Oh Georgie, such a crossing I am having on the boat ferry over that bloody Baltic Sea. We are getting a bashing from the tail of the hurricane Bill. Luckily I am good sailor so am not chucking up like most other passengers are. The girl crew persons being run off their skinny little legs, rushing to fetch the sick bags and carting away for disposal of the full ones. I take photo of one with a full sick bag in each hand and looking very pale in the face herself. You should see look the little kossa give me – well, I show you photo and you see for yourself.
And what do you think that sister of mine Sophia is saying to me, eh? I tell you – she is saying I need to be getting in touch with masculine side of self. What can she mean, Georgie? I am getting in touch with masculine persons all the time. This is puzzling me.
As regarding brother Sven, I have to wait until he get call me on the telephone line from this place Chingford, then I will do as you request to fix meeting – without Mister Churchill. Ha, ha!
But hey, where is my manners. I am not asking you how you enjoy your holiday – well I am now. I remember woman Myra. She make pass at me, and you know I try not to offend, but this woman is tasting so much of the pipe tobacco, which I cannot stand. Not no way. This not to say that if you fancy giving one to her I would think any the less of you. It is fine by me. I know nothing can diminish the love you have for your Anna. And similarly with me no amount of encounters with greasy foreigners (which is just to pass the time for me) can sully my love for my Georgie. And that is all that is counting. Just do not let that harpy tempt you into the disgusting smoking the pipe habit.
You have been away holidaying for it seems ages. For how long more before you can send me e-mail?
Oh, and I am glad Sticky Carpet woman's odour remind you of me but I am not so glad about fart comment. I always try to control bodily emission when you around.
And also I see Mr Adam call you 'old romantic'. This I cannot understand! Romantic, YES. Old, NO.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
On the road again
***********************************
Swindon is not a village; it is a large town. In fact the only thing that stops it from being a city is the fact that it has no cathedral. And then you have a piddling little place like Ely, which has a cathedral and is therefore a city. There you go: religion raising its ecclesiastical head again. It would be more sensible to say you need a slaughterhouse or a crematorium in order to qualify for city status.
I have been thinking a lot about this Sven business and the ‘C’ word is now at the forefront of my mind: Closure– that is what I seek: a mutually satisfactory conclusion to this unnecessary hostility.
It is for this reason, my darling, that I am asking you to contact your brother with a view to arranging a meeting (without Mr Churchill’s namesake, thank you!) so we can clear up the misunderstanding once and for all. Naturally, he has my word that I shall not, in any way, involve the police. All I am asking, at this stage, is that you put the suggestion to Sven and let me know his reaction.
I am going away on Monday. I need a break. And I have been in communication with Myra (Hector’s wife, you remember? Smokes a pipe and drives a motorbike and sidecar) seeking information regarding the whereabouts of my dear brother. Actually, as you know, he is, at best, my half brother, but there is considerable doubt as to his true parentage.
In fact I cannot believe there are any blood ties. He is such a liar. You mentioned the ‘famous Beatle’. Well Hector once told me that it was he who had suggested to a struggling McCartney that he try playing the guitar left-handed – and that Paul never looked back since.
Anyway Myra has invited me over for a few days. She has some possible leads on her errant husband and suggests we join forces to track him down – she wants to serve divorce papers.
I shall endeavour to find Internet access (Myra refuses to have a computer in the house) but if I am late in responding you will understand.
I have decided that I am an optimistic pessimist. This is someone who expects the worst to happen, and prepares for it. But also accepts that things might turn out well – and is ready for that possibility too.
Do you ever feel like you want to ‘own up’? To tell everybody what you really think? What you really feel? What you are really like? A sort of confession? Nah! I don’t suppose it would do any good, really. Would it?
Anyway, Anna, my love, I will finish this missive - except to say that you are always in my thoughts. Last night in the House of the Sticky Carpets a woman walked past and I caught a whiff of perfume, and it instantly brought back memories of you. You always used to smell so lovely – except when you’d farted.
