Friday 1st May 2009:
I’ve been looking at alternatives to Geocities. There’s plenty of stuff out there, but it’s just finding something that suits me. The prospect of building a new site is all a bit daunting at the moment, you know, it doesn’t thrill me. Part of me thinks just stick with the devil you know and upgrade to Yahoo’s new hosting plan and part of me thinks, no, fuck Yahoo, I don’t like the way they deal with people. I’ve been distracted with thinking about what to do, which isn’t endearing me to the men folk. I tossed and turned in bed all last night. In the end, after just about knocking his teeth out with my elbow, Shane threatened to use bondage tape to secure my arms to my sides if I didn’t settle down. Given half a chance Dick would have used it anyway, but thankfully he wasn’t allowed anywhere near it.
I woke up tired this morning and consequently incurred Shane’s wrath yet again after chucking his breakfast all over the floor, not on purpose I hasten to add. Like I said, I was tired and not concentrating properly. I upset the pan that I’d just cracked half a dozen eggs into with the intention of scrambling them. The floor was awash with chicken embryo. I was seriously pissed off and picking up the pan hurled it into the sink and then promptly went arse over tit as I lost my footing on the slimy floor. Raw egg goes on forever and coats everything in goo. Shane came downstairs and into the kitchen to find me floundering in the bloody stuff. I felt like a seagull caught in an oil slick. I needed someone from Greenpeace to gently extricate me and wash me down in a nice warm soapy bath. What I got was a demand to know what the aunt Fanny I thought I was playing at, followed by a command to get the mess cleaned up and breakfast on the table pronto, or he’d be late for work and he had an early appointment.
I’d like to thank those of you who have written to suggest web site alternatives. I’d also like to apologise because I’m way behind with answering emails. I just haven’t had the energy. Like I said, I’ve been a bit depressed lately, so I hope those who haven’t yet had a reply will forgive me. A couple of weeks ago Shane suggested that I see a grief counsellor. I say suggested, he actually insisted and made an appointment for me. I thought I was coping okay, but I wasn’t. It seems to be helping a bit.
Anyway, I’ve got jobs to be getting on with so I’d better get with them or I’ll get my cute little derriere roasted.
Tuesday 12th May 2009:
I’ve been busy playing web tourist and doing a lot of site seeing lately. Thanks again to everyone who has made suggestions. I’ve found a possible and I’m experimenting with it. I’ll keep you posted.
We had a couple of guests staying over the weekend. They were a spillover from some bdsm event that Leo was hosting at his house. More people had turned out than he had bedrooms to accommodate, so we took the overflow. I vaguely knew one of them, Ken, I’d met him before at Leo’s, but the other one, a bulky over-tanned bald bloke called Gary, was a complete stranger. He was clearly intrigued by our domestic set up and kept making remarks that were loaded with sexual innuendo, especially where I was concerned. It was obvious that he wanted to get into my jeans. He referred to me as ‘boy’ a couple of times too, which I really didn’t like. The Daddies are the only ones that have the right to refer to me as ‘boy’ because that’s what I am; I’m their boy. He had the nerve to ask Shane if he could play a scene with me. Shane coldly declined and made it plain that I was strictly private property; he also made it plain that as far as Gary was concerned my name was Gillibran. He had a few words with Leo regarding the calibre of guest he had sent our way. To give him his due, Leo was furious to learn that we’d been made to feel uncomfortable in our own home. Apparently he doesn’t know Gary that well himself, he’d been vouched for by another guest. He sent his apologies to us all.
Dick and I are going to the pictures tonight, we’re going to see Wolverine. I’m looking forward to it. Shane isn’t interested. Sitting in a dark cinema amongst a load of popcorn chomping, coke-slurping strangers is his idea of hell. Some folk have no sense of adventure. Ciao for now.
Friday 15th May 2009:
It’s pissing down here, and cold with it. Mind you if the rain helps bring down the pollen count I’ll be grateful, and so will Dick. Poor papa bear is sore afflicted with hay fever and has been very grumpy as a result. He seems even worse this year than he was last and his meds aren’t bringing him much relief. According to Eileen, some trees that don’t normally expel pollen have decided that this is their year to ring the changes by contributing to the misery suffered by folk with sensitive nasal passages. Dick got verbally mauled last night for chatting to Rob on the phone while Shane was trying to listen to the news. Dick retaliated by giving Shane the martyred nail buffing treatment. Shane was in no mood for sulking by buffing. He plucked the buffer out of his hand and slapped it down on the coffee table. The pair of them then sat glaring at the telly for a good half hour without speaking. Shane broke the silence by sneezing several times, whereupon Dick sweetly voiced a concern that Shane might have contracted swine flu, the emphasis on swine clearly indicating that Dick felt Shane was closely related to the porcine species. Shane would have remonstrated, only he was overtaken by another volley of sneezes. Sympathy overrode annoyance and Dick offered to give him a massage under a hot shower in the hope the combination of steam and touch would relax and relief him. The offer was gladly taken up and judging from the sounds I heard, relief was given in more than one respect. Dirty Daddies.
