The fat man is dead to me.

That is is. Christmas is over for me.

Every year I have been good, I have bowed to the commercial pressure of Christmas and prayed to the fat man in a red suit for a Playstation 3.

I look under my tree today - the first xmas tree I have rigged in years by the way - and still it is not there.

Boxing day sales, here I come. If you want something good, it seems you have to buy it yourself!

Merry Christmas folks.

Not dead yet.

To quote Twain, the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.

The bike is yet to provide more danger than an increased heart rate and surge of adrenaline. It is still surpassed in risk by activities like kite surfing in over 30 knots of wind as per yesterday afternoon.

Some how I have managed to retain my licence and all my skin despite the little red thoroughbred wanting to get up on it's back wheel and scream away with the slightest twist of the wrist.

I may be getting older and more under control but I have to laugh at every idiot in a car that honestly thinks there is some point in trying to race against a bike like this. I refuse to play the game. Mostly. There just is no point, I will save the heroics for the track days.

Other than that, the silly season has arrived, girls keep turning up to various parties in short little Santa dresses and I feel obliged to unwrap as many presents as I get offered. I blame the bike for my bad boy lifestyle right now.

I have a guest post to put up in a day or so that has been sitting in my inbox for some time now so I promise to dig it out and get it up here for your entertainement.

Horny

So this is post number 69. I was thinking of telling some tale of sexy curves, erotic fantasies, leather, rubber and natural highs that drugs can't beat.

Instead I will just show you a picture of my new bike I picked up on the weekend.

If it goes quiet for a while here it is because I am off riding and having big boys toy kinda fun.

If it goes really quiet for a long time, you know I have left a greasy stain on a road somewhere.

Rest assured, if the latter happens, I had a smile on my dial right up until it was obvious it was going wrong :)

A word of advice to the jilted

Use me for sex.

Use me for entertainment.

Use me for the conversation.

Use me for the dance.

Hell, use me to cook you dinner or take you to a movie. I don't care.

I am all about the experience and if I don't want to do it I wont play along unless I really like you.

That said, don't waste your time trying to get back at an ex by parading me around as your new, better than the last dude, piece of fluff.

I don't care but it is waste of energy.

Girls, when you get dumped by a guy there is a little secret that you need to know.

He does not give a shit who you are fucking next. He dumped you.

He will be happy to see you fucking anyone because it means you are not fucking him.

If you make a scene of being seen in front of him and he turns to his mates in deep conversation do you want to know what he is saying?

"Poor sod, I give him three weeks before he realises......."

He will be happy you have moved on and will pity the guy that got you next.

He will not be jealous.

He will not be hurt.

He will be happy that it is me, not him standing in your arms.

As for me, I will be thinking "This is not cool, this is out of whack....think I need to put the brakes on this real soon..."

"Caio bella. It was fun for a few nights but I don't need this shit."

At least you know what I will be thinking when you do the show for me with my replacement :)

Making waves

For those that know me, I don't sleep a lot. I stay up late and start early in the morning.

Most people will spend about one third or more of their life asleep, for me I think it will be less than a quarter. Granted it is probably not healthy but that is a whole other issue.

Despite this I love a good bed. The mattress on my workbench is one of my most indulgent purchases and I smile every time I slide between the sheets as it embraces me. Until recently.

I have discovered an old lover. She was long forgotten and relegated to the too hard basket of bedroom conflicts. Now I find her in my mind, tickling my fancy and making me wonder if I could go back to her.

That 70's/80's fad, the water bed has re-entered my life.

Walk back in time with me for a moment. At about age ten, my parents upgraded from a single bladder, hard sided water bed to a baffled, soft sided model. After some begging and pleading I got myself the queen sized cast off.

So began a love affair that ended in the way of all great Greek tragedies....well minus the sodomy.

For those that have not enjoyed a water bed I must explain the attraction. First of all is the temperature. Water beds are heated but the key here is that with careful adjustment with the seasons you can tweak them to the perfect temperature.

In winter, you make it slightly warm so that when you get under the covers there is no shivering or squealing as your nut sack hits the cold sheets. Better still, in the hot Aussie summers you can dial the temperature down a little so that the bed actually draws heat from your body meaning you can comfortably sleep through a 35 degree night with the covers on, never breaking a sweat.

The second benefit is the support. I can't explain it any other way except to say that there are no pressure points and to me it just feels magical. The bed hugs you back.

Finally there is the wave assist when making the sex. It is the original green power solution, where every third stroke is free. Seriously, if you get your timing right it is bloody amazing.

Having said that, it can be a bit like having an extra partner in the room because if you forget that this is a three way team it can get pear shaped pretty quick and normally ends in an accidental head butt, bruised kidneys or a chipped tooth.

The sea is an unforgiving mistress and water beds are a close relative.

So back to the original story.

I had a few years waiting for the first pube to sprout after getting my first water bed, then a few more waiting for a girl to appreciate the idea. There was then more time wasted waiting for my parents to not be at home and the girl to be in the right place, right mood and well you get the idea.

Fortunately I was young, flexible and had good balance. In no time at all I had mastered the bed and the novelty value of being the only boy with a queen sized water bed paid dividends.

Then the romance soured.

Girlfriend after girlfriend balked at the idea of a lifetime of water bed goodness. Despite an upgrade to a wave less model, like princesses of old the bed was too hard, too soft, too difficult to get out of or too scary to make love in. My attachment to my bed and resolve that I would find a woman that loved the water bed as much as me finally failed in about 2000 with my move to Melbourne.

With a tear and the exchange of cash, my bed went to a spotty teenager with a grin and sense of adventure. I knew I was selling him a bitter sweat pill but some things just have to be learnt the hard way.