Your George
Swindon is not a village; it is a large town. In fact the only thing that stops it from being a city is the fact that it has no cathedral. And then you have a piddling little place like Ely, which has a cathedral and is therefore a city. There you go: religion raising its ecclesiastical head again. It would be more sensible to say you need a slaughterhouse or a crematorium in order to qualify for city status.
I have been thinking a lot about this Sven business and the ‘C’ word is now at the forefront of my mind: Closure– that is what I seek: a mutually satisfactory conclusion to this unnecessary hostility.
It is for this reason, my darling, that I am asking you to contact your brother with a view to arranging a meeting (without Mr Churchill’s namesake, thank you!) so we can clear up the misunderstanding once and for all. Naturally, he has my word that I shall not, in any way, involve the police. All I am asking, at this stage, is that you put the suggestion to Sven and let me know his reaction.
I am going away on Monday. I need a break. And I have been in communication with Myra (Hector’s wife, you remember? Smokes a pipe and drives a motorbike and sidecar) seeking information regarding the whereabouts of my dear brother. Actually, as you know, he is, at best, my half brother, but there is considerable doubt as to his true parentage.
In fact I cannot believe there are any blood ties. He is such a liar. You mentioned the ‘famous Beatle’. Well Hector once told me that it was he who had suggested to a struggling McCartney that he try playing the guitar left-handed – and that Paul never looked back since.
Anyway Myra has invited me over for a few days. She has some possible leads on her errant husband and suggests we join forces to track him down – she wants to serve divorce papers.
I shall endeavour to find Internet access (Myra refuses to have a computer in the house) but if I am late in responding you will understand.
I have decided that I am an optimistic pessimist. This is someone who expects the worst to happen, and prepares for it. But also accepts that things might turn out well – and is ready for that possibility too.
Do you ever feel like you want to ‘own up’? To tell everybody what you really think? What you really feel? What you are really like? A sort of confession? Nah! I don’t suppose it would do any good, really. Would it?
Anyway, Anna, my love, I will finish this missive - except to say that you are always in my thoughts. Last night in the House of the Sticky Carpets a woman walked past and I caught a whiff of perfume, and it instantly brought back memories of you. You always used to smell so lovely – except when you’d farted.
Your George
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Oh, Georgie –
I knew your jesting would get you one day into trouble. Now you have gone and given name of village where you are living, on this blog.
So unfortunate is this. Now Sven only has to log on to blogsite and he will gain relevant information for which he needs. And then may pay you unpleasant visit with friend Wilfred – whose name is not Wilfred because I heard wrongly on lousy English telephone lines. Wilfred is really Winston on account of him being named by parents in honour of great statesman of same name, Winston Churchill. This is man they say saved them from being crushed under heel of jackboot (even though they are living in Jamaica at the time, which is bloody long march from Berlin). Anyway this is why they name son Winston, in praise of great war leader. It is pity he turned out to be such a knob-head (Sven’s friend not Mr Churchill).
I do not intend to stay for so much longer in this place. My sister is doing my head in – as you English might say. Also because of bawling and squawking children I cannot sleep well and therefore am up at crack of noon each day.
Plus my friend Vadassy I do not have any more. He has ceased to come into café and he was going to give me address but did not. His mobile cell phone he does not answer. Am glad really because he had severe nervous tic of the face, and used to embarrass me by this mannerism when we walk together in daylight hours.
I think you quite right not to pay for roof which is like soggy Weetabix . I remember this breakfast cereal for which I used to prepare for the breakfast when I was au pair at your house Wynorin. Happy days, eh? How is son Sydney with whom I used to help sort out his sexuality because he was so confused, poor boy? I think I finally straightened him out.
And the lesbian? I hope she is no longer taking you to the cleaners. This is another lady not too attentive of the personal hygiene – Best not to go there, eh? (See how I try to use the English idiomatics wherever possible?)
