Wanted

WANTED - Man to share the continuous loop of abject joy that is my life. Must like children and cats, preferably hamsters too but open to negotiation on that. Good sense of humour an absolute must, medication to counter psychotic episodes will be offered on a needs must basis. No footbore fans please, Sundays are for eating roast dinners, not watching twenty two grown men kick a ball into a net and take it out again. See also - gardening centres.

No gingers, this is due to previous experiences and not open for discussion. Apart from anything else, I couldn't have such contamination of the gene pool on my conscience. You will preferably have extensive experience in DIY and be fairly handy with large tools. Specifically, if you can build a large cage this will be a huge asset, never mind why.

If, like me, you harbour a dark desire to kick anyone opposed to paid consensual sex up and down the banks of the Clyde, rest assured this will put you to the very top of the list. If your idea of heaven is a weekend away in a secluded hotel with a hot tub and food service, superb. If however, your ideal includes a triathlon, or anything above and beyond a brisk walk, then jog on.

Please send a full length picture with your application, ideally in tight swimming shorts.

LL xx

P.S : In the interests of honesty, I have enclosed a picture depicting my demeanour any time before 12pm and also during "that" week of the month. You have been warned.

Ankles and angst

Good evening and greetings from Inverness where I am chilling out with a bowl of room service chilli (dreadful) and my magic wand (significantly less dreadful). I'm thinking back to the day I was awarded my degree all those years ago, it was all going so well. We lined up with our parents and collected our awards, after which we debunked to the local restaurant for lunch and yet more photographs.

At 4pm, our parents made their excuses and left and we regrouped for the party to end all parties. We deserved it, we had all spent the previous six weeks surviving on diet coke and Marlboro lights, trapped in our horrid student flats. By 10pm, it had all begun to fall apart. A couple of fledgling lawyers had wandered off in search of the elusive burger van, one had gone back to a very dodgy flat for a private party and still another had fallen into the canal, by Rathmines. As for me, I was in the residual party of survivors, up the back of the pub singing loudly and having a whale of a time.

Rather typically, my friend E had just found the true love of her life, again. She was quite literally inside his mouth and it was yours truly who was dispatched to go and rescue her. In huge heels and even bigger hair, I picked my way down the sodden and darkened steps to the basement bar, before bawling at her over the loud music - "COME ON, BACK TO MINE". She gave me that look, the one which says - "I'm this close to getting his phone number on the back of a ciggy packet, DO ONE", so I went to Plan B. There were some girls on the steps, dancing side ways up and down (show girl style) to New York, New York. Well, if you can't beat them, join them is what I say. Come the very end of the song and we were really going for it, the fact that I didn't actually know any of the other dancers was by the by, in Irishland, provided you're drunk and friendly, it really doesn't matter.

I went for the bottom step and missed it in spectacular fashion, my foot went over to one side and there was a loud 'snap'. I didn't actually hear that snap, but it was politely pointed out by a lady who was sitting at a table just adjacent to my not very comfortable landing pad. I laughed out loud, ankles don't just snap, right ? Having said that, when I got to my feet, that ankle flatly refused to take the weight of my body, resulting in my getting home through a variety of carrying techniques and hopping.

By the time we got to my flat, my ankle was rather swollen, but I was reliably informed that it was just sprained, so in true Irish fashion we got on with the night and commenced strip poker. Come 4am, my ankle was turning black, and the size of a football.

"I'm not being funny girls, but I really think I've done something awful here."

"Oh give over. Put some frozen peas on it. Well, mini pizza's then."

I woke up the next day in mortal agony. I literally couldn't get out of bed, any sudden movement at all went right through my foot and caused anything from a sharp intake of breath to a muted scream.

I did what every independent twenty something graduate does in times of trouble, I called my Dad.

"DADDY, I FELL".

He came to my rescue, and sat with me in the hospital whilst they manipulated my ankle back into place and plastered it up. Cue paternal loving frown.

"Look, you'll be all right. Just get up and get on with it".