Over time, the pain of the loss faded as I came to grips with a normal bed. The cold sheets and sweaty nights became the norm and she was forgotten. Relegated to the rose coloured memories of milk in bottles and near misses with fireworks.

Until recently.

The girl is tall and wears short skirts. She is a master of 3.5 inch heels and is as graceful dancing in them as she is just walking down the street. Her hair reaches her bum but looks as great up as it does down. Spilled over a pillow it is worthy of a photo shoot.

She is smart and has a wicked sense of the naughty. I thought she may be out of my league but I am always up for a challenge. A few dates in and I was back at her apartment with things going swimmingly when she got a serious look on her face.

"I have to warn you about something before we get to the bedroom..."

Oh fuck I thought...she's got the clap...or her period...I hope it is just her period.....

"My bed, is well, not normal. It can take some getting used to"

No...it can't be...."Different how?" I asked trying to hide my excitement.

"It moves..."

"Vibrates or ripples?" I asked, gently chewing on my lower lip in anticipation.

"Ripples....it can be a little tricky until you learn how to use it to your advantage."

"I think I love you...." I just blurted it out like an amateur, nearly blowing with excitement.

Needless to say it was like riding a bike. The bed, not her. She is like a freaking bronco but the bed is like an old friend.

To be honest I am yet to just slip into it and fall asleep without an hour or more of aerobics but I wake feeling more refreshed, happy and rested than I have in years.

I could almost put up with just about any nonsense from this girl for no other reason than that bed. It has me staying away from home at nights and driving an hour to work rather than the 5 minutes from my own house.

Crazy stuff this thing called love.

Pushing tin

It is after 3:30am and I am feeling it in all the right places.

The big trip away was a pain in the ass. Sure it was fun at times but the weather was crap and the competition (not dancing) I was doing was adversely affected by it. The end result was a very expensive little jolly to drink beer, eat average food - read: crumbed and deep fried pig or chicken.

The other problem was that it also conflicted with preparations for a dance champs that were held on Saturday. My partner was well amused by the three week intrusion on our training.

As per my "Pumped" post, we won a heat and made the finals of a showcase competition. This was also tied in with a national freestyle competition where we had to defend the tile we won about 5 months back.

For simplicity, my dance partner shall now be known as HotStuff.

With the jet lag monster on my back after arriving home on Wednesday, I found that Memphis Steve and others had hosted a small party here and trashed the joint. I was eternally grateful Fingers left the Brain at home while visiting and the only damage was a pile of empty beer cans to wade through.

With no time to sleep or clean up, I was straight in to training for this comp. We had two sessions to get back up to speed for normal free style competition and a 3 minute song to finish choreographing and rehearse.

On Thursday night I figured we were stuffed. By Friday night it was feeling good but still a little behind the level we knew were capable of performing at. The routine was finished but not quite in muscle memory.

A ten minute rehearsal today proved again that we were actually stuffed and the vibe from Thursday was spot on. We crashed in both practice runs, forgetting moves and worse still, not dancing cleanly through the mistakes like nothing had gone wrong. It was demoralising with all the other competitors looking on smugly and writing us off.

I celebrated our readiness with a bathroom visit worthy of a vindaloo gone wrong while HotStuff sobbed in the girls bathroom. She swears she just got dust in her eye but we were both gutted and not at all happy with how the day was starting.

Picking ourselves up, the competition started and in no time we were straight through to the finals of our first event which is scored individually for guys and girls. A few hours later and we had made the semi finals of the main event too, the one were were defending a title at. The showcase was still a few hours off so we kept sneaking away between heats to walk it through and try to lock it into our heads.

With a clean run through the semi finals it was time for finals fever and things were looking back on track. We came out of event one with a second for me and first for HotStuff. Personally I was pissed at being first looser but that is just me. HotStuff was beaming and that was going to help for the final of the main freestyle event.

With the pressure of defending but confidence of having won before we took it all to the floor and bought home first place with a successful defence. It felt fantastic but was overshadowed by the impending showcase performance which we now knew we were going to be the first to actually perform.

With a freaking great white spot light burning out my retinas we slipped into the song with HotStuff working every hip roll and making the most of an expanse of 21 year old flesh running from pubis to boob that was as distracting under my fingers as it was to the spectators. Amazingly we nailed it all bar one move that we spontaneously replaced with another after a brief blank moment on my behalf.

Like a pro HotStuff just followed me where I steered her and beamed 4 beats later as we slipped back into the cory like it was always planned that way.

The torture was not over. Reality TV shows seem to have made it hip and cool to shove a mike in the hands of the judges and let them tear into competitors before holding up their scores for the cheers and boos of the crowd. This is a seriously non fun place to be when you have already hung your ass in the wind for the last three minutes.

Fortunately they either liked what we had done or were still finding their voice. The criticisms sounded mild compared to the bollocking some of the following competitors copped so we were very happy to have been up first.

The combined results of the judges and the spectators (everyone could vote) saw us take out third place and a whack of cash.

I am still stunned. I never expected a placing in the showcase.

With all the dancing done by 12:30am it was time to hit a pub and have a few beers. Being a bunch of light weights who had hardly eaten all day and had been dancing on and off for the best part of 12 hours, two pints did us in. That and they shut the pub and no one could be bothered looking for another one.

So here I am with three trophies from the three events I entered and feeling pretty damn happy with myself.

How good was your weekend?

Going, going, Gone

Been to busy to post of late, slack I know but hey, whay can you do?

Just getting on yet another plane to go somewhere cool.

Life sucks. See you on the other side.

Pumped

Some would say it is necessary to be humble in victory.

I think those are the same people who never win.

Early last week my dance partner and I decided to enter a competition. We had to choose a song, choreograph some sort of routine to it and commit it to memory before what is now last night. I think we put in less than 8 hours work total.

