfuscating figures to make them sound meaningful (OK, this is politics, but still...) going 'don't care what you think, don't want to be popular, I'm right, you're wrong, that's what democracy is all about.'
Interesting how his argument for war changes every day - and that he's now using the 'feeling sorry for poor Iraquis' angle; haven't noticed him wading in with bombs to defend human rights attrocities over the rest of the world.
My other half was stewarding at the London event and was happy by the way things were going when I spoke to him a couple of hours ago. Looking forward to hearing what it was like at the event. Watched a load of the speeches on TV and it looked pretty impressive.
You'd think that the huge amounts of demonstrations worldwide could have some impact. We can only hope.
Yesterday was deadline hell. Had to cancel a load of meetings and was juggling a gazillion things all day. Thought I might have to cancel but managed (just about) to get enough work done to go out with the lovely people from The Register. As is always the case with them, much alcohol was consumed. Had a very nice dinner too though, which was good.
I was very pleasantly surprised when the editor introduced me and my other half to the rest of the team with a full bio. Apparently I'm 'The UKs foremost erotic writer'. Which is nice.
Got home and drank more while blatherng to various mates and working on three issues of the magazine at once (getting invoices sorted for one, pics for another - sooooo bored of looking at pics of naked people - and subbing articles for another.) Am seriously considering getting an extra pair of arms so that I can type on two computers at once as would be the easiest way to get my work done and have a life.
Wrote a suitably romantic piece for Cliterati and interviewed the lovely Flic Everett too, which was fun.
Did my BFBS interview today, which was cool - though utterly non-rude as was daytime. It's always fun talking about sex without actually mentioning shagging, squelchiness and general lewdness.
Have got another interview running on iVillage next week and a piece in The Star today, which is cool (well, it's supposed to be in today; how to have the sexiest Valentine's Day ever. Haven't seen it yet.)
The new issue of the Lovers' Guide magazine should be out today. Order it through the phone-line if you can't find it in your local shops (still shouting at distributors and have had numerous people mail me saying they can't find it. Which sucks.)
Now off to a party cos a mate of mine is unlucky enough to have ber birthday on Valentine's Day so no-one ever goes to her parties. Am taking other half though, so still have vague loved-upness going on.
So the government are making a big fuss about banning tobacco advertising, thinking that if they stop it, it could save 3,000 people from dying (which seems like a shite return for the advertisers, if you ask me; millions of pounds spent and only 3,000 new customers a year between all the tobacco companies. Then again, they advertise to get people to change brands, apparently. Yeah right. How many people do you know who've switched brands for any reason other than all the shops near them stopping selling their cancer stick of choice? I know that, despite being given free Camels, Marlboro and Davidoff, I still stick to Silk Cut. And I see loads of adverts for Lambert and Butler but strangely, I'm not tempted to try them.)
So, 3,000 lives saved by banning cigarette advertising.
How many people are going to die if we go to war?
Significantly more than 3,000 I guess.
Not, of course, that I'd accuse the government of diversionary tactics and spin because they realise that most of the country is going to be on an anti-war match this weekend (or maybe it's just my mates. All I know is that I've had at least five emails asking me if I'm going and my mates aren't usually the marching type.)
However, I have a problem with the whole march thing. I don't want there to be a war. I do want to give my support to 'the cause'. But I panic in large crowds. Last time I was at a festival with a mere 10,000 or so people, I really didn't like it; hyperventilating, head spinning, the works.
Am pretty sure that going along and promptly fainting would be a bad thing. But am pissed off at myself for being a feeble girlie wuss.
The Vagina Institute Vulva Grade: test the qualty of your vulva
Stupid? Yes. Offensive? Yes. Pointless? Yes. Compelling? Totally.
Skew their research in the questionnaire
Went out for a meeting yesterday evening. As it was in the centre of town, I decided at the last minute to invite a load of people who work nearby to the pub. One person became five people, a quick drink became staying till kicking out time and tequila got involved - always a bad move.
Conversation was mostly focussed around writing (very hard to do without sounding like poncy wanker) and (surprise, surprise) sex. (I was meeting the UK founder of Cake who's at least as blunt as I am.) We covered topics including swinging (bad name, bad rep, far too 'Abigail's Party') vaginal fisting (it's the new craze - or at least a third of women have enjoyed it with either a man or a woman, according to the latest Cliterati poll. A third of women hate the idea and just under a third are intrigued by the idea. Only three per cent of women who've tried it didn't like it.) group sex (everyone's at it - or seems to be.) sex toys (they rock -am getting a Pearl Thong) and pretty much anything else you can imagine.
