My favourite Dalry greasy spoon, of which there are sadly too few anywhere nowadays, has as limited choice of reading matter as it does filled rolls. But I do like the atmosphere of the place. And eating and reading go so well together that I'll even reach for a tabloid newspaper in the absence of the café's copy of Nuts.
The thing is, there's almost nothing to read in these rags bar gossip on 'celebrities' I've genuinely never heard of, maybe a tiny vaguely alarmist footnote on page 12 or so about impending apocalypse in Japan or the Middle East, or wasteful reams of dreary sports coverage. That said, there are pervy flesh-pics to drool over, and best still, the personal problems page. Personal meaning sexual, that is.
Troubled souls who write to the tabloids' letters pages could undoubtedly do without me foisting completely unsolicited ethically questionable advice and comments upon their already adequately constructed misery racket. But I'm old enough not to apologise for doing so anyway, none of my bullshit can be much worse than Tracey's, Jane's, or Deidre's. Especially Tracey's.
Expect more, much more, of this.
(Daily Star Sunday, 27/3/11)
My husband is always going on about me never wearing sexy underwear so I bought some and put it on for him the other night. His response was to rip it off the second he saw it. I spent all that money and made the effort but what's the point if he's not even going to look at it on me?
Uncle William says:
What the fuck is this woman's problem?
The only way the outcome could have worked more exquisitely for her is if hubby, in addition to ripping her frillies off, had stuffed her fancy bra and lacy panties down her throat and tied her arms to the bedposts with her ripped black nylons, ripped from having been forcibly led round the room on all fours like a dog. And then, without further ado, had proceeded to screw her as good and as hard as she'd only been able to once upon a time dream about.
Seriously, the only reason some women like to talk up all the soft ambient music, candles, nibbles, massages, and endless foreplay crap is because they don't really want to fuck you. See, a guy takes one look at the object of his desire, in this case his middle-aged wife in fine lingerie, and he's ready and able. Now, that's all it takes. It's a huge compliment, so just be grateful.