We are far from pro's at this and certainly have never worked on a showcase type performance before. Our opposition started preparing two months ago.

A final rehearsal this afternoon before the event had the butterflies in a frenzy as we crashed run through after run through. Forgetting moves, muffing the exits of others and basically feeling like we had made a very bad mistake entering. We were so fucked.

Our shared dinner was pushed around the plate and mostly left untouched, much to the amusement of friends who were trying to reassure us we would do fine.

They had not seen what we were going to do.

Our turn to perform came around too soon. The lights felt like a solarium but floor was clear and ours to play on.

We were off and on auto pilot. Two moves in and a weight came off my shoulders. We could do this. We own this floor.

And we did.

We won.

It is now 2:30 am and that was nearly five hours ago. I am still pumped.

My dance partner is curled up in bed with her boyfriend and just messaged me.

"Hey Champ. Hot like wasabi baby! Thanks, you rock!!!"

Can't wipe the smile of my dial right now.

Random thought

Watching the Olympics the other day I was struck with curiosity about the medals being issued at the 2008 games.

There is obviously a lot of importance attached to these items.

On one had you have the recipients who have spent the best part of their life working towards the achievement, and on the other is the host nation who attempt to make a design that captures the event and the flavour of their nation.

I wondered that as China moves into a position of global power if they had enough self awareness to make sure that the medals carried those words that the western world have embraced with open arms.

"Made in China"

Short but sweet

The Christian has been fed to the lions so we are back to our regular programming.

It was my first break up via email which was right on par for her PDA scripted life. The weekend had gone swimmingly with dancing, dining and sexin without the sexin. If you know what I mean..

The wheels however started to fall of on Sunday morning right about the time she needed to be congregating.

The plan had been for her early departure to attend her church. This was obviously going to mess with my Sunday morning worship at the love cave but there are some sacrifices that need to be made right?

It was however going to give me a perfectly timed leave pass to go kite surfing. After all, it was blowing a freaking gale and despite the Arctic chill in the air it had been weeks since my last blast on the water.

The plans changed. It seemed that she had swapped a morning at church for some prerecorded sermons that she could listen to.

Now I am about as tolerant as they come but there are a few things that tick me off.

1) Changing the radio station in my car without invitation when you are a passenger.
2) Re-activating the Christian TV channel on my HD receiver
3) Talking about God as if he is in the room when I can clearly see that there is only the two of us here.
4) Any form of hypocrisy regarding your belief system.
5) Smelly people who can't dance.

This lady smelt nice and she is a great dancer so you can guess which 4 of the 5 she hit out on in our short time together.

With the sun starting to stream into the house and the rumble of motorbikes going for their Sunday morning sprint she announced she was getting up to listen to her sermons.

I thought about sorting myself out briefly but then figured that after her fill of God she may be feeling turned on so I would steady my hand for now. With that thought I rolled over and went straight back to sleep.

After another hour of sleep I awoke to hear the house filled with fire and brimstone. Some dude had written on the walls of Babylon and then someone else suggested it was the hand of God rather than some kids with too much time and paint on their hands.

I chuckled and thought of Monty Pythons "Life of Brian" then proceeded to put a pillow over my head to muffle my laughter and filter out the silliness coming out of my home theater system.

Emerging from the bedroom it quickly became apparent that my neighbors could probably hear the sermon too. Not very cool.

After politely declining the offer to join her on the couch to listen in, I suggested a lower volume might be more appropriate or maybe this really nice pair of Senheizer headphones even more so....

In knocking back the headphones there was only one other option to clear my head - fresh ground coffee. The buzz of the grinder gave me a full 30 seconds of aural insulation from His words coming out of my speakers. A moment later I made a second cup for no other reason than to use the grinder again.

Eventually she almost got the point but swapped the sermon from the mount for some good wholesome Christian radio instead. It was about now that I lost it.

Wishing to avoid a confrontation, I loaded my car with kite surfing gear and suggested that the party was over and it was time for me to pay homage to Poseidon and the Anemoi gods with a new and hip twist care of Mr Cabrinha.

We hooked up again later that afternoon for a bit of a dance and dinner but things were getting a little awkward. My lack of faith, or rather my adoration of false idols was obviously rubbing the wrong way a little.

Monday night and the email arrived with a cheery beep. There was more talk of the list, the need for children to be presented with a consistent view of the world from their parents and that she was sure that He would find her the right man.

The insinuation was of course that I was not that man.

Finally something we saw eye to eye on.

I replied in the affirmative that backing off was a great idea.

An interesting post script to all this is that we are both booked into a weekend of dancing in a few weeks time where we were to share a room. On further discussion as to how this was going to work she replied that the idea of a naughty weekend sounded like a lot of fun so we should not change any plans.

Brilliant, I suppose I can abide breaking of rule number 4 after all.

The list

"We are not really right for each other." she said.

"I know that, but why do you think so?"

She leaned forward and kissed me hard, fingers exploring my chest, twisting my right nipple into an explosion of hot pain. I sucked back a breath in surprise and she bit down on my lip in response making me gasp again.

Is this for real I wondered?

Straddling my lap she leaned back to reach for her purse.

"I have a list and there are some problems."

Her PDA was being held between us, pen poised to mark the verdict.

Everything was recorded, indexed, noted and stored on that little box. From films seen and unseen to favourite ice cream flavours by brand and location. It seemed that I too had made the database. Her electronic replacement for the little black book.

It was yet another quirk in a very unique individual. The more I learned the more intrigued I became.

She was like a trap that you knew was set but the cheese just looked so damn tasty that you had to see if you could nibble it and run away without springing the catch.

"So what is on the list?"

"The main things, the important things..."

"Do I get graded?"

