to love and to be loved is the ultimate,
but to love without being loved back is the truth.
If I said I had met both the Clintons, and that I liked him but didn’t like her, might either suggest that I lacked taste, or that I once moved in some exalted circles. Well, maybe I did both. I got used to turning left when got on the aircraft, having hotel receptionists know who I was without asking, and having bartenders mix my drink without me having to say it was a vodka martini. Fuck! just how pretentious was that?
The trappings of success are seductive, money makes life much easier than it is for the less well off, and it seems that successful men attract better looking women than do the average office drone. And, take it from me, when it comes to looking good most of what I had was clothes and charisma.
The circles I worked in, attracting top dollar, were filled with very attractive, well-dressed good looking women and men who could have had a career in Hollywood. And there was I, a product of the post-war depression that gripped England. Low calorie, vitamin deficient, crap medical care, and non existent dentistry. We were a nation of short, maladjusted, angry, troglodyte, geniuses.
Among a nation of pretty brilliant, if mal-adjusted guys, I was in the upper quartile, at the far end of the bell-curve. And that’s a hard place to live your life. In England, at the time, being the top scholar in a grammar school just got you beaten up. Ergo the smarter guys hid their lights under a bushel.
Then the worst thing imaginable happened. Valerie Nelson, the prettiest, nicest, most attractive girl in my year had an obvious crush on me. Valerie came from money, she was always suntanned in a town where the sun was always hidden behind the dirty cloud from the coke works. She holidayed in Kenya, whereas I spent a week in Whitby. She had a manicure and I bit my nails.
I’d like to say that the story had a happy ending.
I was her Quasimodo and she was my Esmeralda. There was a sexual incident. That was the first time I knew I could be dangerously violent.
It broke her heart when I walked away.
I may get over her one day. I may spend the rest of my life trying.
Paris is Burning
a very sensual, strange, physically beautiful, dangerous place
Back in the day I spent a lot of time à Paris, la ville lumière. I learned that, while Parisienne women look chic, they often smell of Galoises overlaid with a lot of Chanel #5.
Love Paris and you’re hung up on something that’s never going to love you back.
when good Americans die they go to Paris
There is a vile and dangerous threat to the modern western world. Those who pose this threat have no morals, ethics, or humanity. They wish to impose their stone age version of warped ‘civilisation’ on the world by turning it into one monstrous Islamic fundamentalist caliphate.
Violence, repression, rape, mutilation, and murder is common currency to these snarling, smirking, revolting savages. Their religion has nothing to do with their creed of indiscriminate destruction. These dangerous, disgusting, loathsome deviants are destroying the religion they claim to follow.
However, there is an even more insidious danger facing Europe and the USA. The danger is that the Civilised West will respond in kind. (We have already had the welcome vapourisation of the Isis executioner, so-called Jihadi John.) President Obama condemns these horrific events in Paris as an ‘attack on all of humanity’. How long before we see the BUFF’s in the air over the Middle East?
In the recent elections in Poland there has been a notable swing to the Right, with the left-liberal pro European Union elements shunned at the ballot box. In the wake of yesterday’s horrific killings France has closed its borders. In the UK David Prime Minister David Cameron’s chances of winning a vote to stay in the EU have taken a nose dive. Ultra left-liberal Sweden has reimposed border controls.
And so it goes… And all eyes turn to Germany….
with deepest sympathy for all those killed, hurt, and bereaved in France