Ah yes, those halcyon days at school where you went some place to spend the day with your mates and maybe learn some shit that you would never use in adult life (i'm talking algebra) then come home and demand tea with menaces because all you'd had to eat that day was a can of irn bru and 19 mars bars from the tuck shop.
School hasn't changed that much from when i attended to now when my girls go. I suppose the only real difference is that teachers are no longer allowed to dish out corporal punishment such as lobbing a black board rubber at your head or giving you a crack with a ruler/slipper/cane or furry part of their hand. I bet the more seasoned veteran teachers long for those days especially when some lippy tweenage chavalanche tells them to 'fuck off slap head' or declares 'they is offended' because the uniform they have to wear is a bourjois concept based on a militant regime where everybody is seen as equal so as to deter prejudice and favouritism...i blame the internet. I don't recall uniform being such a big deal when i was at school. As long as i had the correct school tie on and top and bottoms vaguely matching everyone else's, i was good to go. Nowadays uniform is so unique to the school you can't get away with 'similar'. Everything is addled with logos and the school crest, even down to the bloody PE socks. Schools put so much pressure on the pupils to look as though they are representing their school in the world uniform olympics that parents have to fork out an arm and a leg and re-mortgage the family home just so their child fits in and looks the part. Hitler might have got away with this kind of rigorous uniform policy but do me a favour...where the fuck is the school's inclusion policy that they love to bleat on about? If a school wants to be a sandal wearing, yoghurt eating, aluminium collecting, tree hugging "we include every child because every child is different" inclusion policy flag bearer then let my child wear leggings and flip flops and stop being hypocritical twats. Fascist bastards.
It's that time of year when the school holidays are over. A crack team of wildlife trackers are despatched to herd the kids back to reality. Most kids have gone fully nocturnal by the end of the 6 weeks British school holidays, or 8 weeks if your kids go to private school. One well off friend of mine whose 3 kids go to private school once said 'i pay more and their off for longer. Where's the justice in that?' The shock of having to get up at 7am instead of going to bed then is probably some sort of infringement on their basic human rights but who cares? Not the parents that's for sure. Parents across the UK rejoice at their kids going back to school because they don't have to entertain and constantly feed their often ungrateful offspring. Not to mention break up fights between siblings, host christ knows how many sleep overs and hear the words 'i'm bored' a million times a day. Once the kids go back to school we are set to suffer the barrage of social media photos of other people's kids in their uniform with such pithy quotes as #soproud or #bigschool or #missyoualready . If parents put these photos up they should be made to use their actual feelings to accompany them like #thankfuck or #thoughthisholidaywouldneverend or #cantaffordchristmasthisyearbecausetheuniformissofuckingexpensive . My kids are also going back to school but i won't bore you with the details #triedtotakethembackadayearly .
So they'll be back around a week and the homework onslaught begins. Oh joy. My 6 year old asked me to help her with some maths homework that a NASA scientist couldn't decipher. The countless projects i have helped with over the past 10 years should have got me at least another 5 GCSE's and a mention in dispatches. I've done my time. I didn't sign up for more homework when i had kids.
Around 2-3 weeks into the new term and the detentions start. The buzz of starting a new year at school and seeing your mates has worn off and the feral kids break free. The uniform becomes a little less rigid, behaviour deteriorates and teachers start drinking gin out of a hip flask at break time. When i was at school in the 1980's a detention was the worst thing ever. If your parents found out, you were in the shit. Nowadays kids wear it like a badge of honour. It means nothing and certainly is not a deterrent. In my day detention generally meant detention centre in later life. You were a wrong 'un.
Not long after the new term comes the parents evening. As a kid we dread this because the teacher might actually tell our parents what bell ends we are. This doesn't usually happen because the teacher wants to make out that all of their pupils are 'quite brilliant if a little talkative'. It's a complete waste of an evening better spent going to the pub or binge watching Peaky Blinders.
After parents evening come the school reports. Another waste of precious time. My school report from the age of 6 to 16 were reasonably good apart from maths. Even though i attended around 6 schools during this period, because my dad was in the army, each teacher said the same thing-' Nichola shows no particular interest in this subject'. How right they were.
School, for most , really is the best years of your life. You might not think it at the time but hanging out with your pals, making friends and learning important social skills is much better than going to work, paying bills and adulting. Give me school any day.
