Well, as Im here, I might as well fill you in on the gory details of the weekend. Friday night, girlies went off to Shagnasty�s so its just me and BF�..and some whisky and some new porn and a big fat smoky one. Woo, and indeed Hoo. In the tub for a bit of a de-coke and re-bore first and then let the debauchery commence. Well, actually commenced in the tub and then descended rather rapidly to the floor, the hallway, bits of the bedroom and then downstairs for a Danish pastry and a bit of regrouping. Over the custard and raspberry swirly type cakeys we pondered on places in The Palace of Many Sins where we had yet to make love. Actually I think BF said "Shall I shag you in the downstairs loo?" but that just didn�t seem too alluring. Anyway, off he went on a big list of places we hadnt shagged yet until I had to climb up on the breakfast bar to shut him up. He was rolling a cig at the time so remained impervious to my pole dancing (there wasn�t really a pole, but in my MIND there was (and Id miraculously shed half a stone and was 15 years younger) for a good 8 seconds � man, you�ve never seen a man lick a green Rizla so quick.
Eventually I had to climb down as the ceiling isnt very high in our kitchen and bits of the ceiling tiles were flaking off over my head - if you look closely you can see a perfect set of nail marks too � and I was a bit worried that the formica was going to eventually buckle under my weight. BTW, tried to smoke the cig he�d rolled but it was By Far the worst roll-up I have ever seen. BF has rolled cigs on the steering column whilst driving that looked better than that. Obviously, a 40-foot artic cutting in front of him isnt as off-putting as Stepfordtart in the nuddie giving it the full nastiness.
Watched a bit of porn � but in a Barry Norman type way, where we criticise the camera angles and the lighting and cast aspersions on the �actors� in a kind of "Oh, No WAY is she enjoying that. If you were doing that to me there�d at least be some�umm�moisture. Fucking Hell, nobody should have to SPIT while they�re doing THAT!" spirit of dismissiveness.
Went back to bed to show em how its done.
Saturday morning nipped into ChavVille to finish of the Christmas shopping � parking the car outside Asda at 9.00am and back home at 10.45. Result!
Mooched about waiting for the pub to open and wishing we�d had some breakfast, then a few quick scoops and some cheesy garlic bread before going back to the Palace to deal with a very severe case of "Cheese on Toast Head" (me, not BF) � I really should do my roots more often. Suffice it to say, I am now back to platinum gorgeousness. (Still look a bit like I could be Billy Idol�s mum tho).
Went to the works Christmas Do on Saturday night. BF not invited so sulking in the pub. Why are they called Works Do�s? Why arent they called "Works Don�ts".
The food was fucking awful, I missed BF and was stuck on a table of co-workers that I hate (with one or two exceptions).
Someone got a water pistol in their Christmas cracker and we filled it up from the icebucket and got that miserable girl from IT right down the back of her nasty cheap evening top. I was wearing vintage cocktail frock and looked fabulous. Got a bit tiddly on company-issue whisky and danced with Slave, who is jolly fab as I have mentioned before. She won the "Shit Dancing Contest" that the two of us had, with a masterful impression of her dad.
BF just came in and asked me to go downstairs to talk to his sis so I�ll finish now for a bit.
Later