All this way.... for this?

Ok, so more from me all the way from merry old England. My astounding discoveries for this trip have been few, but I shall share nonetheless.

(i) The floor of the National Portrait Gallery is FANTASTIC for tap-dancing.

(ii) Selfridges is possibly the coolest shopping emporium on the planet. Not only was the atmosphere less pretentious than its more famous competitor, Harrod's, but the salespeople (particularly Gucci) are the most divine men on the planet.

(iii) One of the British persons at the work conference (the reason for this visit) spoke EXACTLY like Austen Powers. (The great irony is of course that AP is voiced by an American.... and even more disturbing - this fellow was talking about work things - eewwwww!!!)

(iv) Paid my fortune to ride to the top of the over-rated ferris wheel... oops dont say that - the London Eye - to find at the exact moment it bucketed down obscuring the 'famous' 40km radius view..... hmmm.

That is all for now.... more to come!

More from my current location.....

Passed a Porter at a hotel today and couldnt help noticing his name badge... Mr Roger Ramtej -- a little dyslexia could go a long way -- "He's our man!".

WOMD found in on board luggage!

I have recently arrived in London for a whirlwind tour - actually called a work junket but I digress and have already been confronted by a roomful of Americans in the breakfast room of my hotel. As per usual they were stereotypically loud, obnoxious and altogether too grating for me - especially after limited sleep on the plane.

But dear readers, this Blog entry was not to give time to other travellers - it is to report on a matter of terrorist importance. It appears that during my 2 hour stopover in Hong Kong last night, I have made it onto an international listing of suspicious characters. Actually me and a fellow traveller (I think he was on the other side of 80, but wily I am sure!), both made the suspect list. It appears that in the minds of today's hyper-aware security conscious airport personnel, the possession of Insulin injection devices (aka Needles and such) - I am considered a little scarey. Many people (especially men strangely enough) can attest to me being a little scarey at times, but generally not because of my medication!

Live and Let Live..... just not with me!

I have recently decided, that due to finanical limitations (self-imposed I will mention), to get a flatmate. Now, I think that I am fabulous to live with - don't we all - but I can't say that I have ever had wonderful living experiences with flatmates. And that makes me all the more hesitant to undertake it again. But I decided that money was more important than my sanity!

Thankfully, so far my new flatmate, T, is proving to be good to live with. Not that he is as neat as me, and it is definitely not the same as living my oneself - but amazingly, I am finding that he is easy to come home to and I look forward to talking to him. Go figure!

Previous flatmates have proven a little tiresome to say the very least. One flatmate was possibly the most repugnant person I have encountered. There is some sort of fallacy that exists that women are neater than men. I can tell you that my flatmate, C, was possibly the anti-christ when it came to hygiene. Now I decided to live in a two-bed/two-bath abode to ensure that there were no awkward morning shower arguments. But in many of these arrangements, the main bathroom (hers) also houses the laundry. So I still would need to enter her bathroom for the weekly wash. One week I entered said room (after ensuring that she was not in there!), to almost step upon her discarded clothes. Fair enough, one might say. But said garments were of the "under" variety and still possessed an item of female hygiene stuck to the inner surface. (Need I go into any more detail????) The ick factor here went into overdrive.

Needless to say, not a completely happy living situation and since then I have not sought out flatmates of the female variety. Comparing that with leaving the toilet seat up...... I can cope with the seat a lot better!

Big Feet... Large Shoes.

A girlfriend of mine has a theory on penises. A million theories do exist in regards to size (ie related to shoe size, or finger length) and breadth, but the theory I want to share here is on the aesthetic qualities of said member. Admittedly, it is not often that penises can be said to be attractive. Michelangelo tried his hardest with David, but even that was a bit of a disappointment.

The theory of my girlfriend, J2, was shared one evening over many a glass of vino. She announced that her husband's penis, looked just like him. It perhaps wouldn't have been so bad for him, if he hadn't been standing right there when she made this declaration. But then, the room went quiet and we all looked at P - and everyone one in the room was simultaneously creating their own image of his penis. But it is a theory that I have employed ever since that moment - and now everytime I meet a fellow I instantly have an image of their member.

Sometimes the theory comes up accurate - nice looking boy, bit fleshy round the head...... Other times, not quite so on the money - solid commanding gentlemen.....not so much. I recently dated a gentleman, D, who I must say was quite pleasant on the eye (well in my humble opinion anyways). But his penis! While not possessing a member that would be humbling in locker room talk, it certainly the most perfectly formed and pretty penis that I have had the pleasure thus far to encounter. Shame he was such a prick really - on that I have yet to come up with a theory worth trusting!

Many of us can claim that we look a little like someone famous. Others have also been known to describe new beaus in terms of, "Well, he looks something like Nick Nolte, before the degeneration into age and alcohol". (A short-lived beau that one!) But yesterday I was describing to my friend, S, who a recent date, A, looked like. And the description that leapt immediately to mind was - Shrek. On the basis of that descriptor, I have decided that A maybe given the big A!

Well if it works for you....

I find that sexual fantasies are an intrinsically unique thing. There is often no explanation for the things that will excite someone in some small way. There are the stereotypical and generic genres that are sure to spark interest, for example, most men will find two girls together (or with the man in question for that matter) an inviting option. Women are often excited by the prospect of the man in uniform (whole strip shows RELY on that one). But, for me, it has always been butchers.