Tuesday, 3 September 2019
Thursday, 27 June 2019
The observationist: Public Transport
The observationist: Public Transport: I drive so i don't use public transport very much. I ain't no bus wanker! I was a bus driver for nearly four years and the calibre o...
Public Transport
I drive so i don't use public transport very much. I ain't no bus wanker! I was a bus driver for nearly four years and the calibre of passengers was questionable at best. I'd have people getting on drunk at 11am who'd leave a suspicious looking stain on the seat., horrible teenage girls with so much makeup on i should've charged them twice, OAP's who often smelt of wee or cats or both and the most annoying of all passengers-parents with screaming babies in prams so big nobody else could get on and probably wouldn't want to. One drunk woman got onto a colleagues bus, lifted her skirt and while pointing to her unkempt lady garden said to the driver 'can i pay with this?' Without batting an eyelid my colleague retorted 'do you have anything smaller love?' See, the calibre of a bottom feeder. Bus wankers.
Taxi drivers are a rare breed aren't they? If i were a taxi driver i'd probably be a border line serial killer because of the amount of times they get asked 'been busy mate?'-at pub/club kicking out time or 'what time do you finish?' at the start of their night shifts. These two questions should fall under the jurisdiction of harassment and mental torture then be followed up with a kick in the shin to the punter. London cabbies are my favourite because they lock you in until you've paid the fare. It's like a hostage situation until you find your purse or wallet. I once got into a London cab aged a mere 21 years old on a very cold and foggy day. I was expecting some kind of Dick Van Dyke-esque cheeky cockney chappie using his best rhyming slang who would perhaps chirp 'ello me darlin, this bird of a feather is bleedin awful. It's got me in a right two and eight. It's like a pea soup out there innit?' Instead what i got was a foul mouthed sweaty bald man who shouted 'oi! treacle! are you getting in or what?' i got in and then he graced me with a phrase i'd not heard before or since 'fuck me! it's as thick as an elephants spunk out there innit!' Charming. I suspect his finishing school was bombed.
Trains are a tedious form of public transport. For long journeys you book your seat only to find some dickhead has sat in your spot. After some deliberation checking not once, not twice but thrice that you have the right seat, right day and right train you approach the fugitive seat wanklette. First off-they are not asleep. They're merely doing a crap impression of a coma victim so feel free to poke them and say 'excuse me, you are sat in my seat'. We then feel compelled to show them our ticket as proof. I find if they refuse to move or are rude in any way retaliate like a crazy person and ask them if 'they want some'. I'm not sure what 'some' is but most people back down at this point. I've never had anybody say 'oh yes please. I'd love some' which is a good job because that's all i've got-bravado and a menacing stare. The toilets on trains are a delightful combo of other people's bowel odours and loo roll so harsh it removes the outer layer of your skin should you be forced to use it. There's always piss on the floor and some pithy quote carved into the back of the door like 'Shazza sucks dog cock' or 'Mark is a bummer'. If your train is on time then you my friend are winning at life. If you end up with a replacement bus service because, as is all too common, your train has been cancelled, then you my friend are a bus wanker.
Aeroplanes (or airplanes if your'e from the U S of A because i know you like to be different) are a curious form of public transport. We get in this big metal thing designed to look like a bird in flight and then it hurtles down a run way at warp speed and takes off. The smell of aviation fuel fills our nostrils and our brains are screaming 'what the fuck are you doing!!!?' and then we are flying. It's the most unnatural thing for a human being to do (unless you've seen a live sex show in Amsterdam). We haven't evolved with feathers or bat wings (bingo wings-yes) yet here we are above the clouds heading to a destination hundreds or sometimes thousands of miles away. We are trapped in a giant metal penis with wings thousands of feet in the air with other people we don't know therefore we don't like as is our default setting. We endure other people's farts because we can't open a window, revolting food and the world's smallest toilet that when flushed almost sucks out your soul. On budget flights we have so little leg room that cramp sets in before take off and the inevitable arm rest tussle begins and results in arguments. Your only option here is to drink lots of alcohol. My pet hate on flights is when some bell end decides to spontaneously start a round of applause when the plane lands. Why??? It's the pilot's job to land the aeroplane without killing everybody on board. A joiner never gets applauded for putting a shelf up, a care assistant never gets a standing ovation for emptying a catheter bag (although they should) and estate agents...well they're just twats and don't deserve anything but contempt. I'm a fairly frequent flyer and only once have i been on board an air craft when the turbulence was so bad the oxygen masks were deployed. Flying is as safe as houses. Clapping is not necessary. Next time you are on a flight and somebody starts whooping and clapping by all means join in but slow clap. That always kills a mood-especially at a wedding.