Which reminds me because I cannot remember if I tell you that I am applying for job teaching English in school over here. To this purpose I am requiring referee to speak up on behalf of me, only in writing. So I would be very grateful if you could say something which would impress old professor I am to have interview with.
This job will be only temporary of course – just until things pick up in video industry, although I think I make good teacher for little buggers of a young age, for I am very patient – well you know that, eh Georgie!
Well I will have to stop writing now because time is nearly up on café machine, and also Sophia require me to do the favour of removing hair from under arms and similar because she is deciding to forget about husband and seek new partner.
I encourage her in this venture and seek to boost self-estimate which is in low ebb. I tell her not to worry about thickness of ankles since some men are attracted to physical abnormalities in woman. For example, I say, look at famous Beatle man who marry one-leg lady, and although, unhappily, such blessed union did not work out I am sure this is not because of leg deficiency.
I still miss you terribly and look forward to our meeting.
Anna
I knew your jesting would get you one day into trouble. Now you have gone and given name of village where you are living, on this blog.
So unfortunate is this. Now Sven only has to log on to blogsite and he will gain relevant information for which he needs. And then may pay you unpleasant visit with friend Wilfred – whose name is not Wilfred because I heard wrongly on lousy English telephone lines. Wilfred is really Winston on account of him being named by parents in honour of great statesman of same name, Winston Churchill. This is man they say saved them from being crushed under heel of jackboot (even though they are living in Jamaica at the time, which is bloody long march from Berlin). Anyway this is why they name son Winston, in praise of great war leader. It is pity he turned out to be such a knob-head (Sven’s friend not Mr Churchill).
I do not intend to stay for so much longer in this place. My sister is doing my head in – as you English might say. Also because of bawling and squawking children I cannot sleep well and therefore am up at crack of noon each day.
Plus my friend Vadassy I do not have any more. He has ceased to come into café and he was going to give me address but did not. His mobile cell phone he does not answer. Am glad really because he had severe nervous tic of the face, and used to embarrass me by this mannerism when we walk together in daylight hours.
I think you quite right not to pay for roof which is like soggy Weetabix . I remember this breakfast cereal for which I used to prepare for the breakfast when I was au pair at your house Wynorin. Happy days, eh? How is son Sydney with whom I used to help sort out his sexuality because he was so confused, poor boy? I think I finally straightened him out.
And the lesbian? I hope she is no longer taking you to the cleaners. This is another lady not too attentive of the personal hygiene – Best not to go there, eh? (See how I try to use the English idiomatics wherever possible?)
Which reminds me because I cannot remember if I tell you that I am applying for job teaching English in school over here. To this purpose I am requiring referee to speak up on behalf of me, only in writing. So I would be very grateful if you could say something which would impress old professor I am to have interview with.
This job will be only temporary of course – just until things pick up in video industry, although I think I make good teacher for little buggers of a young age, for I am very patient – well you know that, eh Georgie!
Well I will have to stop writing now because time is nearly up on café machine, and also Sophia require me to do the favour of removing hair from under arms and similar because she is deciding to forget about husband and seek new partner.
I encourage her in this venture and seek to boost self-estimate which is in low ebb. I tell her not to worry about thickness of ankles since some men are attracted to physical abnormalities in woman. For example, I say, look at famous Beatle man who marry one-leg lady, and although, unhappily, such blessed union did not work out I am sure this is not because of leg deficiency.
I still miss you terribly and look forward to our meeting.
Anna
Sunday, August 16, 2009
The Roof Man Cometh
********************************************
TRAGEDY STRIKES. Gwen’s roof is like a soggy Weetabix – at least the flat bit is. That’s what the surveyor said, yesterday. The whole thing will have to be replaced
And, would you believe it, she wants me to pay half the cost. ME! – A lodger! I told her I was broke, skint, in Queer Street.
You know what she had the nerve to say? Well, you could get a loan.
Now who is going to give me a loan?
