It's not you, it's me. No, it's you.

We have spent so long together.

There have been times that you were the only one I could rely on, that I knew would be able to reassure me after a hard day.

The endless days we spent, just bathing in each others company. You said you had things to tell me, promised to show me the world and teach me about beauty.

Through you, I have learnt many things. You taught me how to kiss, and told me about the world's pain. We have shared laughs and disasters. You have been a true companion.

But now I think our attachment to each other is mostly brought out of routine. We spend hours in relative silence. You talk to me, but I no longer listen. I stay with you because you are comfortable, familiar, but more and more now I find you irritating. You have nothing new to say to me, or if you do it is drowned out by the same old stories. I turned you on, and you try to turn me on, but I am just not feeling it anymore.

Perhaps I am missing your finer qualities. I know they are there. I know that you are beautiful, intelligent, funny, and wise, and I know that I will crave your presence, even if at first only out of habit. I am sure that we will have trysts in the future. I hope we do, and I hope that they are passionate and fulfilling.

Until then, I am switching you off at the set.

Popular

Who are all these people that suddenly want to be my friend? I vaguely remember some of their names as being people who mostly wanted nothing to do with me during school.

My mum must have been right all along. She said that one day they would all realise what they had been missing.

What is this need to 'collect' as many friends as possible?

Too much, not enough.

Well. 50% of my readership has asked me to tell you something, so here goes.

If I join the circus I will get paid peanuts, but maybe I'll meet a bearded lady to take care of me.

If I build a cottage in a forest the roof will probably leak, but there will be plenty of wood to keep the hearth warm.

If I become a hermit there will be no one to confide in, and no one to chide me.

There is a life waiting for me underneath a rock somewhere, but I am too blinded by fluorescent lights to find my way out.

There you go. This is why I do not write.

Whither shall I wander?

I am (almost definately) going away in 2008.

Had a telephone meeting with a lady from Cross Cultural Solutions just now to discuss my options. It seems what is hampering me is that I am too flexible about what kind of work I am prepared to do, I don't have asthma or allergies, and am equally happy looking at trees and seeing Art.

So, I need to narrow it down before I enrol. The countries CCS work in are:

In Africa
Volta Region- Ghana
Rabat- Morocco
Cape Town- South Africa
Arusha, Kilimanjaro, and Bagamoyo- Tanzania


In Asia
Xi'an- China
Bangkok and Trang- Thailand
New Delhi and Dharamsala (Himalayas)- India



In Eastern Europe
Yaroslavl- Russia


In Latin America
Salvador- Brazil
Lima and Ayacucho- Peru
Guatemala City and Quetzaltenango- Guatemala
San Carlos, Cartago, and Puriscal- Costa Rica

I look at the name of each country and get a bit excited. But I can only go to one.

Argh, decisions....

A Rude Poem that Rhymes

I met a girl with whiskers
She had them on her cat
I asked to stroke her pussy
She said, "No, kiss my twat."

Stormy waters, to be near you

Continuing my plan to get out of my job (and the country) in the next six months, I followed a lead in the Observer travel magazine today.

It suggested a couple of websites on which yaghts and their owners/ captains advertise for crew members. Ok, so it's not quite volunteer work, but I could do both, no?

Well, unless I am ready to sail by October at the latest I am out of luck until next summer, it seems.

But if there are any women out there who are looking for a sugar daddy (please don't), it appears that this is a very good alternative to dating sites, as many of the middle age yaghtsters specifically request female crew, and a recent photograph. Don't forget to include your vital statistics, because they need to make sure that you'll really float their boat.

Sad old lady

I am not old enough to give up on a social life completely, but how long do I have to wait before people are not surprised if I don't feel like going quarters on some mdma?

For Christ's sake, quarters?

I know, I know

that in the post below I have done exactly what I said I wouldn't do, but that was purely for demonstration purposes.

Mud

So you've been to a festival? I am very happy for you. Of course I want to see your pictures of distant stages in the middle of the night, and I'm sure that it really was far muddier even than the snapshot of half immersed director's chair can show. It's true, you really had to be there.

But I wasn't. So you just wait until next year, and then we can have hours of fun comparing long-drop anecdotes and remeniscing about the hare crishnas.

In the meantime mud is just mud*. I saw plenty of my own at the allotment this weekend, AND I planted more than an upturned wellie, but you're not interested in seeing a picture of that, are you?

*Unless there is some sort of bathing, of course.

Ps. I realise that I am being just a tad glastenvious, and also a hypocrite because I am also going to a festival this year. But I PROMISE not to take or show pictures of festival mud. Allotment mud, on the other hand....