A fun night was had by all.
In the case of Paul Carr when he carries on being this bloody prolific it would seem an unlimited amount.
Not sure whether I hate him or want to be him.
No, actually, will have to be hating him. My tits are nicer than his. And I get paid to masturbate (well, review sex toys - so paid to masturbate and get free vibrators.) which is still the best way of earning money I've ever found.
On another note, looks like I've just landed a top commission - more news soon...
And the Lovers' Guide video is getting a mention in The Express on Friday. And, it transpires, is at number three in the non-movie charts (being beaten by Billy Conolly and Peter Kaye so please don't buy their videos. Buy the Lovers' Guide video instead. There's shagging in it. Loads. And oral. Tonnes. And anal. A fair bit. Oh, and it's dead educational too.)
Another day, some more smut. This time, a commission all about why sex makes you beautiful. Interestingly, I discovered, the more you have sex, the more pheremones you give off so the more desirable you are. OK, I've experienced this in my single days; single for ages, meet someone, suddenly everyone comes out of the woodwork professing lurve and all that stuff. Or at least gagging for a shag.
But scientific proof. Damn. Now that is sod's law. If you're getting loads, the world wants you. If you're not, no-one does. So, rather than people smelling desperate, it's more that they don't smell like they're getting it [Tries to bat away mental image of sweaty smell of room/car/whatever after rampant shagging session. Fails.]
Only problem with this is that it does suggest that if you're getting desperate, going out and shagging someone who's equally desperate to up your mutual pheremone levels may be the best solution.
Hmmm. There could be a dating agency in this.
A friend of mine is currently writing a series of vignettes about love and relationships. I think they're brilliant - Release in particular. (Last Minutes is beautiful too.) We started talking about love - what it is, how you know and all that kind of thing.
I can't claim to have the answer. But I do know what love is to me. It's trust, truth and (urk, sorry to be sentimental/cliched) a bit of magic.
I'm lucky enough to have found my soulmate. There is no question about it. It was love at first sight for both of us. Well, lust at first sight but we both wanted to tell each other we loved each other on the day we met.
As it was, we waited.
When he told me three days into our relationship that he thought loved me, it seemed like we'd waited forever.
I told him I felt the same way.
He said "I lied."
The world collapsed around me as he paused for what seemed like forever (in actuality, under a minute.) Then said.
"I don't think I love you. I know I do."
We went racing round the quay to buy champagne beacuse it felt that momentous (we were in a bar on a boat and they didn't have any.) The off licence was closed and we ended up drinking nasty German wine in another pub.
That was when I first thought I loved him.
Three weeks later, I knew it was definitely love - and utterly different from anything I'd ever experienced before. We were watching TV, having a nice afternoon. The news came on and someone had died. I burst into floods of tears - not because of them but because I realised, at that second, that one day he'd die (yes, OK, everyone dies but I'd never thought about it in relation to him before). And the idea of a world without him was something I didn't want to comprehend.
I wasn't pre-menstrual. It was just like this feeling - that I knew he was 'the one' and that we were meant to be together.
And when he wiped away my tears and held me, thinking that I was sweet rather than insane, it just backed it up.
Five years on, the love is still as intense. OK, I'm not prone to random crying fits but, even in our worst moments, we've still known that we'll be together forever. We are utterly unable to lie to each other - even over stupid things. We tell each other that we love each other every day. At the same time (I hope) we're not one of those sickening couples who are all touchy-feely. Certainly, we've worked together (at various companies for four out of the five eyars we've been together) and people at the company have been utterly unaware we're a couple, even when we've gone out socially.
Let's face it; if you can live and work with someone for four years without killing each other, there's got to be something pretty special going on.
And it rocks.
(Apologies for the overt soppiness of this tone. Normal porntastic service will be resumed shortly.)
Today started well. As you know, I love The Friday Thing - and today I love them even more than usual 'cos they've got a competition to win copies of the Lovers' Guide video I'll repeat my usual recommendation to sign up for The Friday Thing 'cos it's bloody funny as well as being topical and well written. And funny. I did mention funny?
So, after reading TFT, I moved on to opening the post. I got a Pelvic Toner and Pelvicisor to review. The former is a kind of vibrator shaped thing with bits that you squeeze together with your, well, bits. The latter is a very heavy barbell you insert then have to hold in using Kegel muscles alone. I'll be testing them both (hoping I don't sprain any muscles...) and, from the looks of them, should be able to fire ping pong balls from one side of the house to the other within a week. Not sure what use this will have. Possibly use them as projectile missiles to scare the mice. Hell, it should at least be a surprise for them.
