In which I unexpectedly have a right good laugh
David picked me up from the airport (I had been in Madagascar working and there was no water on the entire island so I had to get local dogs to lick me clean) and his fingernails looked as if he had been restoring a small ruin in Tuscany. Mildly excited, I asked him if he'd bought me a ruin in Tuscany for Christmas.
David raised an eyebrow as if to say "are you fcking bonkers Lizzo or what?" and gave me a friendly pat on my emaciated thigh.
Instead of taking the usual route through the fascinatingly ethic streets of Brixton, he headed out of town towards the coast. "But I haven't waxed!" I wailed. "I couldn't give a flying monkey's arse," he replied, and we tootled down to Brighton.
I've always thought Brighton is a bit common, or all right if you are gay, but not really for the likes of me. It's all a bit kiss me quick. And I'm not sure if David has brushed his teeth. We ended up in a tiny but dear B&B run by a Lesbian. And once we were alone, he proceeded to roger me senseless. After that we went out for fish and chips and I had a toffee apple. We stayed up all night on the beach drinking WKD and vodka, and at dawn we swam in the sea, before rogering on the seaweedy pebbles under the pier.
I must say I was quite surprised, and even spontaneously broke into laughter once or twice. I sulked in the car on the way home because I didn't want him thinking he'd got round me. He needs to know who's boss!
But I won't be needing a hot stone treatment for a while. Those under-pier pebbles worked a treat.