My advice is learn to drive or walk. Public transport is unreliable, unsanitary and unbearable.
Taxi drivers are a rare breed aren't they? If i were a taxi driver i'd probably be a border line serial killer because of the amount of times they get asked 'been busy mate?'-at pub/club kicking out time or 'what time do you finish?' at the start of their night shifts. These two questions should fall under the jurisdiction of harassment and mental torture then be followed up with a kick in the shin to the punter. London cabbies are my favourite because they lock you in until you've paid the fare. It's like a hostage situation until you find your purse or wallet. I once got into a London cab aged a mere 21 years old on a very cold and foggy day. I was expecting some kind of Dick Van Dyke-esque cheeky cockney chappie using his best rhyming slang who would perhaps chirp 'ello me darlin, this bird of a feather is bleedin awful. It's got me in a right two and eight. It's like a pea soup out there innit?' Instead what i got was a foul mouthed sweaty bald man who shouted 'oi! treacle! are you getting in or what?' i got in and then he graced me with a phrase i'd not heard before or since 'fuck me! it's as thick as an elephants spunk out there innit!' Charming. I suspect his finishing school was bombed.
Trains are a tedious form of public transport. For long journeys you book your seat only to find some dickhead has sat in your spot. After some deliberation checking not once, not twice but thrice that you have the right seat, right day and right train you approach the fugitive seat wanklette. First off-they are not asleep. They're merely doing a crap impression of a coma victim so feel free to poke them and say 'excuse me, you are sat in my seat'. We then feel compelled to show them our ticket as proof. I find if they refuse to move or are rude in any way retaliate like a crazy person and ask them if 'they want some'. I'm not sure what 'some' is but most people back down at this point. I've never had anybody say 'oh yes please. I'd love some' which is a good job because that's all i've got-bravado and a menacing stare. The toilets on trains are a delightful combo of other people's bowel odours and loo roll so harsh it removes the outer layer of your skin should you be forced to use it. There's always piss on the floor and some pithy quote carved into the back of the door like 'Shazza sucks dog cock' or 'Mark is a bummer'. If your train is on time then you my friend are winning at life. If you end up with a replacement bus service because, as is all too common, your train has been cancelled, then you my friend are a bus wanker.
Aeroplanes (or airplanes if your'e from the U S of A because i know you like to be different) are a curious form of public transport. We get in this big metal thing designed to look like a bird in flight and then it hurtles down a run way at warp speed and takes off. The smell of aviation fuel fills our nostrils and our brains are screaming 'what the fuck are you doing!!!?' and then we are flying. It's the most unnatural thing for a human being to do (unless you've seen a live sex show in Amsterdam). We haven't evolved with feathers or bat wings (bingo wings-yes) yet here we are above the clouds heading to a destination hundreds or sometimes thousands of miles away. We are trapped in a giant metal penis with wings thousands of feet in the air with other people we don't know therefore we don't like as is our default setting. We endure other people's farts because we can't open a window, revolting food and the world's smallest toilet that when flushed almost sucks out your soul. On budget flights we have so little leg room that cramp sets in before take off and the inevitable arm rest tussle begins and results in arguments. Your only option here is to drink lots of alcohol. My pet hate on flights is when some bell end decides to spontaneously start a round of applause when the plane lands. Why??? It's the pilot's job to land the aeroplane without killing everybody on board. A joiner never gets applauded for putting a shelf up, a care assistant never gets a standing ovation for emptying a catheter bag (although they should) and estate agents...well they're just twats and don't deserve anything but contempt. I'm a fairly frequent flyer and only once have i been on board an air craft when the turbulence was so bad the oxygen masks were deployed. Flying is as safe as houses. Clapping is not necessary. Next time you are on a flight and somebody starts whooping and clapping by all means join in but slow clap. That always kills a mood-especially at a wedding.
