Must just mention these two before leaving Singleworld. Andrea took a shine to me during my time at Les Mis. I told her I wasn't interested in any type of commitment, having just seperated from my wife but she remained undeterred. It was easy and uncomplicated: Andrea loved every type of sex you could imagine and was easily the most uninhibited girl I've ever known. In the tradition of a fine plasterer it seemed her motto was 'All holes are there to be filled' and her appetite to live this credo was insatiable. She wanted it to go further but I resisted and she ended up backing off, but not before we'd had a wonderful 'one for the road' in my new flat in Highgate which resulted in my having to phone the landlord to replace the bed. Whoever is with Andrea now is a lucky man, indeed.
In a dark and lonely hour at Les Mis I'd contacted Maria, she of Antarctic fame. She replied almost by return, berating my silence, calling me every name under the sun but including a recent photo of herself, all the same. A few days later I picked her up at Heathrow Airport. I'd just left Les Mis and Sunset had still not reared its head, so there was nothing to do all day except...you've guessed it. Maria still refused to have penetrative sex until she'd seen a crispy, new HIV-Negative certificate, so we spent the days finding a hundred other ways to skin a cat. I woke every morning to the most gentle and sensual alarm clock you could imagine and it wasn't long before it was me going off. Maria was incredibly resourceful and permanently thirsty for anything I could provide, so I acted like a perfect host should and kept her glass topped up as often as I could manage it. It was only when I let slip that I'd had another affair since last seeing her that she clammed up, called herself an idiot and promptly flew home. Everything in this London period seemed apocalyptic, nothing seemed destined to endure and I was majorly responsible for that. It was only after meeting my future wife at Sunset that things started to stabilise. Everything in its time, really. We were all adults and we all knew the rules. I might not always have acted honourably but I never lied.
Sunday, 7 August 2011
Les Mis and the rest.
...And yet, it was here that my indiscretions were discretely ushered into the antechamber of their demise. Little did I know, but I was soon to meet the latest object of my desires who would prove to be my second wife, fit as hell, brighter than a 100-watt bulb and sharper than a brand-new Sabatier. In short: my match, and welcome, my dear; please come this way. As an aside: as I write, my wife is 40 with the body of an 18-year-old, a fabulous mother to our two daughters and as shaggable as a coked-up, 21-year-old Marilyn Monroe. Envy me; it's worth the effort, however vicarious.
Our first meeting was at Sunset Boulevard: I was Assistant MD, she worked Front of House, yet had to pass me on her way to the Side Bar every evening as I played the vocal warm-up for the cast on stage. One evening, I sat there as usual with my mobile and my cigarettes on top of the piano when she walked by. Then came the comment: "Mobiles and cigarettes; what other bad habits do you have?". I thought: 'I'm in love.' I'm a sucker for feisty women. We agreed to meet to meet at Caffé Nero, on the corner of Maiden Lane and Southampton Row (No idea if it's still there). She (G) was reading a book about Israel; I'd just been there. G was on the verge of going for an interview for a job on the Isle of Bute in Scotland...the message was clear: this babe was soon to be out of here and I had to make some decisions, and fast. She got the call to go North. Was I interested in coming? Duh! But we were still just 'friends'; this could be embarrassing...
We went to Scotland together. The company had - diplomatically - booked two single rooms for us but I had a perma-boner from Euston to Rothesay (those unfamiliar with UK geography, please check the route. Then you'll understand how painful it was). G got the job, we got together, the rest is almost history (I wasn't a complete saint; at least not in the first year) and now I couldn't imagine life any other way. I tell you (providing you want to 'listen'): Making love with someone you know really well just gets better and better, providing you stick to two basic tenets:
1) You really believe in the relationship:
2) You both stay fit.
As soon as beer guts and bingo wings make their presence felt, it's over. Fruit, veg and lots of affection. There's no secret. MacDonalds, Ladbrokes and Liverpool FC will kill anyone's sex life. Here's my recipe:
1) Fresh fruit, cereal and fish;
2) Excellent wines from the south-west of France;
3) Oodles of conversation;
4) Gorgeous children;
5) Fit wife:
= High-Quality Shagging.
It ain't rocket science. Bonne nuit à vous tous.
Our first meeting was at Sunset Boulevard: I was Assistant MD, she worked Front of House, yet had to pass me on her way to the Side Bar every evening as I played the vocal warm-up for the cast on stage. One evening, I sat there as usual with my mobile and my cigarettes on top of the piano when she walked by. Then came the comment: "Mobiles and cigarettes; what other bad habits do you have?". I thought: 'I'm in love.' I'm a sucker for feisty women. We agreed to meet to meet at Caffé Nero, on the corner of Maiden Lane and Southampton Row (No idea if it's still there). She (G) was reading a book about Israel; I'd just been there. G was on the verge of going for an interview for a job on the Isle of Bute in Scotland...the message was clear: this babe was soon to be out of here and I had to make some decisions, and fast. She got the call to go North. Was I interested in coming? Duh! But we were still just 'friends'; this could be embarrassing...
We went to Scotland together. The company had - diplomatically - booked two single rooms for us but I had a perma-boner from Euston to Rothesay (those unfamiliar with UK geography, please check the route. Then you'll understand how painful it was). G got the job, we got together, the rest is almost history (I wasn't a complete saint; at least not in the first year) and now I couldn't imagine life any other way. I tell you (providing you want to 'listen'): Making love with someone you know really well just gets better and better, providing you stick to two basic tenets:
1) You really believe in the relationship:
2) You both stay fit.
As soon as beer guts and bingo wings make their presence felt, it's over. Fruit, veg and lots of affection. There's no secret. MacDonalds, Ladbrokes and Liverpool FC will kill anyone's sex life. Here's my recipe:
1) Fresh fruit, cereal and fish;
2) Excellent wines from the south-west of France;
3) Oodles of conversation;
4) Gorgeous children;
5) Fit wife:
= High-Quality Shagging.
It ain't rocket science. Bonne nuit à vous tous.
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