Of course things could be worse. We could be living in Kabul. Which would you prefer: a bomb up your alley or a Weetabix roof? I saw on the TV news that the Taliban have been busy again: another suicide bomber, another 7 killed and I don’t know how many injured.
You see that’s the difference between different religions and cultures. I suppose disenchanted elements in England would just sneak up in the night and damage people’s roofs. Come to think of it, how do I know that is not the case with Gwen’s roof? It could be the work of the PFLS (The Popular Front for the Liberation of Swindon)
I jest of course. In this country we just couldn’t be arsed. Do you know that song “… As soon as this pub closes, the revolution starts”? As regards your friend: Vadassy does not sound like a Latvian name to me. I should keep an eye on him. He may be after your money!
And I wish you would not keep going on about those videos. SIX – that’s all I took. And I only took them because your brother owed ME money. In any case I haven’t got them now. I passed them on to my brother, Hector (you remember him? You should do, you had a bit of a fling with him. Nothing wrong with that. I’m not jealous. Water under the bridge and all that) to dispose of via his Fulham contacts.
I should have known better. I haven’t seen him since. Or the videos. OR the money.
How long do you plan to stay with sister Sophia? Is she the one with the thick ankles?
TRAGEDY STRIKES. Gwen’s roof is like a soggy Weetabix – at least the flat bit is. That’s what the surveyor said, yesterday. The whole thing will have to be replaced
And, would you believe it, she wants me to pay half the cost. ME! – A lodger! I told her I was broke, skint, in Queer Street.
You know what she had the nerve to say? Well, you could get a loan.
Now who is going to give me a loan?
Of course things could be worse. We could be living in Kabul. Which would you prefer: a bomb up your alley or a Weetabix roof? I saw on the TV news that the Taliban have been busy again: another suicide bomber, another 7 killed and I don’t know how many injured.
You see that’s the difference between different religions and cultures. I suppose disenchanted elements in England would just sneak up in the night and damage people’s roofs. Come to think of it, how do I know that is not the case with Gwen’s roof? It could be the work of the PFLS (The Popular Front for the Liberation of Swindon)
I jest of course. In this country we just couldn’t be arsed. Do you know that song “… As soon as this pub closes, the revolution starts”? As regards your friend: Vadassy does not sound like a Latvian name to me. I should keep an eye on him. He may be after your money!
And I wish you would not keep going on about those videos. SIX – that’s all I took. And I only took them because your brother owed ME money. In any case I haven’t got them now. I passed them on to my brother, Hector (you remember him? You should do, you had a bit of a fling with him. Nothing wrong with that. I’m not jealous. Water under the bridge and all that) to dispose of via his Fulham contacts.
I should have known better. I haven’t seen him since. Or the videos. OR the money.
How long do you plan to stay with sister Sophia? Is she the one with the thick ankles?
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Allo Georgie, and greetings from Gotland.
I am visiting my sister Sophia who has just lost her husband and so is very traumatic as you will understand, and upset.
She lose him in supermarket at Katthamarsvik - what a bloody mouthful to be getting your tongue into, I hear you say - which is town in which they live on account of husband being Latvian gentleman, and this country being just across the water. It is for this reason they compromise since Gotland being halfway between Sweden and this god forsaken land, though personally I think this stupid since they both get homesick at same time.
Anyway I think he done the bunk – I think he get boat to Latvia and leave her with several children, some only at bawling and squawking stage. What a bummer.
Anyway, miserable kossa don’t have computer so I have to go to Internet Café. This where I meet very nice man who want to show me delights of downtown Katthamarsvik. We go to place very similar to what you write about in poem, where floor is sticky - but furniture here is not bolted down on account of being of iron construction so very heavy to lift and throw. We have fine time.
I am, however, not having romantic relationship with this man – only sexual.
But I am digressing.
With regarding towards the photo. Please do not think I am being a meanie (you know Anna would bend over backwards to accommodate her Georgie). But you need to understand, I am professional – not silly teenage tart what photos boobies and post on MyFace to please chav boyfriend. And so end up looking like slag - which she probably is.