"No, it is binary - 1 for yes and 0 for no. No is bad. Take religion and faith for example.."

"A mechanism for controlling people, a sad and self inflicted joke on humanity that has done more harm than good" I smirked.

"See that would be a zero"

"Mark it down then, that is what I believe"

She kissed me again.

"What was that for, I thought zero was bad?"

"It is but question 2 is honesty and for your first answer you get a one for question 2"

"You're warped"

"No, it is just the way it is. you can believe what you want, I know that god loves me and that I love Him"

"Well you don't need me then do you?"

"Silly man..I can't dance with Jesus now can I?"

Her breasts jiggled excitedly as she giggled. I gently bounced her on my lap to make them sway a little more.

"Are you right there mister?"

"Yep, never been better, so what else have I already been scored on?"

"Cats equal a big zero don't they?"

"Yep, dogs only please and even then not until I have kids and get tied to home more..."

"Kids is good so you get a 1 there"

"Only one? how about two or three?"

The list went on and I was not scoring so well. I already knew this though. I knew this without needing a list or a PDA. I knew this before I actually spoke more than a dozen words to her all those months back. So how was I here?

I focused on the breasts again. Hmmm they were as good a reason as any.

Two hands held my head and we kissed again.

"You are not listening are you?"

"Yes! you said no sex before marriage because it changes everything and causes you to break up and you think that God will make it all work out if you don't put out..."

"Well, what do you think of that?"

"I think if we are going to break up before we have even started going out then we might as well have sex so there is a good reason to break up"

"But what if it works out that we should be together?"

"Then God will forgive you for getting your sexin on early and it will still work out."

"But what if that is not His plan?"

"Hey, if your god is a Him as you keep calling him, then I am betting sex is in his plan, lots of sex. Didn't you read your bible? Lots of begatting to be done, that is the plan."

"I will have to think about that"

"Take your time, I like to delay my pleasure" as my gaze dropped back to her breasts.

The PDA dropped onto the couch and bounced from one corner to the other. With hands now free her nails dug into my chest and raked at the skin. Gently at first then harder until red welts followed them like the con trails of an airliner. My back arched until we were locked in an embrace and her hands started on my back.

"This will never work" she hissed in my ear. "..but we don't need to spoil tonight by talking about that any more"

"Sounds like a plan to me"

It lives...

Wow, what a rush.

So since this is me writing this post it is safe to say that I survived my adventures. it was great fun, worked with some amazing people, performed my role to perfection (even if I say so myself!) and the best part is, that while my part was a success, others were no so lucky which means I have to do it all again some day.

I am excited about that and the idea of having a full year to prepare rather than a few months.

Some time soon I will get back on track with talk of other fun things and the mess that is my love life - as if you care but it is pretty funny right now.

See you all when I have done a months worth of washing.

Some crazy shit.

I have been away and as much as I wanted to write before I left, I just plain ran out of time.

But I am back...for a day or two. Then away again.

Next week will see some challenges, a journey and adventure that dwarfs most of my others to date. The risks on this one are real and while not nervous I am aware that this is dangerous stuff.

Those that know me for real will know where to look for the details and here is hoping I don't leave a crater in the dust. There is too much other cool stuff to be done yet.

A wise friend once pointed out that dying while doing what you love just means you stuffed up - no one will enjoy knowing that fact in the moments before their last breath.

I have to agree.

Talk to you all in about a week.

Nasty Nanna

Why the fuck do people presume that because you are at a dance class that you have to dance with them?

Folks there is a serious downside to this dancing caper and it is the scary and nasty nannas you can cop in a class rotation.

I am sad to say that it is not all (but mostly) perky young fun out there.

I got told off tonight buy this old cow because I stepped out at the end of a class for a much needed drink of water and dare I say it, to rest my weary legs.

Now, I know it is not totally cool, and I seldom do it to people but this bitch is just wrong.

She can't dance, she won't follow and I just could not face four minutes of arm wrestling on the floor with someone lacking the flexibility to wipe their own arse without a brush on a stick.

When there was a break for announcements, I made my apologies and bolted for the bar.

As I was sitting there necking a schooner of water (you know the hard stuff) she strode over and gave me a dressing down asking me if it would hurt to just have one song with her? Am I too good for her?

I was fuming. I wanted to get right back in her face;

Actually nanna, I fucking am! If I am working at a venue then sure, I will dance with every person that asks because that is what you do but on my own dime I will dance with who I like to dance with, and politely accept that they too have the right to brush me off if they choose not to dance with me. Get with the program!

Instead I gave some lame excuse about sore knees (had to pick something the old fart could relate too) then had to stand around like a dick rubbing them for the next two songs before picking the youngest hottest dancer to go and rip up the floor to the Black Eyes Peas - Pump It.

I don't think she bought the excuse...

Rock you

This is an intermission in the preceding story. Other stuff has just happened that I am too excited about not to have a moment of grinning.

Those of you who read here know I love my dancing - Yada, yada, yada.

Well I have started competing and tonight just gone was a pretty major event. I was feeling under prepared but ready to have fun.

Obviously we were better prepared than I thought, well that is what the trophy I am looking at says anyhow - 1st place kids. We killed it.

Time for some well earned sleep - at 2:23am :)

I'm going straight to hell..

Antagonising the deeply faithful seems to have become a wicked little past time of mine.

Now before I get onto the meat of this story I need to take confession. If that last line does not give it away, I am indeed by baptism a child of the Catholic church.

I had the dubious joy of attending a Catholic school and even spent a few early years of that time under the brutal rule of the "Brothers".

My time under the influence of the strap taught me two things in life. Firstly, I actually did more work when threatened with a solid beating and secondly the callous and malicious behavior of those representing their God on earth seems to be directly proportional to their level of faith in a God who, on face value to me at least, really does not give a shit or is also tending towards the masochistic.