This week, I've had the week from hell in a lot of respects. I had some bad news which quite literally took my breath away, it was like a punch to the stomach. Although I'm entering a really exciting phase involving a lot of media and a total change in direction, that one phone call really took the wind out of my sails. So, I did the one thing a thirty something mother at the base of a new career and in a crisis should do, I called my Dad. Cue paternal loving frown.

"Look, you'll be all right. Head up and keep smiling. Go get 'em."

Thanks Dad.

LL xx

The times, they are a-Changin'

Once upon a time, there was a man I was quite simply mad about. I'll call him D. He supported me through some very turbulent times and never stopped believing in me, even when I couldn't go to my local supermarket without someone shouting abuse at me in the car park. "I didn't know they sell hookers here now ! Is it buy one get one free ?" When you consider that D was raised in 1950's Ireland, then his support was all the more important, because it broke through every societal barrier you can think of.

"Never let these people get to you, hold your head up high. What matters is how you feel about yourself and those around you who will love you regardless." In time, came the shocking news that D was dying, he had terminal cancer and it was a matter of weeks, which very quickly became days. With a huge knot in my stomach, I went to his bed side and was truly lost for something to say. I didn't want him to see me getting upset so I smiled and asked him how he was feeling.

"I'm not afraid of dying, I've made my peace. Besides, the priest was in and I told him to put me down for everything except rape and murder". Thereafter came the explosion of maniacal laughter combined with guttural sobbing and I told him, "I'm going to miss you". His reply is something which will stay with me for the rest of my life. He said, "You may not know this but you were put on this earth to help the underdog. Be true to yourself and make sure you fulfil that promise for me".

D's funeral was hard for me, it was my first experience of death and when I kissed him goodbye as he was laid in the coffin, I thought my heart was going to physically break. I took comfort from the fact that he looked so peaceful, towards the end of his life he was in so much pain that no amount of morphine could take away the permanent frown he had. In death, he looked beautiful, so serene.

I've never forgotten D's words although it has taken me many years to work out what he meant. When D died, I was in the second year of my first degree which was law, and truly, I thought I was going to change the world. Myself and my Uni pals had an idealistic vision of challenging every law ever set into statute, but I was soon to find out that in Ireland, unless you have family in the law or are sleeping with half of the law library, getting briefs is actually incredibly difficult, if not impossible. Since I was already sleeping with half of the law library on a part time basis anyway, it seemed like a futile exercise to chase a career where every time I got to my feet I would look across the court room and be reminded of time spent on my back.

Unperturbed, I dusted myself off and went into financial services, for nine years. That went horrendously wrong in the end and I will write about it in the future, but the time isn't right yet. So the time had arrived, attempt at career number three. What to do ? I decided to go back to Uni and study, since academia has always been a part of my life and I adore a challenge. I'm still studying, and very much enjoying it too.

Through all of the changes, the upsets, the move from Ireland to Scotland and my transition from irresponsible student to semi-responsible mother, the sex industry always called me back. I've retired three times now, and not had a carriage clock yet. Over the last twelve months though, a new transition has begun. I speak to the media. I now know that I have years of experience in the sex industry under my belt and I can speak with authority against those who seek to stop what we do. Finally, I have a knowledge and an area of expertise which no-one can take away from me.

Tomorrow, I'm going to Leeds to film a documentary with Channel 4 about my work with disabled clients and I wouldn't say I'm nervous, I'm terrified, although I know it will be fine once I start. I will be throwing off my cloak of invisibility because what we do as sex workers with disabled clients is too important. The general public need to see what we do, our gentle, nurturing side.

Thank you D. Finally, now I get what you meant and I hope you're proud.

LL xx

Faux Feminism

The recent suicide of Amanda Todd got me thinking. From where I'm sitting, there are two schools of thought. One is that she was a young girl who made a stupid mistake on a social networking site by exposing her breasts. One picture ended up doing the rounds of various social platforms and in the end, she could stand the bullying no longer and in spite of having changed schools, she gave up and ended her life.

The second school of thought suggests that she recorded multiple videos involving masturbation, which she distributed through BlogTV whilst persuading a thirteen year old boy to cheat on his girlfriend. Amanda Todd has been compared with Paris Hilton, hence the picture above. "Why does everyone pick on Paris, she does such great work for charity and she only did one sex tape".