You might think strange that your Anna whom appears on videos in homes across Sweden (and international places) showing herself to advantage in adult movies should not wish her photo on Internet. But you do not understand ethics of profession.
These videos are for discerning viewers only (some, even have been specially commissioned) and beautifully photographed with artistic lighting and excellent recording of sound where you can hear everything – absolutely everything.
But of course I am anonymous to these viewers and if my photo was splashed all over the cybernet then everyone would know who I am. I know you say no one read blog. But how about Mr Adams who write so eloquent about America, eh? For all we know he might have purchased one of my videos (we dispatch to America – under plain wrapper). So you see dilemma?
However, I have publicity stills from such videos and would gladly be sending these via postal service to you, except that bitch of landlady would probably steal them and take to her bedroom to indulge with herself, which I would not wish to occur.
Anyway, have just had thought in head. Did you not when in hurry you decamp from Sweden’s shores take with you in bottom of suitcase many such videos by Anna-Sven Production Inc? Is this not why my brother anxious to re-unite with you at earliest possible moment to discuss in friendly manner little matter of copyright – and money?
I know you used always to be going on about ‘the primacy of the still image’ but you could ‘freeze frame’ when a primacy image appears (which it often does when Anna on screen --- ha, ha).
Anyway, I must end my communication of love. My hour is nearly up on computer in café and I see that Vadassy (my friend) has just entered. And I think he has something for me.
(Vadassy tell me he also Lithuanian, but he may be spinning me the wool over my eyes. Anyway all these bloody foreigners look alike to me - especially in the dim lighting)
Please post soon.
My body ache for you.
Anna
I am visiting my sister Sophia who has just lost her husband and so is very traumatic as you will understand, and upset.
She lose him in supermarket at Katthamarsvik - what a bloody mouthful to be getting your tongue into, I hear you say - which is town in which they live on account of husband being Latvian gentleman, and this country being just across the water. It is for this reason they compromise since Gotland being halfway between Sweden and this god forsaken land, though personally I think this stupid since they both get homesick at same time.
Anyway I think he done the bunk – I think he get boat to Latvia and leave her with several children, some only at bawling and squawking stage. What a bummer.
Anyway, miserable kossa don’t have computer so I have to go to Internet Café. This where I meet very nice man who want to show me delights of downtown Katthamarsvik. We go to place very similar to what you write about in poem, where floor is sticky - but furniture here is not bolted down on account of being of iron construction so very heavy to lift and throw. We have fine time.
I am, however, not having romantic relationship with this man – only sexual.
But I am digressing.
With regarding towards the photo. Please do not think I am being a meanie (you know Anna would bend over backwards to accommodate her Georgie). But you need to understand, I am professional – not silly teenage tart what photos boobies and post on MyFace to please chav boyfriend. And so end up looking like slag - which she probably is.
You might think strange that your Anna whom appears on videos in homes across Sweden (and international places) showing herself to advantage in adult movies should not wish her photo on Internet. But you do not understand ethics of profession.
These videos are for discerning viewers only (some, even have been specially commissioned) and beautifully photographed with artistic lighting and excellent recording of sound where you can hear everything – absolutely everything.
But of course I am anonymous to these viewers and if my photo was splashed all over the cybernet then everyone would know who I am. I know you say no one read blog. But how about Mr Adams who write so eloquent about America, eh? For all we know he might have purchased one of my videos (we dispatch to America – under plain wrapper). So you see dilemma?
However, I have publicity stills from such videos and would gladly be sending these via postal service to you, except that bitch of landlady would probably steal them and take to her bedroom to indulge with herself, which I would not wish to occur.
Anyway, have just had thought in head. Did you not when in hurry you decamp from Sweden’s shores take with you in bottom of suitcase many such videos by Anna-Sven Production Inc? Is this not why my brother anxious to re-unite with you at earliest possible moment to discuss in friendly manner little matter of copyright – and money?
