I'm still here

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No, my silly Swedish sausage (term of endearment, not old banger), of course you haven’t said anything to offend. And I am sorry I have been somewhat tardy in my response. It is just that I have had a lot of harassment this past week (the details of which need not delay us right now).

And do not fret yourself - George will do any fretting that is called for. All the same, it is nice to know that you care.

My present domicile is nowhere near Chingford, in fact the only thing I know about the place is that Norman Tebbit (its one time member of parliament), was known as the Chingford Skinhead.

So don’t worry about that numbskull of a brother – or his companion (is his name really Wilfred?). In any case, the police will pick them up soon enough. I don’t like the police (remember when they blew up my rucksack?) but they have their uses, a necessary evil. I think policemen are the same the world over: different uniform, same face. You have to have a certain personality to be a policeman, and once you become one that personality just gets reinforced by the job. Of course there are some decent policemen (and policewomen) but they usually remain on the beat, rarely getting promoted.

I almost became a policeman. Did I ever tell you? It was a long time ago. I was in a job I hated; I just wasn’t appreciated. So I thought: I know, I’ll become a policeman, a respected member of society, an upholder of law and order – and I could get to push people around. I had all the interviews, passed the exams - and the medical. But at the last minute I changed my mind; I just could not see myself in blue serge.


Now, on the sex front - Anna has not been listening to George. Did I not say that I was saving myself for you? Besides, have you any idea of the prices they charge in massage parlours today? I don’t know about Sweden but round these parts it is anything from £60 - £100+ for half an hour! I only know this because I have made the acquaintance (in the library – where else?) with a chap who’s the manager of the ‘classified ads’ in the local paper. The variation in charges, so he tells me, is linked to the area and the type of service required. Also, he says, the ‘ladies’ receive only one third of this, the rest going to the management. Of course, I know nothing of these things – nor have any wish to. Come to think of it – how does he know?

And as for autoeroticism - it goes nowhere near satisfying a desire for close encounters of the sexual kind. But not only that, LOVE comes into the equation – well, for me it does.

I did not intend to toss my bowels into the conversation at this juncture, but I have been a bit constipated of late, leading to a little discomfort in that area. But thinking of you helps.
So I have written this little poem.

When lovely Anastasia,
Goddess of the isles,
Turns her head towards me,
Lifts her face, and smiles –
I forget I’ve got piles.