Give me a break.

Let's get this into perspective here. Paris Hilton is an attention seeking 'celebrity' who spends Daddy's money and gets to go to lots of red carpet events to exchange air kisses with other beautiful people who have also had sex tapes leaked (cough) and feel her 'pain'. Amanda Todd was a young school girl who was physically assaulted and dumped in a ditch. She drank bleach in an effort to kill herself and when that didn't work, she committed suicide, this time ensuring it was effective.

Those are not the actions of an attention seeker. Those are the actions of someone who had truly had enough and wanted off this planet, for good. But why ? Because some pitiful insecure pack running bullies decided she wasn't good enough to join their social circle ? Really ?

When it comes to overt sexuality, why is it that women perpetually turn on women ? This is what I find so perplexing. We live in a society which deems it acceptable for an individual to approach a seven year old child and tell her - "Your mother is going to die of AIDS", simply because that child's mother chooses to work quite legally as a sex worker.

We live in a society in which Rape Crisis Scotland deem it acceptable to loudly announce a 'Reclaim The Night' march in Glasgow in support of women against rape (which in itself is fantastic) but to then denounce sex work as an 'act of violence'. One rule for the 'nice' women and one rule for sex workers ?

We live in a society in which Joan Burnie of the Daily Record deems it acceptable to say that Edinburgh saunas are "sad, seedy and sorry". I doubt that she has ever set foot in a sauna in her life, I challenge Ms. Burnie to visit the saunas with me, and speak to the women therein. I think she'll find that they are very much of the same ilk as herself, ordinary women getting by and paying their bills day to day.

All of the above is what I lovingly refer to as 'faux feminism'. It's when women who choose to call themselves feminists selectively choose their allies, to the exclusion of other minority groups who don't meet their moral standards. And it's not on.

So why am I so angry about 'faux feminism' ?

I'm a sex worker, prostitute, whore, call me what you will. I have felt first hand what it feels like to be isolated and bullied because of what I have chosen to do in private, between consenting adults, and within the law. I don't fit within the moral code of faux feminists, I make them uncomfortable. How they deal with that discomfort is to project their insecurities onto me.

They call me slut. They call me whore. They hold their husbands tighter. They hitch their skirts higher, to compete.

None of which bothers me, but what does bother me is when a young impressionable girl like Amanda Todd is driven to suicide because of the elitism of others. She was a hormonal teenager and flashed her breasts. Crime of the century ? We could have a discussion around the 'Page 3' debate ad infinitum, but the reality is, there will always be breasts in the media. Nudity, even. I'm willing to bet that the very women who complain loudest about the 'abuse' of such 'victims' who dare to show their breasts on a public platform are the very ones who creep to bed with 'Fifty Shades of Grey' and their rampant rabbit. That's morally preferable, after all.

I just hope that those who ensured Amanda Todd's early grave can live with their conscience and can sleep at night. I sure as hell couldn't bear that burden, and if you pay any heed to the sex work abolitionists, then you will know that my future confessional is simply straining at the seams.

LL xx

I found this ....

.... on the intertubeswebthingy and rather liked it. It draws a comparison between Gillian McKeith (or to give her her full medical title - Gillian McKeith) and that kinkstress of the kitchen, Nigella Lawson.

I know which one I'd rather be. On the basis that it will help me avoid facial lines, I am off to dive headfirst into a warm choccy fudge cake, ( pouring cream optional ).

LL xx

Foreign Jaunts and Field Reports

Good evening and greetings from Perth. I am back from my foreign jaunts and feeling thoroughly rested, tanned ( well, peeling ) and ready to take on whatever comes my way. My first stop was the Isle of Man, it was my first visit there, courtesy of Mr. F and suffice to say it was very interesting indeed. Sometimes I think I have it tattooed on my forehead - "ALL WHO HAVE EVER ENTERTAINED STRANGE THOUGHTS, APPLY HERE."