I know you used always to be going on about ‘the primacy of the still image’ but you could ‘freeze frame’ when a primacy image appears (which it often does when Anna on screen --- ha, ha).
Anyway, I must end my communication of love. My hour is nearly up on computer in café and I see that Vadassy (my friend) has just entered. And I think he has something for me.
(Vadassy tell me he also Lithuanian, but he may be spinning me the wool over my eyes. Anyway all these bloody foreigners look alike to me - especially in the dim lighting)
Please post soon.
My body ache for you.
Anna
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Where there's a will
*********************************************
My sweet Anna
When you were talking about what God did to those citizens of Sodom it made me think. I mean I am not condoning that sort of behaviour, certainly not, but sometimes it can be quite tricky to know exactly what God wants. I suppose that is why we have to have a Holy Book, or three, where ‘God’s Will’ has been written down. But even they can be confusing because they seem to contradict themselves so much. And that, of course, is why we need priests, ayatollahs and such like: to interpret God’s Will.
The Taliban knows what ‘God’s Will’ is. I was reading in the Independent (It’s a newspaper) that they are “… running a school for suicide bombers” where boys as young as nine are trained to “fight jihad” (all kids need motivation). As one Taliban commander put it “Children are tools to achieve God’s will.”
One might might ask, if God is omnipotent, could he not achieve His will himself, without the help of child suicide bombers? But this is probably being picky, and just shows an ignorance of religious matters.
I wonder if God got any children to help him achieve His will with them poor buggers in Sodom? Probably not - I think that would have been inappropriate.
But I am digressing.
How are you? What are you doing with yourself now that you no longer work in the ‘sweat shop’ and your creative director of the porn movie is now cooling his heels in Chingford? Whatever, just remember to keep having those ‘checks up’. I want my Anna to be in pristine condition when we finally meet.
Yes, I use the XYLOPROCT, it is indeed a fine preparation.
The IBS has been a bit of a nuisance this past week. In fact I have written a little verse, but I will save for a later date.
But I am getting pretty fed-up with this problem and so I am going to change my diet, also try a period without alcohol. I don’t drink that much, as you know, but perhaps if I give it up altogether – say for a week – then I can see if it makes a difference.
Yes, you are quite right about 'autoeroticism'
And the policeman game sounds fun. In fact I can think of a few variations on the theme.
I am missing you very much, and I was wondering if you could post a recent photograph of yourself on the blog? No - I don’t mean of your bits and pieces – head and shoulders would be very nice. I know you are shy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to.
Love
George
My sweet Anna
When you were talking about what God did to those citizens of Sodom it made me think. I mean I am not condoning that sort of behaviour, certainly not, but sometimes it can be quite tricky to know exactly what God wants. I suppose that is why we have to have a Holy Book, or three, where ‘God’s Will’ has been written down. But even they can be confusing because they seem to contradict themselves so much. And that, of course, is why we need priests, ayatollahs and such like: to interpret God’s Will.
The Taliban knows what ‘God’s Will’ is. I was reading in the Independent (It’s a newspaper) that they are “… running a school for suicide bombers” where boys as young as nine are trained to “fight jihad” (all kids need motivation). As one Taliban commander put it “Children are tools to achieve God’s will.”
One might might ask, if God is omnipotent, could he not achieve His will himself, without the help of child suicide bombers? But this is probably being picky, and just shows an ignorance of religious matters.
I wonder if God got any children to help him achieve His will with them poor buggers in Sodom? Probably not - I think that would have been inappropriate.
But I am digressing.
How are you? What are you doing with yourself now that you no longer work in the ‘sweat shop’ and your creative director of the porn movie is now cooling his heels in Chingford? Whatever, just remember to keep having those ‘checks up’. I want my Anna to be in pristine condition when we finally meet.
Yes, I use the XYLOPROCT, it is indeed a fine preparation.
