Being with you or not being with you is the only meaningful method I have of measuring time.

Jorge Luis Borges
The Book of Sand

Fresh cherries and Borges – what more could a birthday girl want?


April 28, 2018

Make sure he always remembers your birthday!

Barefoot on a Bed of Coals

December 4, 2016


Diary 4th December

Saturday night was party night. A mad, bad impossible night. Spent with old friends, exploring limits and experiencing ‘beyond’.

Too much drink.

Too much food.

Too much…


Here, where reticence used to stop me, you taught me to continue – to go further, to that point where your breathing nearly stops, becomes a faint dry wheezing inside of you like some air hungry beast. Then the tears flow, but your eyes tell me not to stop – they pray for me to continue until your moans become screams, and your body writhes in spasms of pain / pleasure. The ecstasy of agony. You don’t run from it, but instead welcome it. Your joy is to ask for these torments of the flesh. You sacrifice yourself to that final orgasm, your safe word unspoken…


Tonight we celebrate ‘A’s birthday. More booze, a wide selection of Indian food, laughter and gifts. It’ll probably take me days to recover from this weekend.


Diary 22nd March

Glorious day full of sun and clear blue skies yesterday. This morning overcast but warm. No rain forecast – so a day for cleaning windows.
Question: What’s green and smells like pork?

Answer: Kermit the Frog’s finger…

(play the yuk and groan tape, then quickly fade to grey for all our sakes)
Why did I get divorced? You really wanna know?

Well, my last birthday, my wife didn’t wish me ‘Happy birthday’. My parents forgot as well, and so did my kids. I went to work and none of my colleagues wished me ‘Happy birthday’ either.

Then, out of the blue, as I entered my office, my secretary said: “Happy birthday, boss!”

Suddenly I felt special. I was special. This woman cared.

She asked me out for lunch, too, her treat. And after lunch, she invited me to her flat. We went there and she said, “Do you mind if I go into the bedroom for a minute?”

“Okay,” I said.

She came out 5 minutes later with a birthday cake, my wife, my parents, my kids, my friends, and colleagues all yelling, “SURPRISE!!!” while I was waiting on the sofa… naked.

Our hero stands alone contemplating…infinity. He, after some not inconsiderable effort, sucks his mind back to the here and now. But only momentarily. It is soon off again, but not with fairies…this time he’s with R, and it is last summer.

They exchange covert glances at each other. She looks at him firstly with a faint smile, then not. Her glance is one of curiosity: as if he might be another species rather than another sex; questioning; potentially contemptuous, and undoubtedly wary.

Without speaking she unbuttons her summer dress, her movements practiced and swift, her hands fluttering like a pair of pigeons. He can feel the sun on his back through the cotton of his shirt. He thinks she displays the nervous intensity of someone who is covering the turmoil in their mind with a steadiness of the eyes, as when waiting too long for what one is not in any case very confident of receiving.

Then she is quite naked before him, and he begins to undress while she watches. She smiles as his erection is exposed, swaying head-heavy, as he tugs down his boxer shorts.

HE: We can lay on this blanket.

R: Fine.

She comes to him, kisses his mouth, then takes the blanket and spreads in over the rough ground.

R: Let’s hope no one comes along, eh? Major embarrassment for us all…

HE: Fingers crossed that doesn’t happen.

She lays down on the blanket and spreads her legs. Her breasts are small and her bush a mass of reddish curls.

R: I’m ready when you are. (Her smile is teasing, intimate, her voice low) Or have you changed your mind…?

HE: No, I haven’t.

He goes to her, takes her in his arms…


Our hero walks toward the lane. The whispers of memory, so faintly spoken at the back of his mind are like a tickle of breath in the hairs on his neck. Concentrating, he silences them for now. He returns to the house for breakfast.
Shy street artist Banksy’s secret identity has been revealed: the graffiti artist – whose works sell for more than £1million – is a former public schoolboy, Robin Gunningham!


That was a life enhancing piece of news, wasn’t it?
A study by the German Central Bank suggests the richest 10% of Germans possess 60% of the nation’s wealth. Like everywhere else, there’s a big gap between the richest and poorest…No surprises there.

“The Bundesbank, which surveyed thousands of households in 2014 as part of its study, found that the bottom half of the population had to make do with just 2.5 percent of the country’s overall wealth.”

And I s’pose the greedy buggers want more?