My advice is learn to drive or walk. Public transport is unreliable, unsanitary and unbearable.
Friday, 31 May 2019
The observationist: Jobs
The observationist: Jobs: ' Jobbe of worke' circa 1550. Jobs have always been an integral part of life whether you get paid in money or kind. Most adults an...
Jobs
' Jobbe of worke' circa 1550.
Jobs have always been an integral part of life whether you get paid in money or kind. Most adults and some kids have jobs. We can't send kids up chimneys anymore because apparently it's illegal but we are still allowed to make them carry a bag, often heavier than themselves, full of newspapers to houses where the internet hasn't been invented yet and old men answer the door wearing a dressing gown. The kids are then paid 2 pence an hour for the privilege. Go figure. I had a paper round once for about 3 weeks. I hated it. It was during that 3 week period i discovered, at age 14, that adults can be absolute bell ends about stupid shit like 'where's my Sunday supplement?' 'why's my newspaper wet?' 'who's done my crossword?' Twats. It was mutually agreed with myself and the newsagent owner that i should probably leave.
My eldest daughter has a job. she's a dog walker. She earns her own money. My youngest does jobs around the house to earn hers. Either way both girls have to earn it. I don't get money given to me and neither do they. You may think this is harsh but it's a life lesson taught to me by my dad who, according to him, was down the pit at 5 years old and joined the circus to be a human cannon ball when he was 8. I suspect he may be telling a little white lie.
I've had a variety of jobs since leaving school because like most folk i didn't know what i wanted to do or be. My eldest wants to be a hairdresser and that hasn't wavered since she was a toddler. Girlchild number two however likes to think outside the box and wanted to be a water feature for a number of years. You may think that's slightly weird but the most interesting people i know are slightly weird. She is now a published poet and motorbike road racing photographer at age 13. See-interesting.
When, as young adults, we enter the job market we have to face the dreaded interview. This process doesn't get any easier no matter how old you get. Interviews are nerve racking because you have to bring the best version of yourself to an unfamiliar place and tell complete strangers how awesome you are without sounding like a self serving cock womble. It's a fine line. You have your c.v scrutinised like your about to enter it into the T.T and you sit there sweating wondering if the embellishments you've added will be noticed. Fibs like your actual exam results might not be as good as you've made them out to be or not to be (a little joke there for anyone who scored above a 'd' in English literature) Hobbies and interests is always a good read. Who knew that skinny little mousey Carol on reception was once a Dutch wrestling champion or big Keith in the warehouse enjoys embroidery or that ugly Mike the delivery driver likes nothing better than to slip on a tight sequinned dress and perform as his alter ego-Michaela-at a drag club and belt out Shirley Bassey's greatest hits. C.v's are very rarely checked for authenticity apart from the references so next time you type yours my advice is go to town on it. Be all you want to be and stand out. Ultimately this will get you an interview and possibly the job.
In my job i occasionally get to sit at the other side of the desk and do panel interviews with my boss. We are good cop/bad cop. I am always bad cop. I like genuine folk and can spot bullshit a mile off. The blokes seem to be the worst offenders at spouting absolute bollocks although we did once interview a 30 stone woman for the position of set runner who claimed to be a trapeze artist. Often a male interviewee will attempt to flirt with me because they think if they flatter me i'll give them the job. Once they start with flirty banter or 'flanter' they may as well leave. Flanter at your peril. Interviews are a boring necessity to find the best candidate for the job not the best candidate for a blow job.
The workplace can be a minefield. Who is a friend? who will stitch you up like a kipper? who is the office perv? who is the office bike? who is the office dickhead? If you don't think your workplace has a dickhead, chances are, it's you.
If your'e lucky enough to have a job and can just about keep your head above water then your'e officially a grown up. If you have a job you hate you probably wish you were still a kid. If your'e in the very small minority and have a job you love your'e a fucking show off. I'm one of those show offs. It's not the best paid job in the world but i get to do something i love-most of the time. Standing around in the rain or cold for hours on end waiting for the lighting to be just right or an actor to remember their dialogue is not my favourite thing and those who work with me under these conditions will freely testify that i am prone to whingeing like someone who has just lost a whingeing competition. The down sides of working mostly from home are i can't ring in sick and i don't get invited to office parties.