I also got a free ashtray (that weighs a tonne - almost as much as the Pelvicisor) from Marlboro, along with a very expensive catalogue telling me all about Marlboro Country. Frankly, I'd have preferred a pack of fags.
And I got an invitation. No, not to some celeb filled party. Not even to the opening of an envelope somewhere in the East End. No, I got an invitation to have a smear test. Not sure if this is some new ruse to get women to get smears; trying to lend an air of cocktails and canapes to having your bits held open with a bit of metal then scraped with a lollipop stick till they hurt. I know it's one invitation I can't turn down, being a sensible 'sex-positive' feminist type. But god, I wish there was an easier way to do the tests.
So far, I've had 'the time when the doctor used a lube I was allergic to resulting in irritation for a week.', 'the time when the doctor tried to use a speculum that was clearly far too large before saying 'oh, you're quite tight aren't you' Thanks doc, but I'm here for a necessary but dull check up, not compliments.' and possibly my favourite (! yeah, right) 'the time with the medical students arriving mid-way through - 'oh, you don't mind them seeing do you?' - 'well, given they've already been looking up there for a good minute or so they may as well get some educational value out of it rather than just save themselves the price of the latest 'Razzle'.'
Moving swiftly on from genitals to, err, sex, I've just done an interview with Elle magazine, all about, yep, you've guessed it, perviness in general. This was a Cliterati interview rather than Lovers' Guide interview. The journalist was lovely and we spent a fun ten minutes or so talking about swinging, bicuriosity, cybersex, fisting and other random sex-related things.
Got a call through from the Lovers' Guide PRs with my'media appointments' for next week. I'm doing BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting Sevice) next Friday at 1.30pm, so if you know any squaddies, get them to tune in. There are also several other radio stations lined up with times tbc and I'll be doing an interview with Megastar at some stage next week. The Sunday Sport are apparently deciding whether or not I'm 'too rude' for them...
The video is now at number 84 in the charts (woo-hoo) And the latest issue of the Lovers' Guide magazine is out. If you're having problems getting hold of it, you can order the whole lot - with or without a binder - and get them posted to your door. (And if you are having problems getting hold of it, let me know cos I'm currently locking horns with the distribution bods.)
The latest issue contains possibly my favourite line so far out of all of the magazines. As a giant pull quote (in the 'bedroom videos' porn review):
"Ugly men have sex with ludicrously enhanced, miserable looking women while an elephant looks on, confused. In the end, the only emotion aroused is pity. And that's for the elephant."
I wish I could lay claim to that line. But I can't. Alexander Bradley is a god.
New Woman have got three Lovers' Guide Sex Positions videos/DVDs up for grabs
Bus sides are out this week advertising the vid. And there are TV ads running on E4, Channel Four. And there are press ads in various publications - would love to know if you see any ads.
It's currently number 114 in the video charts - buy it, please so we can go up. Once we're at number one, I'll be happy!
Got a mate who's looking to interview people who've joined the Mile High Club and are happy to be photographed for a national magazine. Have you? Mail her. Anyone taking part gets £150.
And another sexpert mate is looking for couples for a feature in another national magazine. It’s based on the TV show Would Like To Meet but it's called Would Like To Keep.
Instead of a single who can't get a date, she's looking for a couple who've been together ages, and are either bored/tired/got little kids and haven't got time to talk. The mag will pay for them to go for dinner and video them, then three experts- a flirt coach, a stylist, and a confidence coach- will assess where they’re going wrong- and advise them on how to dress more glamorously, how to keep their partner's interest, and how to recapture the early magic. Then they'll go out for dinner again, re-vitalised, and see if it's made a difference to their relationship.
Ideally, the couple should be between 28- 40 ish, and have been together at least a few years. Mail Flic if you can help.
So I posted a request to a list for journos today; it's a list where people can sign up and ask PRs to mail them info. Now, as a journalist, this is a strange concept. Most of the time, you avoid PRs. Don't get me wrong. I have some good friends who are PRs. But I still have to introduce them as:
"This is blah. They work in PR but they're an ace person anyway."
Why? As a journo, you get endless dreadful press releases. And dreadful PRs calling to say "Did you get my press release? Are you going to run the story?" You say no. They call back a week later to make sure you're sure that you don't want to run it. (Good PRs rarely call to check. They assume if it's relevant then you'll call them for more info.)