We couldn’t get in to see Wolverine the other night; it was full for the time we wanted, so we ended up seeing Star Trek. I enjoyed it, but Dick wasn’t impressed. He thought it was boring and too reliant on special effects. You can’t please all of the people all of the time. I was quite happy to let myself be impressed by special effects instead of being picky about plot and character development. We went for a curry afterwards and had a pleasant argument about what constituted a good film, or a good book. The general conclusion was that it was down to personal taste.
I’m not looking forward to this weekend. Penny and the Muppet are coming through for a visit. I did try to put her off by saying foot and mouth disease was rampant in the area and really it wasn’t advisable for cows to travel (Lie detector says: GILLI!) Oh all right, I didn’t really say that. I’m a polite boy I am. Besides, she’d only sprag on me to Shane and I wouldn’t be able to sit down for a week. She’s been even more down on me since the Christmas cake business. I didn’t tell you did I? She refused point blank to believe that her cake could have gone mouldy; she’d never had a cake go mouldy on her, she always doused it in brandy, it couldn’t possibly go mouldy because alcohol was a preservative! She made a right song and dance about it. Of course her suspicions fell on me, especially when she tasted ‘my’ cake and detected brandy. I claimed that I too had spooned brandy over my Christmas cake to keep it moist and staunchly denied any wrongdoing. I stood by the claim that the cake was mine and soaked up compliments as to how delicious it was (well I did do the icing) Shane was also suspicious and I got my comeuppance in the form of being forbidden to eat any of the cake myself, seeing as I’d foolishly put alcohol in it. He didn’t want me risking an episode. I was a bit gutted because I do love Christmas cake. I didn’t dare argue though. I did finally admit the truth to Dick. He told me I was very naughty and gave me a mock spanking, but he was more inclined to be amused than anything else.
I’d better budge my booty and get on with some work.
Tuesday 26th May 2009:
Shane and I had a quiet Bank Holiday weekend together. Dick went down South on Sunday to visit the parental pile. His mother was hosting some kind of posh garden party for a charity that she’s a patron of and she wanted him there. Shane and I were supposed to go with him, but I was taken ill on Friday afternoon. I had an episode. I hadn’t felt well all morning, and really I shouldn’t have gone out, but I wanted to get my hair trimmed and take some stuff into the cleaners. It happened on the bus on the way home. I was gazing out of the window thinking about nothing in particular when I got the aura and then my muscles went into spasm and I started trembling. I felt the usual wash of abject terror and decided that I needed to get off the bus as quickly as possible. I rang the bell and stood up, but I was so shaky and panic stricken that I lost my balance and fell. I hit my head on the metal side of a seat and knocked myself out for a few seconds. Despite my protests that I was fine, shaken, but fine, the bloody bus driver called an ambulance. I could have throttled her. I felt such a fool. The paramedics then insisted that I go to hospital for a check up because I’d hit my head and lost consciousness. I was in the midst of saying that I was just hunky dory, ta very much, when another episode hit me, a strong one too. The bang to my nut had obviously upset my already oversensitive brain. That was it, no more arguments; it was blue lights all the way to the hospital. I was as sick as a dog at the hospital and it was decided that I should be kept in overnight for observation. I would have preferred to go home, but Shane was adamant, I was following the doctor’s advice and staying put and that was that. He was a pain in the arse all weekend; he wouldn’t let me do a thing. He put me to bed the moment we got back from the hospital on Saturday lunchtime and kept me there until Monday morning. I was to rest, rest and rest some more, or so help him, he’d tan my tiresome boy’s arse. Actually, it was quite nice to be cosseted. I did feel a bit fragile. I had a stinking headache. I slept a lot, I always do after an episode, and I slept better for knowing that he was close by.
The weekend that Penny and the Muppet stayed was horrible. Shane and I had a major run in, yours truly was the loser, as per usual when it comes to a Daddy/boy conflict of wills.
Got to go. Dick’s at home today and it’s his considered opinion that I’ve been on the computer for long enough.
