Friday, 26 August 2011
So that was Dundee and what a hoot was had by all, including one unsuspecting gentleman. My room was the very last in the corridor, by the fire escape.
Client number three announced his arrival by phone ( by then I was fairly tired ) so I dusted myself down, applied lip gloss and headed to the door. There was a peephole on the door which looked into the corridor and how I could tell said client was approaching was when the heavy fire door half-way down the corridor banged shut.
Through the peephole I spied him, a suited and booted guy approaching so I opened the door in a black satin robe, stockings, "fecking hell" hair, massive heels and a grin that would put any Cheshire cat to shame.
Fabulous, except he wasn't my client but the guy staying in the room opposite.
To make matters worse, after said innocent hotel guest had almost impaled himself on his briefcase handle with the fright, REAL client showed up and hammered on my door, bellowing ...
I could have lynched him, but as it turns out we have a lot in common, mainly a deep love of animals. I've long thought that if I could surround myself with animals for the rest of my life I would be the happiest woman on earth, it's people I find difficult ( with some notable exceptions, of course ). The reasoning behind it is this, animals don't bitch - they don't know how to. It's one of two reactions -
1. You fed me and rubbed my belly, ergo I love you and I'm going to lick you, whether you like it or not.
2. You annoyed me / stood on my paw, ergo I'm going to bite you, HARD. It's OK though, because we'll be friends again within the hour.
See ? Simplicity at it's most splendid.
So, Mr. Client was telling me ( in the after-glow ) that for many years he has been a long haul driver, ( he was just passing through ) all achieved with a very small and very cute companion in the shape of a terrier. He LOVED that dog, they travelled all over Europe together and were inseparable. One weekend he noticed the dog was not himself and was off his food, so he decided to keep an eye on him and postpone his boy's night out. By the second night, the poor creature couldn't make it up the stairs, so this man, all 6 foot 2 of him, brought the dog's bed downstairs to the fireplace in the living room and curled up beside him to sleep. At some point during the night the dog gave a couple of loud yelps and was clearly in pain so my guy held him close and said "Close your eyes son, it's time to go".
Sure enough, by morning time the dog had passed away. By the time he had finished his tale, both myself and my guy were sitting on the side of my bed, sobbing uncontrollably, made worse by the fact that he had pictures of him on his phone to accompany the narrative. All in all, it was a very surreal experience and I really hope he bites the bullet and gets another puppy.
Back to normality then ( whatever that is ) and I'm preparing for my tour to Perth next week before I go on sabbatical for a bit. I really don't know how long I'll be away as yet but I plan to get back to the wonderful world of floozying as soon as I can. Meanwhile I face the enormous task of trying to get my books in order for my accountant, this year I have decided to be ruthless and claim for every can of diet coke and snickers consumed whilst on tour which means I have a mountain of receipts to be sorted through. To compound my anxieties, The Mother has announced her intention to conduct the bi-annual inspection during my time off too, so I will be on a cleaning frenzy to boot. Marvellous.
Catch up with you fae Perth.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
Good evening and greetings from Belfast where I am chilling out after an assiduous couple of days. I've been on the tour trail which I love, Susan and I had a blast in Carlisle, I met a new gentleman who wanted to experience domination, I think he got a little more than he bargained for ( ahem ), he has written me a review here. On arrival in Belfast I met one of my regular guys who is deliciously deviant like moi, and thanks to him I have some brand spanking new toys and a review on Escort Ireland too, here. Thank you Sir, it's always a pleasure but you knew that anyway. ;)
For the remainder of this month I will be visiting Dundee and then Perth, the more perceptive of you will have gathered that I've not done my September availability diary / tour dates yet. "Real life" has caught up with me again and I have some commitments to fulfill which just for once, don't involve custard or butt plugs. So, the likelihood is that I will do some visits in September, you'll know as soon as I do when I'm back in circulation.
I don't think it's to anyone's detriment that I'm taking some time out, if nothing else it will keep the homicide rate on the west coast of Scotland down. I really am losing the will to live when it comes to some "enquiries".
"I seen (sic) your website, gonnae gies some details ?"
Now, I'm sorry to use the analogy of a restaurant again, but sometimes it's just easier to do it the lazy way. Take, if you will, my favourite Glasgow restaurant at the Hotel Du Vin. They have gone to the trouble of creating a website which explains quite clearly where they are located, what kind of fayre is on offer, how to book and they've even included pictures and given the option of "private dining", ( highly recommended by the way ). Do you think, given that level of information provided, that one would telephone them and say - "You do grub, aye ? Gonnae gies some details ?" As professional as they are, I can actually imagine the head waiter giving some indications from the menu as a suggestion. Where it goes from the sublime to the ridiculous is when the afore mentioned statement is followed up by -
"The fried duck egg, foie gras & cèpes bordelaise is £8.75, aye ? Ach you'll do it for a fiver."
This, readers, is what I have to deal with on a daily basis. I kid you not.
It's all I can do to stop myself from bawling at the caller and pointing out that I have prepared the fecking website for a fecking reason and all the fecking information they need is right there, in front of their fecking noses. ( I told you I was cranky ).
Very gently then, we'll move on to the list of excuses as to why they haven't fully digested the details on the website. It's not because they just clicked on the pictures, prices and then noted the phone number, OH NO.
"My friend gave me your number".
Right, let's be honest about this, this is Glasgow, hardly the most liberalised society in existence. So no, you didn't have a conversation with your friend at the water cooler in the office along the lines of -
"Whit did ye get up tae at the weekend, ye nugget ?"
"Funny you should ask me that, I met a lovely lady who happens to be an escort, and if you should ever find yourself with some free time, look her up. She's terribly friendly and the best news is, she can string a sentence together and doesn't resemble Vikki Pollard."
The standard reply to that one is - "Perhaps you might like to go back to your 'friend' who will no doubt furnish you with my website address, which should address all the "Holy Grail" questions you so desperately seek.".
Next - "Ahm on ma fone, so ah am."
Super. So am I, most of the time and I think you'll find that alongside the pictures and phone number you just accessed is an informative database that tells you all you need to know. Gonnae view it.
I'm done complaining, I promise. Erudite and verbose gentlemen always welcome, in the meantime, I shall enjoy the "craic" with the neds. I must mention, thanks to Amy , I now have a Blackberry which blocks all withheld numbers, any numbers of my choice, and texts too. On top of that, I've just discovered the setting in google mail which automatically dumps emails from certain addresses, *cough* - they go straight to the bin, fecking marvellous.