Don't believe me? At one company I worked for that provided content services to student media across the UK, I got the following gems:
"People in [insert local council] will be drinking and washing with water until well into the next millenium thanks to [insert water board]"
"You are invited to a photo launch for the opening of an escalator that goes between the ground floor and the first floor of [big department store]" (to make matters worse, the launch was at 6am. And I was working in radio.)
"All aboard the Chicky Fun Bus" (random fried chicken company had giant cuddly chicken touring country to promote its deep fried chicken product. We were tempted to turn up with a flame-thrower and bucket of batter then say 'hey kids, look what [brand] does to chicky. But as that would have meant maiming someone on minimum wage, decided against it.)
However, I decided press releases on sex stuff may be handy. And they were. OK, I got a load of 'new Viagra' bollocks. But I also got offers of a night in a posh hotel, some free undies, lots of condoms, numerous videos and some random cool sex related things.
Best of all, I got to find out about a new procedure. Which I will *so* not be having:
"One of our clients is a French doctor and plastic surgeon, who has an
amazing new procedure: It involves injecting collagen into the G-spot
to increase its surface area, thereby improving the occurrence and
intensity of orgasms. It is a very quick and easy procedure that can
be carried out at the [blah blah blah] clinic in [blah]. It has
been brought over from Paris where it is all the rage. If you would like
any other details, please get in touch."
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.
Great story though.
I work in the front room.
Other half works in kitchen.
House is networked.
We use IM rather than shouting to communicate.
Just got the message
"mouse in toaster. shall I turn it on?"
Looks like toaster will have to be thrown out now (no, I didn't say yes. But mouse in toaster health risk, I feel.)
Sex and tech do go together (Found on Erosblog.)
I'm going to be on LBC (listen online or in London on 97.3FM) in about 5 mins time - 8.30pm GMT, talking about the Lovers' Guide vid.
Don't worry, this isn't about Disney porn. No, it's about my sodding flat. Every year, the problem is the same. Been here for over four years now so am getting used to it.
To give you some background, the flat is nice; clean, large, neutrally decorated, easy location for me to get where I need to, reasonable rent and has a garden. These are all good reasons to stay (another being that I've accumulated so many books in the last four years that I really have to want to move in order to consider it. Dublin is worth moving for. But general moving within London, when it's unlikely that we'd find somewhere as cheap and generally nice, is not my idea of fun.)
Summer, all goes to plan. Flat is, well, a flat. Garden gets overgrown. I keep meaning to go out there and do gardening. Never get round to it (OK, I did one year but gardening is bloody tiring and frankly, I'd rather be in the pub) Nonetheless, I like having a garden.
Then it gets cold. At which point, the boiler decides to sulk. Hence all the previous whinging about boiler (which is now working - bliss - but still making frankly scary noises on occasion and apparently needs something major doing to it. I'd go with the 'rip the bloody thing out and replace it with a boiler that doesn't die for one month a year. But I'm not a plumber. Or a landlady)
At point at which the boiler gets fixed, the visits start. First, there are just noises; little, mousy, twitchy noises. At which point we stuff every hole in the place with newspaper and plastic bags in the vain hope it'll keep the little sods out for long enough to get the landlady to get 'the people' around to fix it.
We call landlady.
A few times.
We leave messages.
The mice settle in.
A week or so later she calls back and suggests we buy poison. We point out that after four years, the mice have evolved into hard bastards (very cute hard bastards - they're tiny. If they didn't chew everything in the house and leave piles of mouse crap aroud the place would happily keep them as pets) Thus, shop bought poison doesn't work. The only year we got rid of them was when 'the people' came round.
Her other half comes round. Stuffs all holes in floorboards with loft insulation.
Mice think it's their lucky day. Not only do they have a warm house to come to but now they've got squishy beds too.
They keep nibbling at everything.
At this point, I get grumpy and call landlady again.
'The people' come round. Kill mice (who by now, are almost becoming friends. They're certainly cocky sods. Last year I managed to catch one using a cunning 'sting' operation involving a Penguin biscuit and a pint glass because the mouse quite happily sat there, looking at me as I approached, clearly thinking 'the bird who runs this B&B is ace. Course, once I released it up the road, it just saw it as a 'planned activity - walk after dinner' and was back at the house in record time.)
The mice lie under floorboards, dead, filling house with the exquisite perfume of rotting flesh. Some are gracious enough to crawl into cupboards for their death knell, so I find them when I'm looking for some folder or other. Rigor Mortis mouse with rotting and flies not cute.
The thing I most hate about the mice is that even though I'm not scared of them at all, walking into the kitchen to see mouse pegging it across floor is still a shock. That causes me to go (literally, according to other half) "Eeek."