It is also possible that He is rather poorly organised and hence the problems that should be fixed with a wave of the hand just keep getting put of until next week.

By now you probably understand that for me, faith in God is not really an option. It just does not compute for me as an individual, to believe that I am part of someone's giant ant farm play thing.

A religious education did nothing other than teach me that religion = control and wealth. I would not go so far as to say control of the weak minded but I do lean that way.

Don't even get me started on the mixing of religion and state...

So back to the fun stuff.

Every now and then on my search for a mate, I meet someone who's faith rules their life. For me this is like bad teeth are to Fanny or an unwashed butt crack to Phish. Pretty much a deal breaker.

The last one of these had beautiful olive skin, deep green eyes and curves in all the right places. She could talk the leg of a chair and seemed totally in touch with her sexuality as far as God willed it. It seemed that his will stopped short of sex before marriage which she proudly announced on our first date. We had met once before but circumstances had us get to know each other via the phone for about ten days before finally meeting again in the flesh.

The date was to be a meet and greet, some dancing and a chance to see if the initial connection was real or imagined. I have to admit that by this time I was already a little dubious as to how far all this might actually go. Our previous conversations had covered the level of her faith, her activity in her church and her feelings on the whole sex before marriage issue. All this was covered between graphic descriptions of how she was sorting herself out while thinking about all the other things you could do while not having sex.

On meeting in the street I was polite and went for a gentle kiss on the cheek. I closed my eyes for a moment too long and found a tongue in my mouth. Hello!

Over dinner she announced that as we were going to be out an about on a work night and her home was so far away, she had come prepared and had her clothes for the morning and a toothbrush for the night. She was going to stay at my place if that was ok.

Um, ok.

To be continued.....

Effing hacks.

You know when you do something against your better judgement and the result equals your worst nightmare?

You know you should not be surprised or disappointed but you are and can't help it.

You hang your head in shame at your stupidity at being duped.

Well, that is how I feel after shelling out the clams to see Indiana Jones and the kingdom of the crystal skull.

The reviews were ok, even enthusiastic that they had pulled it off. I think they were paid or drugged or are sad fanboys who don't know a descent screenplay from used toilet paper.

It sucks big hairy balls. George Lucas is a fucking hack and deserves to have all his pencils confiscated lest he ever attempt to put them to paper again.

Sure, the first movie was the only really good one in the now quadrilogy and if there is another man out there that seems capable of making mountains of money out if shit sequels then Lucas is the man.

I should not be surprised he stuffed this one up too.

Harrison Ford must have needed the cash and Cate Blanchet (My Cate, what were you thinking?) should have known better.

I was bored. I actually turned my phone on to check the time and prayed for a call so I could leave the theatre. I laughed at one joke and only because it had nothing to do with the actual story on screen.

There was no need to jump the shark with this movie Mr Lucas. Fans would have enjoyed the ride with so much less.

Sure I sound like I have had a bad day and some may say I was not in the right mood for it.

Not so. Until 15 minutes into the film, I was having a great day. A fine meal with a fine woman after a successful day/week of work. I was looking forward to this movie. I was relaxed and had my sense of disbelief suspended and stowed in preparation for the 125 minute ride.

It was not me, it was the movie.

Do not spend your money.

Do not see the film.

Do not sully your eyes with the crap that is Indian Jones and the kingdom of the crystal skull.

/RANT

The scent of a woman

I have gone a bit dance crazy of late with upwards of 12 hours a week spent pushing myself around the floor in classes, training for a routine, training for a competition and also a fair bit of good old social dancing.

I am loving it and the ache in my feet, calves and knees is not about to slow me down.

I am lucky to have some great friends and some wonderful ladies that are amazing to dance with. There is a level of sensuality and trust bordering on the erotic at times and the sexual tension can be powerful.

Tonight hit a new level.

Her scent pulled at my loins. My pulse was thumping in my ears and there was a lump in my throat.

We were so close, she in front and me behind. My hand pressing down on the top of her hips - fingers spread over the top of her thighs.

Her body was pressed against mine, leaning back into me. My head resting on her shoulder. All I could smell was her light musk of perspiration.

I wanted to gently taste it. To lick, tenderly from her exposed shoulder to the back of her ear.

The desire to make contact was intoxicating.

She could read my thoughts, or it felt that way. She leaned back into me a little harder as we gently squeezed down together in a lunge.

The end of the phrase in the music was rushing towards us. It was time to break the spell and send her spinning out and away to safety.

At arms length we locked eyes. She smiled a wicked smile.

With a spin and a dip the song was over and we left the floor hand in hand as friends not lovers and she returned to her group of friends.

A mate approached me.

"What the hell happened just then?"

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.

"Dude, you just had a massive moment. The whole fucking room could see it - you may as well have just had sex right there in the middle of the floor."

Sprung. Some things you just can't hide.

Did I tell you I like dancing?

Tech gone wrong

I am, or should I say was, always pleased that there are very few things with buttons and software that could outsmart me.

Today however I got publicly humiliated by my new mobile phone.

Standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop waiting to order my lunch I hear the familiar ping of an inbound text message and the comforting vibration in my pocket.

I was pretty chuffed, here was an excuse to pull this shiny new bit of hardware out in public.

Now this was not about showing off or anything but just to casually look loved, needed and connected with a very sexy new phone.

Sliding the phone open and selecting the message I noticed the stunning girl with olive skin and green eyes behind the counter catch my eye and give a little nod approval at my phone selection.

Then it all went wrong.

I bumped a button on the key pad while eye fucking the chick.

I still am not sure which one. Which button, not which chick that is...anyhow.

