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Well, yesterday I had my hair cut, quite severely. Now I resemble one of those chaps which look like old lesbians, as posted by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kdotdammit recently.
If I were the kind of bloke who had his photo taken regularly, I suppose I might just have posted it on here to entertain the masses, or the few who actually can be bothered to read my blatherings. As is, I've never been especially interested in photos, not being quite pretty enough for my own tastes. Given which I suppose I'm surprised I ever got laid, let alone married to a cute 'n' clever lass.
Apparently, women like chaps with a sense of humour; one who has the ability to make 'em laugh. This may be true, but I fear that though lasses like chaps with such attributes, they tend to fancy not-necessarily good-looking brutal wife-beating types with bruised knuckles, dirty fingernails, and an excess of testosterone: else how can one explain why so many attractive lasses find footballers such a turn on that they're prepared to shag them in the back of their Bentleys. I mean, how else can one explain the attraction of John Terry, unless of course it be his money? And what does that say about some women?
I suppose footballers are at least fit, as the saying is: and unlikely to have a heart attack on the job.
SWMBO read me an op-ed piece saying why should women spend years improving themselves, studying classics or whatever, and adorning their minds with learning; thereby giving themselves the opportunity to earn, if not a pittance, then the tiniest fraction of what a discarded footballer's wife will pick up in a divorce settlement? I must say, I do understand that mentality, as much as I despise it.
O the times, O the morals. O the taste of some people.
I know I'm turning into Brian Sewell, but if the alternative is to embrace what passes for the modern culture completely, I hope people will forgive me. If the footballer-fancying lasses were all that existed of womenkind, I'm sure I would have found it possible to be a gay chap. Thank the gods for those women who haven't completely adopted the mores of our present culture.
Yesterday I took Poor Mad Felix out for lunch, as is usual on Thursdays. Next week it will have to be Wednesday, as we have folk coming over for supper on Thursday evening and yours truly will be doing the cooking.
We will be taking Felix to Oxfordshire on the 20th to meet up with some of my old chums; Felix's too, come to think of it - we were all at school together many years ago, and the annual meeting of the School bridge team is something I always look forward to.
Mum's birthday on Sunday. Today will be seeing Steve at TPA and having lunch with him: then shopping for presents and cards.
Go well, do good things, and learn something new and difficult every day.
kdotdammit recently.If I were the kind of bloke who had his photo taken regularly, I suppose I might just have posted it on here to entertain the masses, or the few who actually can be bothered to read my blatherings. As is, I've never been especially interested in photos, not being quite pretty enough for my own tastes. Given which I suppose I'm surprised I ever got laid, let alone married to a cute 'n' clever lass.
Apparently, women like chaps with a sense of humour; one who has the ability to make 'em laugh. This may be true, but I fear that though lasses like chaps with such attributes, they tend to fancy not-necessarily good-looking brutal wife-beating types with bruised knuckles, dirty fingernails, and an excess of testosterone: else how can one explain why so many attractive lasses find footballers such a turn on that they're prepared to shag them in the back of their Bentleys. I mean, how else can one explain the attraction of John Terry, unless of course it be his money? And what does that say about some women?
I suppose footballers are at least fit, as the saying is: and unlikely to have a heart attack on the job.
SWMBO read me an op-ed piece saying why should women spend years improving themselves, studying classics or whatever, and adorning their minds with learning; thereby giving themselves the opportunity to earn, if not a pittance, then the tiniest fraction of what a discarded footballer's wife will pick up in a divorce settlement? I must say, I do understand that mentality, as much as I despise it.
O the times, O the morals. O the taste of some people.
I know I'm turning into Brian Sewell, but if the alternative is to embrace what passes for the modern culture completely, I hope people will forgive me. If the footballer-fancying lasses were all that existed of womenkind, I'm sure I would have found it possible to be a gay chap. Thank the gods for those women who haven't completely adopted the mores of our present culture.
Yesterday I took Poor Mad Felix out for lunch, as is usual on Thursdays. Next week it will have to be Wednesday, as we have folk coming over for supper on Thursday evening and yours truly will be doing the cooking.
We will be taking Felix to Oxfordshire on the 20th to meet up with some of my old chums; Felix's too, come to think of it - we were all at school together many years ago, and the annual meeting of the School bridge team is something I always look forward to.
Mum's birthday on Sunday. Today will be seeing Steve at TPA and having lunch with him: then shopping for presents and cards.
Go well, do good things, and learn something new and difficult every day.