Office parties are the sort of events that come under the 'what happens at the party stays at the party' rule. Most people who attend these functions see it as an opportunity to let their hair down and show their work colleagues what they're really like. Some people go that step further and will spend most of the evening getting horribly drunk, call their boss a c**t then attempt to finger Alison from accounts underneath the buffet table-or worse case scenario...Michaela. Happy days.
Worse than the office party by a mile are those awful team building days where some fucktard from H.R will arrange for everyone to go paintballing or bowling or an escape room. It's enforced fun and now your'e having to spend a day off work with the shithouses you spend your working life trying to avoid. Especially Dave whose B.O is so bad you can taste it and cross eyed Kelly who has one eye going to the shops and one coming back with the change, but worst of all is your boss who has the worst halitosis known to mankind. He has the sort of breath that can actually repel mints and could easily kill a small child or a sick pensioner.
Work is a necessity for most people in order to live so either leave the job you hate or do something different. Only you are in charge of the path you take. Embellish your c.v and leave the twatty mundane jobs to the twatty and mundane.
Jobs have always been an integral part of life whether you get paid in money or kind. Most adults and some kids have jobs. We can't send kids up chimneys anymore because apparently it's illegal but we are still allowed to make them carry a bag, often heavier than themselves, full of newspapers to houses where the internet hasn't been invented yet and old men answer the door wearing a dressing gown. The kids are then paid 2 pence an hour for the privilege. Go figure. I had a paper round once for about 3 weeks. I hated it. It was during that 3 week period i discovered, at age 14, that adults can be absolute bell ends about stupid shit like 'where's my Sunday supplement?' 'why's my newspaper wet?' 'who's done my crossword?' Twats. It was mutually agreed with myself and the newsagent owner that i should probably leave.
My eldest daughter has a job. she's a dog walker. She earns her own money. My youngest does jobs around the house to earn hers. Either way both girls have to earn it. I don't get money given to me and neither do they. You may think this is harsh but it's a life lesson taught to me by my dad who, according to him, was down the pit at 5 years old and joined the circus to be a human cannon ball when he was 8. I suspect he may be telling a little white lie.
I've had a variety of jobs since leaving school because like most folk i didn't know what i wanted to do or be. My eldest wants to be a hairdresser and that hasn't wavered since she was a toddler. Girlchild number two however likes to think outside the box and wanted to be a water feature for a number of years. You may think that's slightly weird but the most interesting people i know are slightly weird. She is now a published poet and motorbike road racing photographer at age 13. See-interesting.
When, as young adults, we enter the job market we have to face the dreaded interview. This process doesn't get any easier no matter how old you get. Interviews are nerve racking because you have to bring the best version of yourself to an unfamiliar place and tell complete strangers how awesome you are without sounding like a self serving cock womble. It's a fine line. You have your c.v scrutinised like your about to enter it into the T.T and you sit there sweating wondering if the embellishments you've added will be noticed. Fibs like your actual exam results might not be as good as you've made them out to be or not to be (a little joke there for anyone who scored above a 'd' in English literature) Hobbies and interests is always a good read. Who knew that skinny little mousey Carol on reception was once a Dutch wrestling champion or big Keith in the warehouse enjoys embroidery or that ugly Mike the delivery driver likes nothing better than to slip on a tight sequinned dress and perform as his alter ego-Michaela-at a drag club and belt out Shirley Bassey's greatest hits. C.v's are very rarely checked for authenticity apart from the references so next time you type yours my advice is go to town on it. Be all you want to be and stand out. Ultimately this will get you an interview and possibly the job.
In my job i occasionally get to sit at the other side of the desk and do panel interviews with my boss. We are good cop/bad cop. I am always bad cop. I like genuine folk and can spot bullshit a mile off. The blokes seem to be the worst offenders at spouting absolute bollocks although we did once interview a 30 stone woman for the position of set runner who claimed to be a trapeze artist. Often a male interviewee will attempt to flirt with me because they think if they flatter me i'll give them the job. Once they start with flirty banter or 'flanter' they may as well leave. Flanter at your peril. Interviews are a boring necessity to find the best candidate for the job not the best candidate for a blow job.
