A rough week and a ramble....
This week has been a little rough chez Keslakia. Our boiler went on the fritz, which, in the setting October sun, can often spell shivering doom. Thank God for global warming. Seriously, the biggest inconvenience was returning from a rather vigorous walk around Manchester city in the rain on Wednesday and wanting a hot bath. Even though I grew up with English parents, we never were made to endure a flannel bath, or a washcloth, "up and down". No, my mother is a lady of refinement and dignity, a trait I have always admired in her. Love you mum.
So I have been showering at the Gym every day this week. What comes to mind in this scenario is the sign at the North Sydney swimming pool in the men's changerooms which, as a boy, swimming there regularly and always aware of the shocking parade of male nudity (not bad either I might reminisce at this point), that proclaimed "LOITERING NOT PERMITTED"... Being the diligent and law abiding citizen I was, even at an early age, it never occurred to me to do otherwise. It was much later in life that I discovered that all the lovely hot (straight) men who swam at these reputable baths with the no loitering permitted changerooms, were actually doing a hell of a lot more than loitering. * insert sigh of lost lust here *
So I guess I've been enjoying loitering around the changerooms with no other purpose Than To Be Clean. I might need to spend some time in there. So what? Its like the Village People always claimed. There's a a place you can meet, a sauna, and a toilet. Heck, I cant walk into the gym then walk out 15 minutes later. People might talk.
I have been meaning to blog this week, but seriously I've been so busy with my crappy back, and with catching up on work that I didn't do last week because of my crappy back. The crappy back is because I haven't spent enough time loitering around the swimming pool, and have too much time drinking too much fine Belgian beer.
My friend Nick at work came and surprised me today. He popped his head over the partition and said "you're a Keane fan aren't you" to which I replied, "are you stalking me? But yeah, like, the biggest. "oh" he says "I'm off to see them tonight." And every doubt about being here vanished in a second. It's like, shit, just popping out on a Friday night to see KEANE - my favourite band at the moment. And anyone who knows me well knows that usually I like "bands" as much as I like themed restaurants, or ingrown nail surgery.
Well ner, tomorrow the Keslake family are catching the 7.05 Eurostar to Paris. That's right, all of us are off there for a family trip (except for Mrs Pussy Tummycurtins. She is giving an opera recital for the Contessa de Beauberg von Schlossenhoffen. She's very good.)
But back to me, I can't say how I'm looking forward to a weekend in gay old Paris. It really is my favourite city on earth, even when you include the burning cars, swarms of Japanese tourists (used to those) and lack of personal hygiene. I mean, hey, I haven't had a shower at home for a week, I'm in the zone, monsieur.
Needless to say, you'll hear about it.
xx
So I have been showering at the Gym every day this week. What comes to mind in this scenario is the sign at the North Sydney swimming pool in the men's changerooms which, as a boy, swimming there regularly and always aware of the shocking parade of male nudity (not bad either I might reminisce at this point), that proclaimed "LOITERING NOT PERMITTED"... Being the diligent and law abiding citizen I was, even at an early age, it never occurred to me to do otherwise. It was much later in life that I discovered that all the lovely hot (straight) men who swam at these reputable baths with the no loitering permitted changerooms, were actually doing a hell of a lot more than loitering. * insert sigh of lost lust here *
So I guess I've been enjoying loitering around the changerooms with no other purpose Than To Be Clean. I might need to spend some time in there. So what? Its like the Village People always claimed. There's a a place you can meet, a sauna, and a toilet. Heck, I cant walk into the gym then walk out 15 minutes later. People might talk.
I have been meaning to blog this week, but seriously I've been so busy with my crappy back, and with catching up on work that I didn't do last week because of my crappy back. The crappy back is because I haven't spent enough time loitering around the swimming pool, and have too much time drinking too much fine Belgian beer.
My friend Nick at work came and surprised me today. He popped his head over the partition and said "you're a Keane fan aren't you" to which I replied, "are you stalking me? But yeah, like, the biggest. "oh" he says "I'm off to see them tonight." And every doubt about being here vanished in a second. It's like, shit, just popping out on a Friday night to see KEANE - my favourite band at the moment. And anyone who knows me well knows that usually I like "bands" as much as I like themed restaurants, or ingrown nail surgery.
Well ner, tomorrow the Keslake family are catching the 7.05 Eurostar to Paris. That's right, all of us are off there for a family trip (except for Mrs Pussy Tummycurtins. She is giving an opera recital for the Contessa de Beauberg von Schlossenhoffen. She's very good.)
But back to me, I can't say how I'm looking forward to a weekend in gay old Paris. It really is my favourite city on earth, even when you include the burning cars, swarms of Japanese tourists (used to those) and lack of personal hygiene. I mean, hey, I haven't had a shower at home for a week, I'm in the zone, monsieur.
Needless to say, you'll hear about it.
xx
Labels: Me and my body
posted by Eddie Knittster at 7:37 pm
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