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Damn you, Doctor!

Apr. 4th, 2008 | 08:28 pm
mood: listlesslistless

 When he pushed me out of the Tardis he said it'd still be 2006, and look what happened. Never trust a doctor.

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Tie me to the mast dears...

Jan. 28th, 2006 | 02:03 pm
mood: confusedconfused

From: The Historical Maritime Society "Nelson and His Navy - Loose Cannons"

"Nothing more terrible can happen to a warship on the open sea and under full sail. A cannon that breaks its moorings suddenly becomes a kind of supernatural beast. It is a machine which transforms itself into a monster. That mass speeds on its wheels, tilts when the ship rolls, plunges when it pitches, goes, comes, stops, seems to meditate, resumes its swift movement, goes from one end of the ship to the other with the speed of an arrow, spins around, slips to one side, dashes away, rears up, spins around, slips to one side, dashes away, rears up, collides smashes, kills, exterminates..."

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upswinging

Dec. 1st, 2005 | 12:39 am
mood: enthralledenthralled

Since I last properly updated...

I've seen a man piss on a sausage, then lick it, then construct a Playmobil-inspired Pirates of the Caribbean-based playset lifesize (Whitechapel Gallery galleon covered in chocolate syrup), the great Diane Arbus exhibition at the V&A, the most impressive house-warren, self-defined pad a man has ever built for themself, and the most impressive,initially titivating sex-dream that revealed that i'm intrinsically shallow - I was enjoying it until he returned with his hair shaven off, then I realised that was all I liked about him. From one moment, he was larking about naked, delectably - but him bald, I found it hugely distateful.

Old chum came round last weekend, and I plucked out and kept his first grey hair. Everything seems fairly meaningful at the moment.

Listening to Radio 3 whilst procrastinating. Have levitated for the odd hour.

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sodding phone again...

Nov. 28th, 2005 | 12:16 pm

...lost it the EXACT same place as last time (ahem), so back to the old number until my replacement arrives - hopefully - by the end of the week. Then, I am going to chain it to my neck.

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Mills & Boon

Nov. 9th, 2005 | 11:59 pm
mood: blankblank

Need some sort of vent - the course is okay, but I'm not used to all this, well, structured-ness. Feel very much like a corseted blancmange - aware that to push out in the right places, I need to have some substance in the first place. I waffle. I lose the plot. It was pointed out in one of my handed-in things that one of my long paragraphs was actually a sentence.

ie. I actually have to know stuff, be logical, cut out the flibbering. Aiee. To sugar the pill, have decided that I need some sort of artsy-fartsy outlet that isn't beer; even better, I would like it to provide cash. Too much to ask? Londinium.com Andy just got a call from some sexy-voiced woman who's opening a restaurant in Clerkenwell, wants it reviewed. Well, that's something, but this happens as often as I go to bed early. Did he know what sort of place it was? No, but she did have a very sexy voice. Blag a table for four.

So - remembered one of Stuart's books about how to write romance novels. The genre of economy! If you're not a little weepy/disturbed/able to finish one, the writer's failed! Checked out the Mills & Boon website to see what sort of stuff's churned out these days, and lo - THIS!!!

Stella's current working title, "Artless Seduction".

Opening line - "After adding the final dollop of fake caviar to the last canapé, Esther dearly wished that she had some arsenic on hand for a bit of extra seasoning".

Storyline: Put-upon art gallery totty yearns for a life beyond picking up empty Bud bottles. Cinderella-like, her boss is a man who couldn't organise an opening at a gynaecologist's. Star-artiste is a dish, but temperamental (obviously), specialises in portraiture of the same wank set. Ends up with another dealer...she's charged with tempting him back otherwise her job's down the toilet. Tranquil bit with quite a lot of nude sitting. Artiste gets wind of boss's orig. intention, lovebirds fall out hugely.

Dashing gallery owner comes to the rescue; new delightful job but oh, an aching heart. But then - !Joy!


Puff:

Gallery empty save for the beer empties and lipstick-stained wine glasses, Esther allowed herself finally to look at Hank's painting. No-one there to see how devastated she was.

She stood for a long while in front of it. Tumbling gold hair described the curve of milky back; legs so preposterously endless the portrait seemed almost abstract. He'd painted Allegra as some sort of unhorsed Lady Godiva stranded in the Gobi desert.

"Like it? I used to think it was one of my best. Now, I'm not so sure".

Startled, she turned to see smirking lips and laughing eyes. She wasn't going to let him get the better of her this time. "No, I don't think it's one of your best either. There's something just a little contrived about this piece – but is that deliberate?"

Hank's eyes flashed with anger. Stepping forward, he roughly slid his fingers into her hair, savagely pulling her face within kissing distance. Esther struggled not to drown in those bottomless dark eyes, not to be drawn to those lips. No. She was just another notch in his bedpost.

But, did she care? What was wrong with having a final fling? Then the thought of seeing his eyes cold again in the morning and the lips saying goodbye brought her to her senses. He'd won. She couldn't let him know that she was his, body and soul, when he just wanted a body for a night. If she could barely control herself now…

She would never forgive herself if she did. Breaking apart, she turned her face away, composed herself. Turn back to him. Smile.

"Now, now Mr Garland. Strictly professional you understand...."


Suggestions please. Hey, let's all do one!

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