(no subject)

Erk.

Just back from Motion Studios where I've been transposing songs to fit a specific lady singer's range. Which has also given me a chance to do some thinking about other things, as it seems I must.

When a lady drops a handkerchief it is encumbent upon a chap to pick it up and return it....if the chap in question is anywhere near at hand. I think the word I might be stretching for is propinquity. And always provided creaky and middle-aged limbs function well enough to facilitate such a restoration.

Hmmm.

Ah, the wicked ways of my youth...

Ah the wicked ways of my youth....

The notion of a 'mistress' (a lady of taste and discrimination what does, as the esturine amongst us would have) is normally associated with marriage. Being the lad I was, alongside my live-in girlfriend there would be the occasional times when I met a women with whom I could share other than my more abstract pursuits.
When I lived with Sandra, who was my bridge partner as well as my partner in other things, I did have the [searches for acceptable euphemism] hmmm, occasional and sporadic extra-non-marital affair.
Hazel was one such.
I imagine I was convenient and given to taking sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll quite seriously: and I suppose I was a laugh and a support as H. went through her divorce. In fact H. jokes from time to time that I was a necessary stop on the itinery of the divorcing housewives of Surrey during the 90's. This sort of thing can tend to spoil a chap. Even now, when the soul of involuntary chastity, dammit, I have memories enough not to worry should I never have sex again.
H. discarded me quite quickly, having understood that I wasn't much more than a good laugh; and we remain good chums to this day.
She turns fifty this week. There's a hall booked for Saturday. We'll all get drunk (apart from me: I have to drive home). Blimey.

Happy Birthday Hazel.
(and Em, if you're reading this you can point H towards it. Even if she never speaks to me again.)