The phone started to speak in a crazy, slightly English but very robotic female voice.

And a very, fucking, loud, voice at that.

Heads started to turn.

At first I did not realise that the noise was coming from my phone. Like everyone else I was wondering if there were ever female Darleks and if Captain Jack and the Doctor were going to turn up and start snogging.

By the time it registered that it was my phone, reading out my text message, it was too late. People had stopped to listen in.

I fumbled for the right key to shut it up - not realising that sliding the phone shut only locked the key pad and added another 4 seconds of torment before I got another go at shutting it up.

I never got there. The entire message was played to a captive and disturbingly quiet audience.

I now know, down to the very last second how long it takes to make a great flat white.

The barista was true pro. Not a smirk or a role of the eyes, not an opening to explain or a hint that even she had heard it above the pumping heart of the espresso machine. Until I reached for my coffee.

The corner of her lips curled up, just enough to say that she heard and more than enough to say that there was not point trying to explain.

I hope you enjoy the message as much as my fellow caffeine addicts did today.

Identity crisis

I had an odd text message exchange yesterday with my dance partner.

"Hey, you wanna come to superdance with me tomorrow"

"I am working on Friday until 1:30 and WTF is superdance?"

"Cool, it opens at 2 - I was not going to spend all day there.."

"So what is it?"

"A shoe shop silly :)"

"WTF makes you think I want to go shoe shopping with you? I have never even gone shoe shopping with a GF before let alone a mate!"

"They are dance shoes!"

"Uh ok, count me in."

And there it is folks, with five little words I have been relegated to the roll of a straight man playing the gay shopping partner for a 21 year old hottie.

Here is hoping I find some new dance shoes, get laid or both...

Complications

As I crash onwards through this life my moral compass seems to have left me drifting in a sea of temptation and complications.

With a smile and a flick of the eyes she said there was a line. She was not sure where the line was but we would know when we got to it.

The story was the same as I have heard so often of late. He ignores me, I need more, I am as horny as all hell but he is always tired. The list of complaints went on. What is wrong with these men? Service your bloody women or cut them loose.

In my world, like anyone else's there are many links between people. Shagging the girlfriend of an acquaintance has consequences for all involved. I know this all to well having been on the wrong end of that stick before.

Yet here I am. The alarm bells the quietest they have ever been, washed out by the blood pumping in my ears at the thought of what is about to happen.

We talk about it. Probably for too long but long enough to know the deal.

My position is that I have nothing to offer afterwards. We will not and can never be partners, the drama it would generate in our community is mind blowing. If this happens, if we seek out that magical line then it is for now and to quench a thirst we share.

Her position is different. She thinks she wants more. To be out of her relationship and to start one with me.

I re-enforce my position and stand my ground. I want to be clear, open and honest. That will not happen.

We kiss and explore each other. It feels like it should and the world fades into the background. The consequences forgotten and lost between fresh hotel sheets.

There is no real guilt for me and that is the only thing that scares me. I used to be different and I don't know what has changed.

Box watching

With all the stuff I am out and about doing it takes a good show to get me to sit down and watch TV.

Recently I got a tip off from a mate. It went something like this.

"It is a western with lots of swearing, but it is so well made and hard to describe...just trust me ok?"

Now normally I expect this person to a be a little more articulate so I took the offered season one DVD's of Deadwood from him and despite the less than inspiring synopsis I gave it a whirl.

I now know why he was recommending it and why he struggled to capture the essence of the show in 20 words or less.

Firstly, there is a hell of a lot if swearing - IMDB comments that Fuck is used over 2980 times in the 36 episodes. That is a spectacular average of one F bomb being dropped every 43 seconds of the show. Cocksucker also gets a beating along with a multitude of variations and permutation of snatch, cunt and pussy.

With that in mind you wonder how easy it would be to sit through - after all it makes Eddie Murphy in Delirious or Raw look like Bill Cosby kissing babies.

The answer is that it fits the characters and the scenario perfectly. While I am guessing the language is not period correct, it just works and in no time you will be calling co-workers cocksucker and cunt and wondering why they are staring at you.

The good news is that there is also a story with most of the characters drawn from real life and the whole thing loosely planted in actual history . Calamity Jane, Wild Bill Hickok are probably two well know names from the wild west but the real meat in this show lies with Al Swearengen. He is charismatic, rough, rude and ruthless - everything a bar and brothel owner should be.

A classic quote from Al after a family were murdered and robbed; "God rest the souls of that poor family... and pussy's half price for the next 15 minutes."

The story is well layered with great character development and lots of people to love and hate. Despite the obvious traps and stereo types the genre would be exposed to, it manages to walk a line rarely trodden in this sort of show and avoids telling you who is the good guy and who is the bad.

So, track it down and allocate some time, it is well worth the viewing and after the first season I am already disappointed that it only did three seasons and 36 episodes in total.

Seen it? Let me know what you thought.

Oh, and I just found this on Youtube - Fucking brilliant!

What pisses me off.

OK, time for a mini rant.

First of all if you really want to easily offend, upset or risk someone looking everywhere else to buy stuff rather than deal with you then do the following;

Today a rep turned up at my office to press the flesh, make sure we were happy with the service, show us some new products blah, blah, blah.

I realise that this is what they do but seriously, he had nothing new product wise to show, no nice pens or calendars for me and basically wasted a good fifteen minutes of my long, long day to say stuff all.

Just when I thought it could get no worse and just as he is finally leaving he kicks in with the kids question.

"So when are you going to get serious and have some kids? Surprised your parents are'nt onto you by now for that grandchild!" he grinned. "No sooner did I get the first one out, than my folks were asking for the second..."

I was stunned. How fucking presumptuous. Now maybe I was having a bad day, but to me and to a whole lot of other folks, these sort of comments can cut deep.

