So………..getting used to the quiet seaside life again.
Tonight I went kickboxing. I decided not to stress too much about technique and that, and I was right, piece of piss!
However, I hadn’t counted on seeing all the other girls rising above my modest orange belt status. Fine. Apart from the opening comment:
‘God, haven’t seen you for ages! Oh, apart from on the telly talking about sex’.
Yes, dear readers, alas this is true. The moral of the story is don’t be flattered by two vitamin-deficient lanky TV gimps stopping you in Soho, especially when they point out the reason they want you is because you are sober.
Lanky 1: ‘We’re just filming for a Virgin One programme – no one will see it.’
Moi: ‘What’s it about?’
Lanky 2: ‘Sex’.
Moi: ‘Oh. Aven’t ad it for ages. No point in asking me really’.
Well, they did ask me, and like the fool I am I answered. Mainly ‘no comment’ style American lawyer answers, but every now and again letting something slip. Like:
‘I love sex and I’d like a lot more of it’.
Which happened to make it into the opening credits of Sex Maniac and Proud. Which happens to be shown at pub-down time nearly every freakin week from then till kingdom come.
Every now and again I’ll be out on the town, or picking hair out of the plughole, or despairing over the price of apples, and a flood of texts will come in.
Ha ha, you love sex and you’d like a lot more of it.
I’ve just seen you on the telly talking about sex!
You’re on the sex maniac show!
And other such imaginative articulations.
Only moved to London a few months before and already had managed to crack the late night free sex shows.
Mother would be proud.
Adios, I’m off to rearrange my hairballs in order of colour, age and texture. Don’t go watching Virgin One now, will you?
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