We met them all, from the lady who thought I should join a production company doing "The Rocky Horror Show", ( on foot of the fact I can hold a note and look like Magenta ) to the multi millionaire who burst into tears and told us money can't buy you happiness. Hmmm, could have told him that. Still, many hugs were exchanged and we sent him on his merry way ( and I do mean MERRY ) probably to wake up in complete oblivion to the night before. We also caught a production of "Bugsy Malone" which was fantastic and finished up with a trip around the island to the various wee towns whilst deftly avoiding a herd of very slow and fed up cows. It was bliss.

From there I headed off to Turkey with La Princess and my goodness what a culture shock that was. We ran the gauntlet of Icmeler market with herself maintaining a solid hold of my arm because the sellers were so bloody aggressive. You know what ? They would do far better to just allow people to browse than to block their way up the alleys and then hurl insults at them when they don't buy their goods. By alley number three I had had quite enough and was busy hurling insults back at them in Irish, which caught them off guard, heh heh.

I don't see why - "No, I don't want to buy your fake Chanel bag thank you, especially since it's missing the 'n'" .... should warrant a string of expletives, but there we are.

All was not lost though, we both got to fulfill a lifetime ambition, that is, to swim with dolphins. There are no other words for it, it was absolutely awesome. The power of that animal as he pulled me through the sea on his fin is something that I won't forget for a long time, I placed my complete trust in him and it was very much reciprocated as he took herself for a spin too. Anyway, the above picture is a very tender moment between us, when he swam up with great force, ground to a halt and we had a kiss, a truly magical moment.

Whilst I was away I made a concerted effort to stay away from the internet, certainly anything to do with escorting and I have to say I really enjoyed the break from all of the usual irritations. I did however, stay in touch with my "real life" friends via Facebook, or as my little darling refers to it, 'The Facetubes'.(It's a sad day when you have to give yourself a moment to consider and even understand your 10 year old's ironic statement as to the dependence of the populace in general on t'internet, and to then get to the point where you realise that's not why she said it, she said it because she thinks it's funny *sigh* ).

Anyway, on said site, one of my friends posted a link to the most horrendous story I have seen for a long time. Now, I know I'm way behind on this story so I apologise in advance, but whilst the rest of the world was catching up on the BBC headlines online, I was eyeing up the pert buttocks of the Turkish waiter who served us lunch, ( gay, definitely ).

There was a little girl who was run over in China, except this was different.

Allow me to explain it with a link here.

Forgive me in advance because I'm going to shout ( we do that in capitals on the internet, innit ).

WHAT THE F**K IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE ??

I mean, I'm almost getting that some men won't go near a small child who has fallen over and cut their knee, lest the worst be thought of them. Let's get this into context though, this was a child who was fatally injured. SHAME on every single person who walked past that child and allowed her to continue to suffer. Also, where was her Mother ? Why was a child of that age allowed out on a public busy street by herself ? It made me sick to my stomach and as I understand it she has since died. I hope the poor wee mite rests in peace. :(

Meanwhile, I see another blogger has taken on the task of doing an analysis of Punternet field reports, have a look here.

Quite why anyone would do a statistical analysis of field reports escapes me, but it is a very interesting and honest piece with some humour thrown in too. I liked this quote -

"The women are well paid and seem happy with their choice of job and the men enjoy their punts and tend to repeat them again and again."


WHHHOOOAAAAA, you mean we're not trafficked, abused, deluded victims suffering from repressed memory syndrome meaning at some point it will all come flooding back whilst shopping in Asda resulting in an ear piercing scream ?

Feck me, the rad fems must be turning in their support tights. :D

LL xx

P.S : Speaking of reports, my favourite report of all time is here. Enjoy.

P.P.S : To the lovely gentleman who sent me an email pointing out that the picture on my last post of the warring pandas is photoshopped, I KNOW. Eegit.

Bed Picnics and Belfast

Short, spiked fringes coaxed with gel ( fae Farmfoods ) and brushed forwards to within an inch of their lives, an over powering waft of Lynx Animal and his and hers shiny tracksuits - it can only mean one thing, I'm back in Glasgow, hurrah.

I had a splendid time in London. Firstly let me say it is always a pleasure to meet a gentleman who has found me via Rhia Charles, as I know he'll have a modicum of basic manners and decorum as a minimum. This particular gent arrived at my hotel room with a bed picnic, consisting of freshly squeezed orange juice, smoked salmon, grapes and chocolate biscuits too, it was bliss, ( or as we say in Glasgow - it was pure brilliant, so it was ).

