Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Circle in the Sky
One of the last things I did before I flew back was fly the Eye.
It struck me at the last moment that it really was something I'd always wanted to do, as I walked through green park (Finding Neverland) and then St James Park, past buckingham palace.
For a moment I was worried I wouldn't make the flight back, then I thought sod it... so what? And got on.
It was a pleasant enough experience, but rather too fast - over before you knew it had begun. I suppose women say that a fair bit, haha.
It would have been a deal less pleasant had I gone any other day of the week. The view would have been of snowflakes in the sky, and puddles on the ground and not much else. It's hardly as romantic as you would think. And I bet it'd be !@%*ing cold in the all-metal-all-glass cars.
It was good.
*****
Listening to a friend bemoaning her sort-of male's seduction by Halo and Half Life, and near-criminal dereliction of his manly duties (eg worshipping her), I paused to reflect that that's really life in a nutshell, innit.
Some love their first-person shoothers with their big guns and shiny joy sticks.
Others prefer to push buttons and twiddle knobs and savour a little role-playing gaming.
Heh heh heh heh heh.
*****
As I left the gym today I couldn't help but notice a blonde bombshell starting her warmup routine, stretching out on a big inflatable ball thingie. It was almost enough to make a guy want to stay back andwatch work out some more.
We're talking serious FHM bombshell here.
Not FHM singapore either, all legs, and all... legs.
We're talking FHM (UK) here... some really dangerous curves and precipitous valleys, in all the right places, with a face to match framed with real flaxen hair (as opposed to blondy with brunette roots). The type of uh... geography that makes men go weak at the knees.
Not at all like the archtypical blonde cannot-make-it models who grace many of the "raunchier" ads in our shops (ie wearing fully concealing bra (and masking tape underneath), suggestively straddling trembly-handed man who amazingly manages to make absolutely zero body contact... quite a gymnastic feat) or the strange-eyed alien-looking ambassadorial creatures that wander around orchard road with a spaced-out look... but the real-life blondes you get from back hom... err I mean back in europe, walking the streets, talking, laughing and being simply human.
Muuwaa.
Anyhow, after the Y chromosome had settled down and stopped babbling incoherently, I couldn't help but observe that
1) all the men in the place were very fixedly not staring at her. Sweat was breaking out on many a brow. And once in a while when they thought nobody was looking, eyes would flicker... flicker back. Fixed concentration, one, two. laugh.
2) Women are such finicky creatures. Back here women whinge and want to look like that, proud twin peaks, impossible waistlines and slinky hips... voluptious.
Back in the wanton west women want to be more petite, more graceful (I went to Singapore once, the women were all thin and graceful and slender, I was so jealous!) and oriental-looking. (I have this on good authority from many of my female friends from assorted unsavory places in the world including Dujon, Athens and many others, so I know it's not just an English thing)
Us men, we much simpler. Not care other man body, just want shag woman body.
Heh.
*****
As he strode past the hospital in a hurry to get back to his place to meet the DHL man, coat billowing in the wind, he found his feet pulling him almost against his will towards it.
He didn't know anymore whether it was his heart holding him back, or his mind. That's what time does to some of us; It shrouds, and dulls.
(That and copious amounts of alcohol.)
He hadn't come all this way to do this.
But he had come all this way, and he'd done nearly everything he'd set out to do, and he was here, and he didn't know if it was a good idea or even if it was an acceptable idea, but...
he had to know.
He had to.
He had to know.
His mind raced as a million improbable and impossible scenarios, few good, many dire flashed through his mind.
After all this time. Part of him was... still alive.
Reawakened memories? Or repressed thoughts.
The sunlight - so rare on this visit, and on all his other previous visits come to think of it - glinted off the windows dreamily, painting the ugly brown facade a soft, muted gold.
He paused...
It struck me at the last moment that it really was something I'd always wanted to do, as I walked through green park (Finding Neverland) and then St James Park, past buckingham palace.
For a moment I was worried I wouldn't make the flight back, then I thought sod it... so what? And got on.
It was a pleasant enough experience, but rather too fast - over before you knew it had begun. I suppose women say that a fair bit, haha.
It would have been a deal less pleasant had I gone any other day of the week. The view would have been of snowflakes in the sky, and puddles on the ground and not much else. It's hardly as romantic as you would think. And I bet it'd be !@%*ing cold in the all-metal-all-glass cars.
It was good.
*****
Listening to a friend bemoaning her sort-of male's seduction by Halo and Half Life, and near-criminal dereliction of his manly duties (eg worshipping her), I paused to reflect that that's really life in a nutshell, innit.
Some love their first-person shoothers with their big guns and shiny joy sticks.
Others prefer to push buttons and twiddle knobs and savour a little role-playing gaming.
Heh heh heh heh heh.
*****
As I left the gym today I couldn't help but notice a blonde bombshell starting her warmup routine, stretching out on a big inflatable ball thingie. It was almost enough to make a guy want to stay back and
We're talking serious FHM bombshell here.
Not FHM singapore either, all legs, and all... legs.
We're talking FHM (UK) here... some really dangerous curves and precipitous valleys, in all the right places, with a face to match framed with real flaxen hair (as opposed to blondy with brunette roots). The type of uh... geography that makes men go weak at the knees.
Not at all like the archtypical blonde cannot-make-it models who grace many of the "raunchier" ads in our shops (ie wearing fully concealing bra (and masking tape underneath), suggestively straddling trembly-handed man who amazingly manages to make absolutely zero body contact... quite a gymnastic feat) or the strange-eyed alien-looking ambassadorial creatures that wander around orchard road with a spaced-out look... but the real-life blondes you get from back hom... err I mean back in europe, walking the streets, talking, laughing and being simply human.
Muuwaa.
Anyhow, after the Y chromosome had settled down and stopped babbling incoherently, I couldn't help but observe that
1) all the men in the place were very fixedly not staring at her. Sweat was breaking out on many a brow. And once in a while when they thought nobody was looking, eyes would flicker... flicker back. Fixed concentration, one, two. laugh.
2) Women are such finicky creatures. Back here women whinge and want to look like that, proud twin peaks, impossible waistlines and slinky hips... voluptious.
Back in the wanton west women want to be more petite, more graceful (I went to Singapore once, the women were all thin and graceful and slender, I was so jealous!) and oriental-looking. (I have this on good authority from many of my female friends from assorted unsavory places in the world including Dujon, Athens and many others, so I know it's not just an English thing)
Us men, we much simpler. Not care other man body, just want shag woman body.
Heh.
*****
As he strode past the hospital in a hurry to get back to his place to meet the DHL man, coat billowing in the wind, he found his feet pulling him almost against his will towards it.
He didn't know anymore whether it was his heart holding him back, or his mind. That's what time does to some of us; It shrouds, and dulls.
(That and copious amounts of alcohol.)
He hadn't come all this way to do this.
But he had come all this way, and he'd done nearly everything he'd set out to do, and he was here, and he didn't know if it was a good idea or even if it was an acceptable idea, but...
he had to know.
He had to.
He had to know.
His mind raced as a million improbable and impossible scenarios, few good, many dire flashed through his mind.
After all this time. Part of him was... still alive.
Reawakened memories? Or repressed thoughts.
The sunlight - so rare on this visit, and on all his other previous visits come to think of it - glinted off the windows dreamily, painting the ugly brown facade a soft, muted gold.
He paused...