The workplace can be a minefield. Who is a friend? who will stitch you up like a kipper? who is the office perv? who is the office bike? who is the office dickhead? If you don't think your workplace has a dickhead, chances are, it's you.
If your'e lucky enough to have a job and can just about keep your head above water then your'e officially a grown up. If you have a job you hate you probably wish you were still a kid. If your'e in the very small minority and have a job you love your'e a fucking show off. I'm one of those show offs. It's not the best paid job in the world but i get to do something i love-most of the time. Standing around in the rain or cold for hours on end waiting for the lighting to be just right or an actor to remember their dialogue is not my favourite thing and those who work with me under these conditions will freely testify that i am prone to whingeing like someone who has just lost a whingeing competition. The down sides of working mostly from home are i can't ring in sick and i don't get invited to office parties.
Office parties are the sort of events that come under the 'what happens at the party stays at the party' rule. Most people who attend these functions see it as an opportunity to let their hair down and show their work colleagues what they're really like. Some people go that step further and will spend most of the evening getting horribly drunk, call their boss a c**t then attempt to finger Alison from accounts underneath the buffet table-or worse case scenario...Michaela. Happy days.
Worse than the office party by a mile are those awful team building days where some fucktard from H.R will arrange for everyone to go paintballing or bowling or an escape room. It's enforced fun and now your'e having to spend a day off work with the shithouses you spend your working life trying to avoid. Especially Dave whose B.O is so bad you can taste it and cross eyed Kelly who has one eye going to the shops and one coming back with the change, but worst of all is your boss who has the worst halitosis known to mankind. He has the sort of breath that can actually repel mints and could easily kill a small child or a sick pensioner.
Work is a necessity for most people in order to live so either leave the job you hate or do something different. Only you are in charge of the path you take. Embellish your c.v and leave the twatty mundane jobs to the twatty and mundane.
Thursday, 9 May 2019
The observationist: Sex
The observationist: Sex: I can comment on this as i have two children so i've definitely done it twice. Sex used to be a taboo topic but these days everyone'...
Sex
I can comment on this as i have two children so i've definitely done it twice. Sex used to be a taboo topic but these days everyone's talking about it which isn't necessarily a good thing. It doesn't matter how old i get if i hear my parents mention it i do a sick in my mouth and then poke out my mind's eye. It' almost like the human race has only just discovered fornication.
There are so many different sexual orientations that the good old hetrosexual is virtually passe. Back back back in the day we had straight, gay and bisexual but now we have transgender, transsexual, binary, non-binary, gender fluid (which i thought was something found on prostitute's handbag) and pan sexual...wtf is pan sexual? is it someone who masturbates into crockery or gets aroused by Peter Pan?
I'm a hetro female because i fancy men. I'm not at any point going to think 'hey, you know what...i think i'm going to sample drinking from the furry cup'. Other women are not my thing although i do appreciate the female form and all of it's flaws and imperfections because i am one. I like muscles, hairy chests, beards and willys, although some might argue that the first three of my criteria can be found in the lesbian community anyway.
Once you've seen one nob you've pretty much seen them all. The variations are only slight ranging from length to girth. If your'e lucky you'll get the holy grail-both. For those of us ladies that have given birth vaginally to one or more children girth is very important. You can't make dough with a needle as my dear old nan used to say who was also a mum of three.
As a hetro woman i'd like to point out that nobody, straight or otherwise, likes-as i refer to it-a spaghetti cock. These are the longish skinny members that wouldn't touch the insides of a drinking straw. Neither use nor ornament. Don't come at me with one of those because you'll be wasting my time and yours.
If your'e lucky enough to be having sex in the first place then good for you. If your'e lucky enough to be having good sex then your'e living the dream. I have friends who haven't had sex for years. Not because they're unattractive but because they just haven't met anyone. Today's 'sex market' has tools to aid you in your quest such as Tinder, grindr, CFNM parties and loads of others but we as people still prefer to clap eyes on someone at work or in a club and think 'i wouldn't mind a go on that'. Animal instinct is what drives us and ultimately what makes us procreate and keep the world turning.