I had the opportunity to have dinner with Ellie LLoyd, Susan and Burlesque Honey and we amused ourselves by people watching. To be more specific, we were watching one particular "lady" ( and I use the term very loosely indeed ) who was gyrating around a bemused business man with such ferocity that I thought she was going to do her neck an injury with all that orgasm-mimicking flicking that was going on. We were in stitches to begin with, especially when said business man spotted us and said -

"In her defence, she IS Norwegian."

Well that finished us off I'm afraid. In the end I found myself rather annoyed that her so called "friends" didn't get her in a headlock and take her to her room to sleep off the excesses because she really was in danger of doing something dreadfully daft. Ho hum.

Tomorrow I'm off to Belfast and true to form the volcanic ash has hit us once again, just on time. Great. Hopefully Spandex and I will formulate an alternative travel plan which succeeds, otherwise I shall miss my monthly tryst. I've grown completely impervious to the bemused looks of security men now, I usually just flash them a grin.

Well, I'm sure I'm not the first woman to walk through customs with a rampant rabbit, butt plug, cat o'nine tails, handcuffs, bondage rope, lube in several flavours, nipple clamps, an egg topper, various restraints, a blindfold and two strap ons. Anyway, if anyone compromises my identity on Twitter I can always sue, I don't see why not, every other fecker is.

LL xx

Moggies, Mountains and Missions

I really wish the red deer of Scotland would have an EGM.

"Listen guys, I'm not so sure about this 'standing in the middle of the road' thing. That's Kenny AND Colin we've lost this last week alone, and Heaven alone knows if Kev's antlers will ever be the same again." They could introduce some punitive measure such as having to shack up with the doe with the worst breath, for instance. Everyone's a winner, the bucks get to shine up their antlers in time for the rutting season and I don't almost roll my car around a feckin' ditch trying to dodge them on the A82 on my way back from The Highlands. *sigh*

I think it's fair to say that girl cat is not exactly known for her high intellectual ability either, which is one of the reasons I adore her. There's a wonderful Glasgow expression .... "there's a want about that cat", which just about sums her up really. Never in my life have I met a cat who will repeatedly chase her own tail, catch it, bite it, cry ... and do it again - nor have I ever met a cat who ( when I have the audacity to close my bedroom door for some 'me' time ) headbutts the door repeatedly to the amusement of my pal who remarked -

'Gonnae buy that cat a wee American footie helmet 'afore she knocks wuts left o' her brains oot.' ( I've never been one for dressing up animals but I must admit, that does sound unbearably cute. )

Since I moved into my new dwelling, boy cat has established himself in the back garden and takes great pleasure in tormenting my neighbour's Shih Tzus by doing the circumference of the garden on a high wall and waving his tail at them. It hasn't occurred to him yet that they're too busy humping anything which moves ( each other usually ), to notice or even care. Girl cat, on the other hand, managed to get out of the kitchen ( NB : not while I was here ) and has yet to return. That was two weeks ago. :(

Since then, a massive search and rescue mission has been ongoing, with various members of my family and friends roaming the streets calling her and rattling her favourite biscuit box, but to no avail. At first I thought she'd return when she was hungry, ( so within 45 minutes then ) but zilch. In the interim I have called the police, the council and the Cat's Protection League and whilst I know it's a voluntary post and to be commended, I really wish the gentleman that persons the telephone would hone his people skills, just a tad.

"Is she neutered ?"

"Yes she is, and micro-chipped too."

"Ah well, that's good then, I haven't had a report of a CARCASS matching her description yet".

"Um .... well that's positive I guess."

".....because you see what happens is, even if she was flattened by a car, it's the Council's job to pick up the CARCASS. The CARCASS is then transported to the depot and scanned to see if there is any owner. None of the local vets have reported a CARCASS either."

In case it hasn't become screamingly apparent over time, I adore my mogs, so to hear my beloved Foghorn Leghorn ( one of her pet names ) described as a "CARCASS" was a bit upsetting to be honest. He really did bellow it too, it must be his word of the week. It did nothing to ease my stress levels I can tell you.