Which makes me feel like a crap cartoon character girl.
Thus, I hate mice.
I feel all multimedia. In the last few months, I've written for newspapers, magazines and ezines. I've done video script and numerous radio scripts. And I've spent today doing web copywriting for the new Lovers' Guide site.
I really like the site - it's all clean and fresh and downloads dead quickly. We're looking for true stories for the site so let me know if you've got anything you want to share (not lewd fantasy stuff - that's Cliterati's domain. More 'My partner and I discovered blah was a good thing' or something like that.)
Hope you like the site...
The Lovers' Guide Sex Positions video that I wrote is out today. I'm nervous but really excited at the same time. I hope people like it. Particularly given that I'm doing a load of 'official spokesperson' stuff so have got a fair few interviews lined up. So if they hate it, it not only reflects on me as the writer but also means I'll be fielding the flack.
Which is fair enough.
And *I'm* happy with the video. Which is, I guess what should matter to me.
Second issue of the mag is out too. Am less happy with that. There's a repro fuck up where they didn''t change something they were asked to. No readers will notice as is just a headline someone internally wanted changed but it still winds me up.
Still, only a week till the next one. And am very pleased with the articles. Then again, I would be. Cos I wrote most of them. Thus may not be best person to judge.
A mate sent me a link to the Sexy Losers cartoon strip. It appeals to my sense of humour. Which is clearly warped.
As instructed, I've been relaxing - or at least trying to. I was supposed to be going to a Fetish Fair thing with a top girlie mate but woke up feeling exhausted and generally lurgified so bailed. Been sleeping and reading for most of the day.
I usually have a four book a week habit. Since the end of November, I've read one and a bit books; Roofworld by Christopher Fowler (very dark, intriguing plot, easy read. It also had violent scenes that were exceptionally disturbing - I don't like reading violent books generally so I had to kind of squint at those bits through my fingers whilst hiding behind the sofa.) and The Nanny Diaries by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus (not far enough in to judge fairly yet but seems entertaining enough. Dry humour but it's written in the present tense which I'm not altogether convinced by yet. )
I missed reading. The biggest problem with the freelance thing is that there's nothing like as much tube travel so less 'dead time' to read.
That aside, one of the biggest advantages of the freelance thing is that there's nothing like as much tube travel.
I feel relaxed. It rocks. I slept last night. A lot. Until 4pm. Can't remember having a lie in at all - even one beyond about 9am - since end of November. God, was it nice. Much aided by alcohol consumption last night.
Went out with boy mate last night; someone who I have a very flirtatious relationship with - mutual appreciation thing. He has a bird. I have a bloke. We have a giggle, get pissed and tell each other how gorgeous the other one is whilst talking utter shite. We go home to prospective partners (both of whom know we're seeing each other that night and who we behave in exactly the same way with out with each other in front of them cos both of them realise it's innocent fun. Conversations have been had to establish this fact.)
Always a fun way to spend time.
I like bloke mates. They're easy to deal with. It's no bullshit. They'll tell you if you look great or if you look crap. They're ace at hugging (sorry, a hug from a bloke is always nicer than a hug from a bird for me, as far as I'm concerned.) Don't get me wrong, I have a fair few top girlie mates too but boy mates rule.
Though I do find the 'When Harry Met Sally' debate interesting as have always had more boy mates than girl mates.
Can men and women be friends without having sex? Yes, absolutely.
Can men and women be friends without the sex thing coming up at all? No, as far as I'm concerned.
Even if it's just a 'discuss and decide you don't want to' thing, sex *always* comes up at some stage. Usually one person in the friendship has more of a sexual interest than the other. If you're good enough friends, this isn't a problem. It's just a 'talk and move on' thing. If there's mutual interest, and you're both able to do the sex thing without it affecting the friendship, it may be a 'shag and move on' thing (oh, my student days...)
But I do believe a vague deviation of the 'mates before muff' rule. If the friendship is important, a random shag makes no difference. If it alters the friendship, it probably wasn't that solid in the first place. It was built on a 'I want a relationship' on one or other side so would have gone wrong eventually anyway.
Oh, and of course, the 'When Sally met Sally' debate applies with lesbian/bi mates...
Got the TV ad for the Lovers' Guide vid through and I'm dead chuffed. I reckon it's sexy without been smutty (the sound makes it IMHO - so have sound turned up). Watch out for it on TV next week. But you saw it here first.
Lovers' Guide ad (may not work on 56K modems but is worth a shot.)