The IBS has been a bit of a nuisance this past week. In fact I have written a little verse, but I will save for a later date.
But I am getting pretty fed-up with this problem and so I am going to change my diet, also try a period without alcohol. I don’t drink that much, as you know, but perhaps if I give it up altogether – say for a week – then I can see if it makes a difference.
Yes, you are quite right about 'autoeroticism'
And the policeman game sounds fun. In fact I can think of a few variations on the theme.
I am missing you very much, and I was wondering if you could post a recent photograph of yourself on the blog? No - I don’t mean of your bits and pieces – head and shoulders would be very nice. I know you are shy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to.
Love
George
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
I have just found out what bugger means. It is worse than saying fuck. Fuck is normal healthy activity between man and woman. But bugger is awful practice for which city of Sodom was being knocked to ground by God.
I have not anything against the homosexual – I am not calling such person queer like ignorant people do. They cannot help being way they are. I know many such persons in porn industry though me and my brother and Gregor and Olaf (the pharmacist) make only clean porn videos employing heterosexual persons - all consenting and over age of 18. Respectable, and all up front. So you could show grandma – providing she has inquiring mind.
Anyway, enough of the chitty chat. I am so glad you are well, my sweetie, and the harassment all cleared up. So you can put it behind you now? I have not had recent telephone from brother Sven and so do not know where he (and Wilfred) is at the time. Maybe they will stay and make life for themselves in this place Chingford, where they have skin-head member for parliament.
Now to do with massage parlour. Here in Sweden we have special rates, mid week (Wednesday), for the older person. Also, from sometimes special offer. Like the buy one get one free, of the supermarket type.
This word autoeroticism I cannot find in dictionary. Is this English slang name for wank?
Oh how I laugh when I hear my Georgie was going to recruit into Rikskriminalpolisen Although he could snap the handcuffs on Anna any time. Actually you can get policeman uniform in adult shop plus dress for slutty woman (which I am not) and we could play game where you are arresting me for sinful activities. This could be such fun, yes?
Oh, how is probem piles? (I liked poem). We in Sweden have fine ointment which is XYLOPROCT. Maybe you can obtain this on your Nation Health Service?
It is good to know you saving best of self for Anna but essential you look after back of body too.
Looking forward to time we are sharing intimate thoughts and feelings face to face, or similar. Also bodily fluids.
Yours longingly
Anna
I have not anything against the homosexual – I am not calling such person queer like ignorant people do. They cannot help being way they are. I know many such persons in porn industry though me and my brother and Gregor and Olaf (the pharmacist) make only clean porn videos employing heterosexual persons - all consenting and over age of 18. Respectable, and all up front. So you could show grandma – providing she has inquiring mind.
Anyway, enough of the chitty chat. I am so glad you are well, my sweetie, and the harassment all cleared up. So you can put it behind you now? I have not had recent telephone from brother Sven and so do not know where he (and Wilfred) is at the time. Maybe they will stay and make life for themselves in this place Chingford, where they have skin-head member for parliament.
Now to do with massage parlour. Here in Sweden we have special rates, mid week (Wednesday), for the older person. Also, from sometimes special offer. Like the buy one get one free, of the supermarket type.
This word autoeroticism I cannot find in dictionary. Is this English slang name for wank?
Oh how I laugh when I hear my Georgie was going to recruit into Rikskriminalpolisen Although he could snap the handcuffs on Anna any time. Actually you can get policeman uniform in adult shop plus dress for slutty woman (which I am not) and we could play game where you are arresting me for sinful activities. This could be such fun, yes?
Oh, how is probem piles? (I liked poem). We in Sweden have fine ointment which is XYLOPROCT. Maybe you can obtain this on your Nation Health Service?
It is good to know you saving best of self for Anna but essential you look after back of body too.
Looking forward to time we are sharing intimate thoughts and feelings face to face, or similar. Also bodily fluids.
Yours longingly
Anna
Sunday, August 02, 2009
I'm still here
****************************************
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.
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.
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