My own opinion is that she has pitched up with some sweet old lady somewhere and is busy eating her out of house and home - I can see her now, opening her big green eyes and miaowing like she's never been fed, a poster child for the SSPCA. I really hope she makes it home, but as time goes by I'm starting to wonder. My misery has been compounded by my new neighbour ( a fearsome woman who resembles Popeye, but with blonde hair ), who told me of a spate of cat nappings in the area a couple of years ago, "for the greyhounds". I don't want to even think about that. :(

Onto matters more positive, I had a splendid time in The Highlands, we took a cable car up the Nevis Range and the above picture was taken there, fabulous views. From just south of Fortwilliam we took the Corran Ferry to Ardgour and drove out to Ardnamurchan. It really is a place of exceptional natural beauty and peace, lucky as we were to be able to watch some herons nesting, and to simply enjoy the glorious landscape and blazing sun. Later in the week we were booked to do some off-road driving in a Landrover Defender and once I got over my initial nerves I was driving around like Mr. Magoo with "go faster" stripes, it was a hoot.

In fact, lately I've begun to appreciate the outdoors a lot more and have recently discovered the merits of running, ( yes, really ). I don't claim for one minute to be able to run particularly fast or for long periods of time but I love it, the rush of adrenalin is fantastic and I have managed to shed a further 7 pounds whilst pounding around with my Ipod too.

As you know if you have read my inane witterings as far back as that, last year I had a rather nasty scare when I found a lump, every woman's worst nightmare, ( not to mention what my Sis went through ). So, this year myself and a group of my girl friends are doing the "Race for Life" in Glasgow on Sunday June 5th, to raise money for cancer research. I have set up a fund raising page under my nom de plume so that anyone who reads my blog may also donate to Marie Curie too, a very worthy cause. I have set my target at £500 which is very attainable I would say so dig deep people !!
If you'd like to sponsor me you can do so without giving any of your personal information through this here link -

http://www.justgiving.com/Laura-Lee4

Thank you SOOOO much in advance, I will let you know how it all goes and how much I manage to raise too.

LL xx

Shakespeare and "Sorry"

In the grand scheme of things, I'd rather not have been around when Shakespeare was writing one of his masterpieces. With all that backstabbing ( metaphorically and physically speaking ) that was going on, by the end of one of his productions, almost the entire cast has been murdered or they've gone stark raving mad. I remember with a tremendous fondness being brought to see Zepherelli's production of Romeo and Juliet and being absolutely gutted at the end. "Nooooo, don't do that, she's not really dead, she's .... Oh." ( As I recall, the whole excursion was almost ruined by a couple of eegits who bellowed during the love scene "Good man yerself" but a steely glare from Sr. Bernadette soon sorted that. )

After that we went on to do The Scottish Play, and Lady M remains one of my favourite characters to this day. ( I don't suppose it occurred to anyone to tell her that all the sweet perfumes of Arabia would do nothing to help a psychotic episode but then it was centuries ago. )

The reason I'm having fond Shakespearian thoughts is because on Saturday, J took me to the Theatre Royal in Glasgow to see King Lear and it was wonderful. When the lead character carried Cordelia onto the stage for the final scene, I must admit my waterproof mascara was tested to the max. ( In fact I made my excuses and made for the ladies after curtain fall, only to run into a regular client and his wife, but she was too busy exchanging air-kisses with the creme de la creme of Glasgow society to notice the animated wink he sent my way - cheeky sod. )

A few things have had me deep in thought lately, not in a maudlin way though.

About a month ago I had a serious falling out with a lady who means a lot to me, I lost my temper ( as did she ) and since we are both of a similar Celtic disposition ( for which read - feisty, hot headed and stubborn as mules ), a silence ensued that I know affected me deeply, perhaps her too, although it would kill her to admit it.

Then I went on tour to Newcastle and Susan and I watched the news coverage of the events in Japan unfolding with slack-jawed horror. These people were having their entire lives taken from them, their homes, their families, their everything. It really put my own gripes into perspective and so I did the unthinkable, I wrote a very long and very open email which in all honesty could have been summed up in one word - "Sorry".