I also loved the way his shoulders went back and the chest puffed up that little bit when he said "No sooner did I get the first one out.." like he actually gave birth to it. Twat.

It takes a fair bit to rattle me, but I closed the door to my office after showing it to him with a forced smile and damn near punched the wall I was that pissed off.

Seriously, if someone does not have kids and has not raised the subject personally, show some tact and presume that they either have chosen not to or worst still, can't. Either way it is none of your fucking business!

There is enough shit at work without strangers reminding you of the top item on your to-do list that you have not been able to recruit the right staff for. My boys are swimming, the dude all works and I will have kids one day but until then, next subject.

Secondly, how do the police force expect respect when they carry on like this;

I have a short trip to work. When I am feeling excited or awake I even ride a bike. The section of road I have to travel is frequented by police eager to bust people for speeding and as such, at least in this area, I don't.

Now I don't think it is unreasonable that cops, unless on the way to save a life, obey the speed limit. Speeding to go find someone speeding is not in my opinion necessary, safe or how the game should be played.

In the past week though, I have seen highway patrol cars tailgating, doing illegal U turns and weaving in and out of traffic so they could get their shitty little radar gun onto some dude doing 5km/h over the limit. The irony being that the cops were doing a good 20km/h more than the guy they were busting.

I had one cop filling my mirrors as I sat in the left lane, cruise control pegged on 60. The right lane was clear but oh no, he crept up to my bumper then slid back before creeping up again and then backing off.

This went on for a good couple of kilometres before he pulled out around me, zoomed off at about 100km/h in the 60 zone and over the horizon on some urgent mission.

You know what he was in a hurry for? Yep, he was waiting just over the crest of a hill, checking my speed as I slid on by, still on cruise control and at the speed limit. Twat.

Now, that really wound me up. They wonder why people don't respect them when they do shit like that.

So that is it, other than the fact it is 2am, I have to get out of bed for work in about 4 hours and no amount of redtube.com is going get me to sleep, life is good.

Come here, come here, go away.

Go away now. Come here!

To say I am confused is an understatement but then again when have we ever really understood this shit?

The plan was simple, head north for some sun, water, kite boarding and fun.


There were no ulterior motives, no need for romps of a sexual nature. Indeed no desire other than the desire to nail new moves on the board, spare my liver a total trauma and avoid complications and entanglements amongst friends, both new and old.

Well the wind failed us and I was left with no other choice than to dance and drink then dance some more. As the hours melted away the discussion of sleeping arrangements heated up.

For me this was simple. I had a nice thick self inflating mattress and a coffin shaped sleeping bag for one. It was my cocoon and haven. It could go anywhere and everywhere and shuttle me safely through to the dawn as it had done so often before.

For others it was not so clear cut.

There were beds and girls in them. The couples were coupled and had their rooms which just left me and three girls to sort out the rest.

The discussion went like this;

"So you two have that room and he and I will share the double bed in the loft." said girl 1

"Its all cool, I will just sleep here on my camp bed" I said.

"No, you cant do that" said girl 2 "I don't think girl 1 is comfortable with sharing a bed with you but I will if you like?"

"Um, I am really happy with my camp bed out here. She can have the double bed to herself." I said

"I tell you what, how about if Girl 2 and him share the double and Girl 1 has the single bed in my room" interjected girl 3

"I am not sleeping in a single bed" said Girl 1 "He will sleep in the double with me - it is settled"

"I am happy with..."

"Shut up, it is settled, you are in with me" said girl 1. "No one is sleeping on the floor!"

Girl 2 scowled at Girl 1. Girl 3 changed tracks on the Ipod while I drank my rum and giggled a little.

Then I too scowled because I realised there would be no wind in the morning. That was more vexing than where I slept.

The hours went by and the fridge got emptied. The music was good but the numbers thinned as a thunderstorm rolled and rumbled out to sea.

Girl 3 retired to her room with the two single beds and then there were five.

The conversation came back to where we were sleeping. I wanted to roll out my camp bed right there on the balcony and watch the stars and listen to the surf - it was magic.

I was not allowed to.

Girl 1 grabbed my elbow requesting assistance with her bag to the loft and boudoir with the double bed. Girl 2 scowled and announced she was off to bed in the room with two single beds.

There was much huffing and a goodnight hug that was too long for even alcohol to explain away.

We bade her goodnight and resumed last drinks on the balcony. Then there were four and it was at 4am. The symmetry was fitting of the beauty of the moon lit night.

There was a commotion from inside and the serenity was broken.

Girl 2 appeared from behind a mountain of bedding and pillows. Poked her head through the door to the balcony and declared that it was all sorted. She would sleep with Girl 1 and I could have the single bed.

"I am happy with my camp...."

"Shut the fuck up. I will be so pissed off if you sleep on that thing while I am up here in the bed with her. You have the single bed. End of conversation ok?"

"ok..."

Girl 1 looked at me with puppy dog eyes and pouted.

I giggled into my rum. I never wanted to share a bed with Girl 1. I never wanted to share the bed with Girl 2.

As I descended the stairs I could hear heated words from above.

"I thought we agreed..." "But you know I wanted...." "Well I am not going to just sit back..."

I shook my head and smiled the crooked smile of a drunk while negotiating stairs that were determined to kill me.

Girl 3 was in the room at the other end of the house. A room with an en suite bathroom and two concrete floors separating it from Girls 1 and 2. As I crept around in the dark and unrolled my sleeping bag a voice slid out of the darkness behind me.

"hello you....."

The fog lifted in my head a little. Ah, girl 3. The really cute one.

Come back summer.

I have things to say and not the time to write them.

I have things to do but not enough hours to do them all.

I have a blog that needs love and attention but not the motivation to give it the care it needs. For now.