I have visitied abattoirs purely for the sexual tension that it generates within my loins. The beasts, the blood, the sharp knives and the men in white rubber boots. Oh for the rubber boot! The very thought can send me into a flurry of sensual yearning unmatched by any form of pornography yet created!

But an experience this week may have tarred this fantasy somewhat. I had to go to an operating theatre to witness the planning of a procedure related to a patient's prostate cancer treatment. This procedure involves prodding the rectum of the gentlemen in question repeatedly with an ultrasound probe. Due to the rather invasive nature of the procedure, and the homophobic fear that most men possess, the procedure is conducted under general anaesthetic. As a consequence, all the muscles of the body are rendered flaccid. I was dressed in the usual theatre garb, as is required, but the urologist stood out with the addition of his knee-high yellow rubber boots. As I turned to a colleague to enquire as to the need for his footwear, the question was answered for me by the timely bowel-emptying by the patient of the hour onto the floor and feet of said medical professional.

I fear that there is some cooling of the fetish this week. Perhaps an emergency visit to my nearest and dearest meatworker for a reminder of the happy knife-wielding days of yore.

When you run out of fish.... what then?

I think I have officially run out of men to date. I went to a speed dating function the other night - not my first of these events. But this time, the quality of gentlemen on offer took a significant downturn. There was the man who used his 7 minutes with me to describe his three most significant, by which I mean bad, relationships.

Then there was the gentleman who has purchased his parents home and moved into their bedroom - I will leave that one there! And there was the gentleman who seemed to have no hobbies and no significant interests, and a job that can best be described as mind-numbingly dull. When asked what his hobbies were he immediately said reading and music. I endeavoured to make the best of my 7 minutes with him and enquired as to any favourite authors that he may have. It then transpired that he had no favourite authors and really didnt read that much. And as for the music, the artist that came to mind most prominently for him was John Farnham. Please.....!!! Give me something to work with!!!!

Anyway, I think the evening reached its true nadir when a gentleman sat down and I thought he looked incredibly familiar to me. It was then that we realised that we had met at another speed dating event. So it is official - I have dated every available man in Melbourne - to the point that I am re-dating the same men!

The following day after the event, the company sends out emails telling you of any mutual matches that were made between you and the men of the evening. Unsurprisingly - I scored nil on the matches. I can't say that I was surprised and all that disappointed.

Meditation for the New Millenia

Breathe in breathe out...men are not sexual toys they are humans...with two small brains........... Breathe in breathe out...... I can be friends with single men.... I can be friends with single men....... Breathe in breath out

Thank you to my girlfriend for this reminder. Repeat this everytime a man annoys you - I could be quite busy.

There was a time when I was scared of flying. Any trips I took were rare and the entire trip had me consumed with equal parts of fear, nervous toilet trips and pure incredulity at the sheer audacity of such a large and heavy object suspended in air against all my reason! Now, many years, and even more flying miles on, plane travel is no longer the wonder it once seemed to be. In fact, it really is so indescribably dull, that even the shortest trip fills me with such a sense of aching boredom to make one contemplate staying home in the first place!

The queues, the waiting, the tedious politeness of hostesses, the inevitable screaming children and the new traveller who is always in front of me in a queue asking inane questions. The major problem with "making the air fair" is that there are people catching planes now that used to be safely packed away on buses and trains. Once of the domain of the rich and fabulous, anyone can fly - and inevitably anyone does.

Interestingly, according to relativity theory a clock on a spacecraft and an identical clock on earth would display different times following a journey into space (the clock on the craft would "run slower"). On a much reduced level, the same phenomena occurs even with plane travel. But I challenge this! When I am on a plane, time does not travel imperceptibly slower, nay - it seems to stand still!

Not quite a Requiem - but maybe Aria for a Dream?

I tend to dream a lot - and rarely do they seem to make any sort of sense. Last night I dreamt that I lost my handbag - and a fabulous handbag it is too (thank you Catherine Manuell - I prostrate myself at the shrine of your magnificence!!). But also in this curious dream, a girlfriend of mine was offering me advice (as she is wont to do in my waking hours as well). She said that although she believes there is theoretically someone for everyone - she just cant imagine who it would be for me - and if such a person indeed existed. It was a very confronting dream and certainly did not put a spring in my step this morning.

This made me think of other conversations about dreams. I went on a date once with a boy, B, who within a half hour of the date relayed to me a dream that he had had during the previous night's slumber. In this dream, he was chewing off his left hand. Taken aback as I was, I probed further. There are multitudes of theories about what dreams may or may not mean. Some people ascribe the powers of foresight, and others just assume it is the sub-conscious cleaning out its filing system. Nevertheless, I pursued this line of conversation with B. He stated that he believed that indeed his dream meant something quite profound. Apparently, as he was eager to tell me, he was indeed a south-paw and masturbated everyday with said hand.

Now I have no problem with the sharing of personal information, but must admit to being quietly shocked by this revelation at so soon a juncture in our acquaintance. Interestingly, at the end of evening, he said, "Thanks, but no thanks. You are just too forward for me."

Now that was a shock!