Within 18 hours, came the reply, equally as laborious but which could be summarised as "It takes two people to have a row, so I guess I'm partially to blame too". ( If you knew the lady concerned, that really is an incredibly generous concession to blame, more than I expected actually. ;) )

Sometimes, to apologise and offer the hand of friendship is to be the bigger woman and I'm very glad I did.

LL xx

Tears, Tours and Tetanus

Morning all, I'm at home following a very enjoyable evening with a new client, what a gentleman. We had a laugh and a half, thank you D. :)

My phone has not stopped going for the past couple of days with texts and calls from some of the loveliest women I know. Jeez, I've been blown away. Amanda, Amber, Anna Aroma, Claire, Susan, Caitlin, Louise, Faye, Hannah - if I've forgotten anyone I apologise. They've all taken the time out to find out how I'm doing and I have been very tearful just reading the messages. Thank you ladies ( and also to the gents too, you know who you are. )

I'm doing OK, I don't really want to go into details but I'm staying positive. :)

Now then, I've done my diary until the end of August and my planned tours are as follows -

* London City - 22nd and 23rd of July
* Inverness incalls 29th and 30th July
* Newcastle incalls 3rd and 4th August
* Inverness incalls 12th and 13th August
* Carlisle incalls 18th and 19th August

I'm limited in my touring opportunities for August because at the end of the month I am off to Catalonia again with Mr F which I am looking forward to more than I can possibly describe, ( apart from the Ryanair flight, which can't be helped. )

Meanwhile it looks like we might need another trip to my GP. *sigh*

I have brought the light of my life up to love animals and if I catch her so much as squashing a spider she is in big trouble. There are two downsides to that.

1. She regularly marches into the kitchen announcing; "RIGHT, WE'RE ADOPTING A DOLPHIN." I have to carefully explain that whilst I appreciate it's only £5 a month and you even get a picture ( Goddamn those TV ads ) I already donate to animal charities every month and we both sponsor a dog.

2. She insists on petting every mutt tied up outside Asda. I have told her until I'm blue in the face that some dogs are very nervous and you can't just launch yourself on them to see if they fancy a belly rub. Yesterday this resulted in a short sharp shock which has just about broken skin and since I can't remember when she last had a tetanus, it's the doctor's tomorrow. Oh joy.

Have a great Sunday everyone.

LL xx

Reflections and realisations

Well, I made it. 7 hyperactive, over excited 8 to 11 year olds in a frenzy of pink and glitter. One very successful party and by the time their parents came to pick them up they were practically licking the windows. Success was mine.

I'm in quite a reflective mood today, is it really 9 years since I screamed the maternity hospital down ?

"I'M GOING TO DIE."

"No, you're doing fine love, it won't be long now."

"DON'T FUCKING PATRONISE ME."

Oh, the shame. Still, the midwife came to see me the next morning and I apologised profusely. "Heh, you can't do my job and be sensitive." True I suppose.

Speaking of being sensitive, when is it ok to finally admit to yourself that you just don't like someone ? Recently I have found it to be an incredibly liberating process. So, I have a person who I find to be patronising, sneaky, underhand and only capable of deriving pleasure from what they view as "getting one over" on another person, so as to make themselves feel intellectually or even morally superior. Why on earth did I try and convince myself for so long that I liked them ? Nope, they are everything I despise in a person and I cannot abide them. God that feels good.

The trick now I guess is to maintain my grace and a fixed smile in the interests of peace. Speaking of peace, it's mid term and so my little darling is off school until Thursday. *sigh* It's thundering down with rain today so I'm struggling to find something to keep us both amused. I'm thinking about a museum.

I did have an incall scheduled for this afternoon but have had to cancel because I have strained or pulled a muscle in my neck / shoulder and it is absolutely throbbing. Even when I cough it's sore, so I may need the doc. In the meantime I'm just going to take it easy and chill out, not least because one of my slaves has booked an appointment with me in Inverness on Friday, so I need to have a good swing back in my arm, hehe.

Yours in deep heat and liquid ibuprofen,

LL xx