Us Catching a gentle breeze .....







Man oh Man have I been one slack bloggy tart. I can't believe it's been two years practically since I pressed tips to keyboard to spew out some rambling dissertation on not much.

Well never fear my imaginary reader, I am back! For how long who bloody knows BUT whilst I can still remember my password I should probably say something.

SO I have decided for my resurrection that I'll defibrillate this blog with some good old fashioned bodily functions.

"Ewww" you say, "must you?", well I'm afraid so.

You see I used to be totally uptight and prudey about emissions and evacuations and all manner of leakages, but then something happened to change all that. I found true love.

Possibly not what you were expecting. It certainly isn't what I was expecting.

I used to deny point blank that any foul odour wafting in my general airspace had anything to do with the lasagna I had just eaten. The phrase "pull my finger" was one I held in high disdain and should any, ahem, pressing function be required, I would always deoderise the room in question with "Pacific Ocean Breeze" to the point of asphyxiation.

I would always maintain that I was a bizarre human anomaly who simply didn't do "that". The fact that if this were the case I would be writhing in agony in hospital was beside the point. Nice girls simply don't ....

It is somewhat odd then that I was perfectly happy to get onstage and discuss all manner of sexual probings, amputee fetishes and dwarf porn. To me fistings, rubberised catheters and vomit sex were all perfectly acceptable dinner table conversation, but poos and wees were most definitely not.

Now why have I started thinking about this I am sure you are wondering. Well today I attended two Film Festivals Films. One was at the Civic, a place that roughly 4 years ago was a scene of great mortification. You see I was using a disabled toilet when a man wrenched open the not quite locked door whilst I was in the midst of the delicate operation known as ... um ...wiping. (Ugh I even hate the word wiping.) Maybe it serves me right for wanting a bit more space in my cubicle and going disabled when I am clearly not, but suffice to say I learnt my lesson, now I always double check the locks.

But anyway that got me to thinking about my boyfriend.

I know, SO romantic.

You see when we first met it was all sunshine and roses, laughter and champagne, sweet nothings and.... holding in the wind. It's amazing what control certain muscles can have when everlasting happiness is at stake. I was also thrilled the bathroom in my then flat was at the other end of the house, two hours of holding back Mother Nature's non-stop life locomotive can result in quite the release I am sure you'll appreciate.

And he was just the same. We were both medicial miracles. For one whole year you could drink the air around us and Disney characters flew about our heads in a fragrant dance.

Or something.

Then it happened, true relaxing marvellous love reigned supreme and it wasn't just our souls that relaxed around each other. Our sphincters did too.

And funnily enough the world did not open up and drag me into its sulfurous depths of hell, I didn't die of a heart attack (though he nearly did) and no small children went blind. What happened instead was pure unadulterated joyous hilarity.

I had no idea how much comedy potential I was denying myself of up until now. The sheer joy of expelling what he calls "Trumps"(Yorkshire weirdness) when he least expects it, especially when I'm sitting on him, has me near pissing myself as well.

This is probably nothing new to long term relationship types out there, but to a girl who was a single prudey pants for most of her adult life, a little regression into the alimentary canal is a marvellous thing. I'm being liberated goddammit.

So I say go forth and eat cabbage people, cram in the Cannellini beans and polish off the prunes. Let the sweet smell of relationship success waft supreme and always hold the covers over their head as long as possible.



For my next post I shall be discussing the merits of a Capital gains Tax as it pertains to various share portfolios with a growth quotient of 20% or greater. Or more on farting... we will see.