Thursday, July 30, 2009

Georgie

I am not hearing from you for some time. Are you in good health?

Have I said something to offend?

Anna

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Just an afterwards thought I am having, to do with your shitty accommodation.
Why not try locating to Salvation Army Hostel? Or YMCA even?

Such places we have in Sweden and they not only for tramps and vagrants – no, they used often times by truck drivers, students even, plus some who have been chucked out of marital home for the infidelity or some unclean practice.

These places very healthy since much scrubbing with the carbolic soap occurs plus the spraying of strong disinfectant for clearing out the cockroach and bed-bug, and other such unwelcome visitors.

Only trouble with such places is residents often borrowing things without owner’s permission, personal belongings I mean. These people suffer from mental condition where they just cannot help taking things. I think you have special name for such person – thief.
Footwear is especial target since obviously tramps etc do much walking. So here is tip. At night, before going to sleep, place a bed leg in each boot. This is useful deterrent.

Just one thing more. You see in my last communication I talk about ‘old banger’ what is which I learn from you to mean old motor vehicle. Right? Well, upon looking up dictionary I see ‘banger’ is name of sausage. I know English is bloody silly language but how can sausage be motor-car?

Going to bed now,hoping to have erotical dreams of you.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Poor Georgie

This woman what wash her cabbage in kitchen sink whilst at same time using as bidet is not healthy lady. I am not surprised you do not wish to copulate with such person.

I have suggestion for you to relieve yourself in sexual matters. Why not try massage parlour? Do not be afraid that you likely to be catching unpleasant disease. These ladies is professional and has regular inspections and checks up on all their parts. You much more likely to be infected by slutty landlady.
Consider like this. If you rent motorcar from Hertz you very probably get safer vehicle than if you borrow old banger from friend.

But enough of the moralising.

Desperate news. Sven has escaped. Gone over wall. Done the runner. Worse – Wilfred has escaped with him. The one with the filthy habits who has record for Affray, GBH, Assault with deadly weapon etc. I do not think he is suitable companion for my brother but Sven say he not so bad when you get to know him. Say he is ‘gentle giant’ – but not so gentle to anyone who pisses him off, or who pisses off one of his friends.
Sven tells me they are presently in Chingford. Do you know this place Chingford? Is it nearby to you?

Loving you in every way

Anna

Friday, July 24, 2009

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

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

My Georgie

I look up rumination in dictionary which you bought for me (Marks & Spencer - half price in sale) and see it is to do with cows. Why should I want to be cow?

But never minding this for the moment. I tell brother Sven what you are saying. He is not happy. Says he have to share cell in this place called Remand Centre with very objectionable man. This man has filthy habits. Sven speaks to warden person saying that every person has own room in Swedish House of Correction. This warden man is very impolite and Sven considering taking case to European Court for the human rights.

My brother repeat his threats towards you and I think he mean them, even though he presently incapacitated in said place – for the moment!
So, my sweet, perhaps you could consider pulling out the finger because I would not want important bits of you (and I am not talking fingers) to be chopped off, such as Sven is suggesting.

Now for some news from the home front, as they are saying. I am no longer in employ of woman with dead husband who owns sweat shop. Her demands are becoming too great. So I quit. She now has little kiddiwinkles to deal herself with. The lazy cow. I give her one week’s notice. She give me feelings of discomfort, which now much better, thank fuck. Sorry for using swear word.

I have little confessional to make to you. I have been bonking a bit. (bonking is English slang word for shagging – yes?) Well, a girl has her needs. It is only for the sex though. Look at it as keeping in practice for when we come together again.

I hope you in good health and not got any illnesses, since I hope to copulate with you before too long.

Your ever loving Anna.

(I look at the website of Mr Adams who resides in America and all I can say is Yumpin Yimminy! Such words. M&S dictionary is getting a right old bashing I can tell you.)

Thursday, July 16, 2009

A friend in need

In the House of the Sticky Carpets,
Where the furniture’s bolted down,
And the flotsam and the jetsam drift
From the seamier side of town,
I spend my lonely evenings with a glass (or two) of beer,
And the memories of boyhood dreams –
And I wonder why I’m here.