Sexual positions are a relatively recent invention despite what the karma sutra claims. You have the standard three (or the holy trinity) that most sexually active people will have experienced. The missionary, or mummy and daddy sex, is probably the most common. Lying down, man on top pumping away like a sewing machine in a power surge. This position is ideal for intimacy as it's face to face so lip and eye contact are an inevitable delicious bi-product. If your'e only using this position then you really need to open your mind or run for the hills. It's the one position where you'd most likely hear 'pull my nightie down when your'e finished love'. Not very imaginative but does the job. On top is a favourite of the female as she is in control of the outcome. From behind, or the doggy position, tends to be a favourite of the fellas as he's in control here when the rest of his waking day he's being told to pick up his clothes, take the rubbish out or cut the grass. Although pleasurable for both parties the bloke will tend to 'go off' first much to the annoyance of his partner. This will often result in the silent treatment, which to some men might be blessed relief or sex being removed from the agenda for a month. Us women like this position because it means we don't have to look at the ridiculous faces men pull at the point of no return. I have been known to actually burst out laughing which is a bit off putting. One draw back of the doggy position is when air is pumped into the recipient resulting in a fanny fart or quife which can send the guy's love length flying out at such a rate of knotts he could have his own eye out or get whiplash. If this happens to you my recommendation is simply to style it out.
Obviously there a lots of other positions which i've looked up for research purposes only. Some have really bizarre names like 'the wheelbarrow' (go on then i'll try it but don't take me past my mum's house) 'the rocking horse', 'the catherine wheel', 'the bridge', 'reverse cowgirl' (good for the less well endowed fellas), 'the plough' (similar to the wheelbarrow but in a field-i imagine), 'the toad' and the beautifully named 'ascent to desire'. Look them up. They exist and coming to a sex life near you! I've tried a few on the list but unless i warm up beforehand i'm more likely these days to get cramp than climax.
For some folk sex isn't enough to get their freak on. They need extra stimulus and i'm not talking about sex toys like the rampant rabbit, finger bobs or the bully boy black prince anal intruder. I'm talking about kinks and fetishes. Swinging, dogging, impact play, bondage and voyeurism are listed in the top ten of British favourites.You've probably heard of all of those or maybe practise a few but what about omorashi? This is becoming or being aroused by observing their partner wetting themselves. I imagine omorashi practitioners who happen to be single would do alright hanging around the back of a pub or club at kicking out time. Teratophilia is a sex fetish that involves being attracted to people with physical deformities. I bet the hunch back of notre dame was beating them off with a stick. Coprophilia or scatophilia is a poo fetish, where the person likes nothing better than to observe his or her partner having a shit crouched on a glass coffee table while they lie under it. Legend has it that hitler was a fan of this particular fetish. To be fair if watching someone curl one out over glass seems disgusting he did do a lot worse. It also makes me wonder if this was the real reason my neighbours were barred from DFS. They do have pampas grass in their front garden which incidentally is the international bat signal for 'swingers live here'. The kink that amused me the most is dendrophilia or arbophilia which is when someone is sexually attracted to trees. It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'tree hugger' or 'i've got wood'. A friend of mine at uni used to post her worn knickers to people on line for a fee. It paid her way through her degree. Another friend of mine is a dominatrix and her best client likes her to lock him in her shed while she shouts 'slag!' through the keyhole.
To conclude this weeks blog i'd like to finish with a simple request. Where can i purchase a bully boy black prince anal intruder?
Asking for a friend...
There are so many different sexual orientations that the good old hetrosexual is virtually passe. Back back back in the day we had straight, gay and bisexual but now we have transgender, transsexual, binary, non-binary, gender fluid (which i thought was something found on prostitute's handbag) and pan sexual...wtf is pan sexual? is it someone who masturbates into crockery or gets aroused by Peter Pan?
I'm a hetro female because i fancy men. I'm not at any point going to think 'hey, you know what...i think i'm going to sample drinking from the furry cup'. Other women are not my thing although i do appreciate the female form and all of it's flaws and imperfections because i am one. I like muscles, hairy chests, beards and willys, although some might argue that the first three of my criteria can be found in the lesbian community anyway.
Once you've seen one nob you've pretty much seen them all. The variations are only slight ranging from length to girth. If your'e lucky you'll get the holy grail-both. For those of us ladies that have given birth vaginally to one or more children girth is very important. You can't make dough with a needle as my dear old nan used to say who was also a mum of three.
