NO FIXED ABODE

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Gwen (my landlady) is using the kitchen sink as a bidet, again. This is unhygienic (she washes the cabbage in there!) but what can I do? I am just the lodger.

I have an abode, but I don’t consider it fixed. Oh, it’s somewhere to receive threatening letters: bills, bank statements, ‘final demands’. Nothing pleasant, no good news, no uplifting messages (though I do get Jehovah’s Witnesses calling now and then).

The thing with being a lodger is that although you are paying rent you feel that you are here under sufferance, that you are somehow in the way, ‘getting under the feet’ as my mother might have said.

I am not allowed any visitors in my room, whether male or female. Any ‘entertaining’ I do must be in the communal lounge, under the watchful eye of Lady Gwendoline. Is it any wonder I spend so much time in the library – or the park, in this fine weather. In fact, I should think it’s not too bad being a tramp in summer. It’s in the winter when it gets a bit problematic.

Oh, and talking about the park, on Monday I saw something that offended even my liberal sensibilities. There was this huge 4x4 thing, which must have cost as much as a small semi-detached, and as I walked past I caught a flash of hairy flesh – more of it being revealed by the second as its owner struggled to pull down his jeans with one hand, a sense of urgency in his movements. The other hand was out of my vision, as was his partner, on whom he was concentrating his full attention, oblivious to the fact that he was on a public car park – in broad daylight. I ask you, what is the world coming to?
I averted my gaze and hurried past.

Now, this brings me to the subject of your bonking. This is fine by me because I know you have an unusually large libido. The fact that my harsh treatment at the hands of my landlady is due to my refusing to sleep with her, because I am saving myself for you, is neither here nor there. I do not want you to be riddled with guilt, or anything, when we finally meet so all I ask is that you practice safe sex. Leave the unsafe kind for me, eh? (Little British joke there).



Now, about your brother, given all that I have said about my own parlous circumstances, I am sure you will understand my unsympathetic attitude towards him He has got himself into this fix; he must get himself out of it.
And anyway, he should consider himself lucky: three square meals a day, television and a companion (a captive audience!!), with whom to share his thoughts and feelings.

And don’t worry about his threats. He will never find me.

Yours in celibacy

George