I know my darling Anna is not given to ruminating but do you ever ask yourself the question: What did I do, to get where I am today?

Actually, for myself, the question is not so much: What did I do? But: Why did I do it?

When I think back I just cannot understand what on earth possessed me to make some of the decisions I did make. What combination of neurons flashed across which synapses, causing my brain to fizzle and buzz and produce (in a millisecond) a life-changing thought?

Perhaps, brother Sven is thinking along these lines right now. Then again, perhaps not. Well, Anna, I would dearly love to be able to rush to him in his hour of need but, alas, it is the money problem again. I do not even have the train fare to Harwich (note the spelling), never mind the bail money that might extricate your brother (albeit only temporarily) from the unfortunate situation in which he now finds himself.

Even if I had such funds, my relationship with the constabulary of our fair land is not such as to encourage me to voluntarily enter a police station – any police station.

The only thing I can suggest is that Sven plays upon his psychiatric background (no doubt our police have already been in touch with their Swedish counterparts), and they may simply deport him, without charge, just a slap on the wrist.

But what of our future, my Swedish nightingale? (Wasn’t there someone called Jenny Lynd with that appellation? I believe I once saw a film where Barnum – played by Charlston Heston - brought her over to America. But that’s bye the bye.) Are we ever going to entwine our limbs again (such long ones, in your case)? I am leading the celibate life of a Trappist Monk – without the benefit of the peace and quiet accorded to the cloistered life. And it just is not good enough. Something must be done.

Have you any ideas?

Your loving George.

PS. I should have said hardly anyone reads the blog. R.J. Adams is a writer, a man of letters, who currently resides in the United States of America. He has a website which you may care to access: www.evenlittlesparrows.com . You could have trouble with some of the bigger words but it is well worth a visit; it will increase your vocabulary, and his blog will give you an insight into the American way of life.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Oh Georgie. Distressing news I have for you. Sven, he is arrested by British Police (best in world – the buggers) and they bung him in chokey.

I receive from him gobbled message on telephone. Customs man ask for what purpose is visit to UK? Sven tell him he seeks employment. And to prove he speak truth he show small selection of videos he bring to demonstrate creativity of his producing and directing at hopeful interviews with movie people.

This is mistake.

They call him illegal immigrunt plus other names and lock him up.

Now this is where you are coming in my beloved. Sven is kindly requesting you catch train and go to this place called Harvich and tell police he is good man, and you will take responsible for him and accommodate him. Also pay bail money.

Sven say not a lot to ask since you owe him many thousand Euros. Say tell the **** if he knows what good for him he will get his arse down here, pronto. (Actually, Sven does not use **** but say real word which Anna too embarrassed to repeat especially since you are not one – well only sometimes).

But on brighter side of things, I am delightful to be conversing with you again even though in the space of cyberman.
Always with the big words you are making, Georgie. (Beautiful though) so I am having to get some of these transcripted for me by Olaf at the pharmacy – in return for small favour.
But this I am not minding because I am keen to make bigger my collection of English words. (My English is coming on by leaps and jumps, as you say).

One thing I am not understanding is why you have lesbian to take you to cleaners. Why are you not able to go to such place on your own? You are big boy now, Georgie, and should be seeing to own cleaning of the clothes.

My heart will stop beating until I hear from you again.

Your loving Anna

(you say no one read blog but I see comment from RJ Adams??)

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Love changes everything

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My Scandinavian Sweetheart

A ray of Swedish sunshine lights up the war-torn landscape of my life, illuminating the shell holes, the torn and blackened trees of the no-man’s-land, upon which I gaze out fom my foxhole, this July morning.

Actually, it is only by chance that I logged on to my blog. I have not visited it for some time, partly because no one reads it but also because I lack a broadband connection. Mr Brown (our leader – perhaps you have heard of him?) assures us that every home in the country will have free access to the internet, sometime in the not too distant future.
But it is now, Mr Brown, that we need it. Also what about those who do not have a ‘home’? Those who the police like to describe as having ‘no fixed abode’?
It is to this category that I, myself, belong. (Through no fault of my own, I might add.) Those who find ‘travelling’ more suited to their circumstances.

