Tag Archives: Perverts

Living in the love of the common pervert

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You know, you write a perfectly innocent post about enjoying long walks in the local woods with your canine companion, then your blog gets some Google traffic from people searching for “Secret life of doggers” after Channel 4 show a documentary of the same title.

People are clearly perverts. I’m outraged that my fine and morally fibrous musings should attract such attention.

Dogging
I’m not at all sure of the etiquette, but if it means you pick people up for sex while walking your dog, then I’ve got no hope; not with my furry little companion. He’d probably try to have sex with whomever caught my fancy… and then empty his anal glands on their trousers. I assume that people who are up for that sort of activity might be acceptable of all sorts of eventuality, but I’m certain that that would be a step too far.

Arrested development
Somewhere between the ages of 18 months and 42 years, a vital developmental switch just didn’t turn on for me. This “you’re a girl, so you should like pink, wear dresses and play with dolls” thing was never activated in me. It must be a recessive gene or something, but when my sister was messing about with Girl’s World and worrying about makeup and shit, I just didn’t get it. My schoolfriends had dolls and I was utterly bewildered by their fascination in these bits of plastic that were quite frankly weird and often scary.

I was confused: why would anybody play with a doll that was supposed to be a baby, which by definition is crap and useless, when you could play with Eagle-eyed Action Man and throw him from the top of the stairs and watch his parachute open. There was Lego: you could MAKE stuff! There was paper and coloured pencils and pens and you could DRAW stuff. What the hell could you do with a doll that mimicked a baby? Oh, of course, you could pretend to be its mum, because we all recognised that our mums had the best lives going: household budgeting; meal planning; childcare; cooking; cleaning; more cleaning; educating; pastoral duties; ad infinitum. Jeez – who in their right mind would want to be a mum?

So no, I never wanted that, ever.

Something strange has happened to me over the past year though: I’ve really grown to like the Barbie cartoons and films. They’re really good. At last, at the age of 42 and a bit, I have discovered the magic of Barbie!

Of course, I can thank my niece for this, and my iPad. When the little one stays over, she creeps into my bed the following morning. This morning I woke at 9am to find her next to me.

“Can we play on the iPad now please?”

“Yeah, sure, here you go. What do you want to do with it?”

“Can we have a look at YouTube for Barbie?”

“Absolutely!”

And so, I had an extra two hours of snoozing, all thanks to Barbie.

Praise.

To do
I have a to do list. My life is one big maƱana, but I need to get my act together. It’s easier to do stuff that’s obviously manageable, so here goes:

  • Cancel my TV subscription with Virgin. I never watch anything other than Channel 4 (because I’m a pervert). So I’ve bought myself a little indoor aerial and I’ve ordered a freeview recording, rewinding, pausing box thing that’ll pay for itself in three months.
  • Make an appointment for a contact lens check up. I wear these bastard little gel things occasionally, rarely in fact, but I need to go for a check up to ensure that the four times I get to wear them each year isn’t damaging my eyes
  • Laundry
  • Bury Jeff the weeping fig – he’s finally given up the ghost. I think I’ll replace him with an aspidistra
  • Unfriend Kim Jong Un on Facebook. That little fucker is just an attention-seeking twat and it’s the best way to deal with him

    • I need sleep. All this inconsequential sex in woodland car parks has wiped me out.