As a hetro woman i'd like to point out that nobody, straight or otherwise, likes-as i refer to it-a spaghetti cock. These are the longish skinny members that wouldn't touch the insides of a drinking straw. Neither use nor ornament. Don't come at me with one of those because you'll be wasting my time and yours.
If your'e lucky enough to be having sex in the first place then good for you. If your'e lucky enough to be having good sex then your'e living the dream. I have friends who haven't had sex for years. Not because they're unattractive but because they just haven't met anyone. Today's 'sex market' has tools to aid you in your quest such as Tinder, grindr, CFNM parties and loads of others but we as people still prefer to clap eyes on someone at work or in a club and think 'i wouldn't mind a go on that'. Animal instinct is what drives us and ultimately what makes us procreate and keep the world turning.
Sexual positions are a relatively recent invention despite what the karma sutra claims. You have the standard three (or the holy trinity) that most sexually active people will have experienced. The missionary, or mummy and daddy sex, is probably the most common. Lying down, man on top pumping away like a sewing machine in a power surge. This position is ideal for intimacy as it's face to face so lip and eye contact are an inevitable delicious bi-product. If your'e only using this position then you really need to open your mind or run for the hills. It's the one position where you'd most likely hear 'pull my nightie down when your'e finished love'. Not very imaginative but does the job. On top is a favourite of the female as she is in control of the outcome. From behind, or the doggy position, tends to be a favourite of the fellas as he's in control here when the rest of his waking day he's being told to pick up his clothes, take the rubbish out or cut the grass. Although pleasurable for both parties the bloke will tend to 'go off' first much to the annoyance of his partner. This will often result in the silent treatment, which to some men might be blessed relief or sex being removed from the agenda for a month. Us women like this position because it means we don't have to look at the ridiculous faces men pull at the point of no return. I have been known to actually burst out laughing which is a bit off putting. One draw back of the doggy position is when air is pumped into the recipient resulting in a fanny fart or quife which can send the guy's love length flying out at such a rate of knotts he could have his own eye out or get whiplash. If this happens to you my recommendation is simply to style it out.
Obviously there a lots of other positions which i've looked up for research purposes only. Some have really bizarre names like 'the wheelbarrow' (go on then i'll try it but don't take me past my mum's house) 'the rocking horse', 'the catherine wheel', 'the bridge', 'reverse cowgirl' (good for the less well endowed fellas), 'the plough' (similar to the wheelbarrow but in a field-i imagine), 'the toad' and the beautifully named 'ascent to desire'. Look them up. They exist and coming to a sex life near you! I've tried a few on the list but unless i warm up beforehand i'm more likely these days to get cramp than climax.
For some folk sex isn't enough to get their freak on. They need extra stimulus and i'm not talking about sex toys like the rampant rabbit, finger bobs or the bully boy black prince anal intruder. I'm talking about kinks and fetishes. Swinging, dogging, impact play, bondage and voyeurism are listed in the top ten of British favourites.You've probably heard of all of those or maybe practise a few but what about omorashi? This is becoming or being aroused by observing their partner wetting themselves. I imagine omorashi practitioners who happen to be single would do alright hanging around the back of a pub or club at kicking out time. Teratophilia is a sex fetish that involves being attracted to people with physical deformities. I bet the hunch back of notre dame was beating them off with a stick. Coprophilia or scatophilia is a poo fetish, where the person likes nothing better than to observe his or her partner having a shit crouched on a glass coffee table while they lie under it. Legend has it that hitler was a fan of this particular fetish. To be fair if watching someone curl one out over glass seems disgusting he did do a lot worse. It also makes me wonder if this was the real reason my neighbours were barred from DFS. They do have pampas grass in their front garden which incidentally is the international bat signal for 'swingers live here'. The kink that amused me the most is dendrophilia or arbophilia which is when someone is sexually attracted to trees. It brings a whole new meaning to the term 'tree hugger' or 'i've got wood'. A friend of mine at uni used to post her worn knickers to people on line for a fee. It paid her way through her degree. Another friend of mine is a dominatrix and her best client likes her to lock him in her shed while she shouts 'slag!' through the keyhole.
To conclude this weeks blog i'd like to finish with a simple request. Where can i purchase a bully boy black prince anal intruder?
Asking for a friend...
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