Don’t’ think I am complaining, because I am not. At least I don’t live in Gaza or Kabul.

It was very smart of you, getting old Gregor to read the tattoo. I have now memorised the password so you could get it erased or perhaps done over with something more aesthetic. (There are some very attractive designs that incorporate scar tissue as a part of the motif – but no doubt, living in such a liberated land, you know all this.)

It was not so smart asking that head-banger of a brother to deliver a letter to me. He still believes I owe him money. Luckily, it is extremely unlikely that he will find me because of my itinerant lifestyle.

I would love to be able to climb aboard a ferry and sail into your arms. Money, however, is the problem – or lack of it, to be more precise. I don’t know where it has all gone. Of course the lesbian really took me to the cleaners but even so… Anyway, let us not dwell on such fiscal matters just now.

The doctor sent me for some blood tests; they came back ‘normal’. So how come I feel like shit every morning, tired, and wanting to sleep all the time? And the irritable bowel syndrome is giving me gyp even as I type this.

A friend tells me that it is all in the mind, that I am blocking my emotions, denying my anger. I think she might have something there. But how does one unblock one’s emotions?

When I woke this morning, I saw a hand sticking out from the covers. This is not my hand, I thought. Look at the skin, all wrinkled like the neck of a tortoise. And of course it wasn’t – it was that of my girlfriend.
That was a lie. It really was my hand. I don’t have a girlfriend. Which, as you can imagine, for a man of my libido presents a real problem!

Well my time on this machine is running out – I use the local library machines. I used to think it sad when I came into a library and saw all the unemployed, the down-and-outs, the vagrants, sitting there, reading the newspapers, now, I find I am one of them!

Write again, soon. This is probably a good way for us to communicate – I don’t mind the world seeing our correspondence – though, as I say, I don’t think anyone reads this blog anyway.


Your lover (at a distance)

George

Monday, July 06, 2009

My Dearest Georgie

I am taking this drastical step to get touch with you because all else has failed. I send you letter to your home address which you have perhaps quit and buggers are not forwarding to you.

So desperate I get my brother Sven to deliver by the hand a letter to you my love. Sven coming to England because he is made reduced from Swedish porn industry on account of the credit crunching and stuff (it always the essential industries what is first to suffer in such trying times). And he hoping to get job in British video trade which he think is doing very well at the moment.

But Sven is not most reliable of persons so I have to take such step in hope you will not be angry with your Anna.

I suddenly remember how we once go to tattooing parlour for having your password inscripted on very private part of Anna’s body, in case you are forgetting it – the password, not Anna’s body, for how could you forget that, eh, lover boy!

Any road up (see how I remember English collequiasms) I ask Gregor (cameraman, you remember him?) if he will look and write down password for me. Don’t worry. I get him promise to forget it in return for small favour I do for him. He got very small intention span anyway.

Your Anna have been reduced in circumstances to working in sweat shop. You have these in England yes? Little shop that sell sweats and chocoletz? Plus the Coke – which is not the kind for the snorting up of the nose, but well known American fizzy drink which also get up nose but not with same effect – ha ha, little Swedish joke.
Busy time for Anna when little kiddiwinkles coming home from school and wanting the Mars Bars and other such muck. And looking at Anna’s bottom when she bends down for the liquorice torpedo – little buggers.

Lady what own shop has dead husband, so is lonely. After shop close she often invite me upstairs to partake glass of gin and discuss economic crisis and other activities.

Anna miss terribly her Georgie. How about slipping over on Stenna Line? We can make hay while moon shines, eh? Have not had sexual proclivities filled for some time – well not by male person.

Hoping this letter is finding you as is leaving me. (That little trouble have all cleared up now. I am thinking the anti bioptrics done the trick – I was getting nowhere with the live yoghurt, though I eat many tubs of the shit.)

Hoping to enjoy the pleasure of you before long. think of you every day as I dish out the gob-stoppers.

Your little playmate

Anna