Though technically summer has passed, I am busy wringing the last bits of warmth from the sun and water before the cool settles in for real.

When googling for an image of Apollo, Ra, Helios or Horus in honor of the various sun gods, I found this.

I swear google is trying to mess with my head in subtle but cruel ways. I was so disturbed I just had to share the load.

See you all as soon as the sun goes down and life returns to normal. If there is such a thing.

The predators are not just big cats.

Yes folks, I am back and survived the big cats and charging bull elephants. I have a nice big tan rug with teeth for the front of the fire place and a fantastic little elephants foot to put my umbrellas in at the front door.

But that is not why I am writing today. It seemed that lions, leopards and hippo were the least threatening creatures in the wilds of Kenya.

No, it was a crazy German woman that posed the greatest threat.

Emirates are sneaky fuckers and after the trip from hell on the way out of the country they saved all the nice bits for the return trip to try and woo me into using them next time.

It will never happen.

They slipped a little transit in at Bangkok that was not on any itinerary that I ever saw but it served to empty the plane and give me three blissful seats to stretch out on and sleep in as much comfortas can be had in cattle class.

At this point I have say that I do love the Boeing 777 compared to the nasty little Airbus 340 - as the geeks who know the difference say; "If it's not Boeing, I'm not going..."

Anyhow, the people at Emirates must have known I had been in the bush just a little too long and seated me near what can only be described as a seriously horny old(er) woman. She was in the same row as me with the center four seats to herself.

Before take off she leaned over and started the normal small talk about how she hoped they would close the door soon and won't it be great if all these seats stay empty. I was polite but we very quickly hit my quota for airplane chit chat. I had a good book to read, 100+ movies to choose from and to be frank I just was not interested in wasting all this new found space.

I had not been in the bush that long.

After take off she again leaned over and gushed about all the space and how it was almost lonely where she was. Would I like to join her for dinner in the centre isle?

Que the batting fake eyelids...

With the raised side of my noise cancelling headsets dropping back onto my head, I politely declined. I had three seats which is a luxury that I was not going to forgo at meal time when every inch of elbow room is a blessing.

She attempted a few more intrusions into my personal space but I deftly parried her with a constant stare into the glowing screen in front of me despite the fact it was only telling me how high we were and what speed were doing - all in Arabic of course.

With the meal devoured it was time for a sleep and I curled up in my luxury suite and forgot the world.

When I awoke something had changed. I had a moment of ely*.

Peering over my legs I could see movement in the center isle. There was a second person who had obviously taken up the offer of helping relieve the boredom and lonesomeness on the long haul flight.

I am not normally motivated towards voyeurism but I was curious. I was sure she had been making a pass at me before but not to be deterred she had obviously gone cruising the plane for a snack that was more accommodating.

Curiosity got the better of me and I surreptitiously gawked through the darkness to gauge just how they intended to accomplish the feat and exactly how far it would go.

After a fair amount of furtive shuffling under the blanket by the two I gave up watching and went back to sleep. What ever they were up to, he was sure getting the better end of the deal and I decided there was enough flight ahead of me to have nightmares if I kept watching.

Well, that and I think she noticed my gob smacked stare.

When I awoke the man was gone. She sat there with a grin on her face and smiled at me and shrugged her shoulders, her head cocked slightly as if to say slide on over.

A chill ran down my spine and I carefully returned my eyes to the screen in front of me. Like a child I honestly wanted to believe that what you could not see did not exist.

Here was a predator of the top tier not more than six feet away. She was scared through years of battle and no doubt had a gamy leg where her hip had been put out during some other in-flight entanglement.

My mouth was dry. I was all alone like a babe split from the heard and there was not a Land Rover or Askari in sight to protect me.

It was a rough thing to sleep the rest of that flight. The jet lag is killing me and it should have been cured by a sleep on that last leg home - damn her!


* ely (n). The first, tiniest inkling you get that something, somewhere, has gone terribly wrong.
(From the meaning of Liff by Douglas Adams)

PS: Kenya is an amazing place. It is probably the safest part of Africa despite what the media have been saying of late.

If you have even the tiniest motivation to go then now is a great time. The tourist numbers are so low that camps are closing or reducing staff in the Masai Mara and some amazing deals are there to be had for the trip of a life time.

Sure it is not the migration season and the mind numbing volumes of animals are not there but they are just about all there in smaller numbers to be seen. A visit now could save you a fortune and having done both a trip during migration and one in the off season, I have to say that the smaller numbers of tourists more than makes up for the smaller numbers of wildlife.

The wildebeest are a dumb as sheep anyhow so do you really need to see 1,000,000 of the idiots?

The big 5 cats are there and are doing their thing. Get a good camera and go!

No I am not a travel agent either - I have just fallen in love with the country, it's people and the animals.

Point me to the architect please..

What moron designed Dubai airport? Please stand up so I can kick your sorry arse.

It seems that Dubai has a mandatory minimum transit time of about four hours which means that the terminal is packed to the rafters with smelly, grumpy and worn out travellers who only want two things.

1) to get on with their trip as soon as they can.
2) somewhere to sit until number 1 happens.

As a structure it has all the really nice curves and huge glass expanses that make it feel like a sci-fi gold fish bowl. It had free WiFi net access from one end to the other. It also has the most tasteless expanses of imported marble on the floors and walls.

It is the only place where I swear you could by a Porsche duty free. Seriously, who buys cars at the airport!!!!

What it lacks is enough chairs to seat all transient population. What it also lacks is carpet along the walls making it impossible to retreat from the main traffic thorough fares if you want to plant your butt betwixt the wall and floor.

I mean you can, but it is on cold hard marble. Not my first choice in building materials for beds, couches or sun lounges.

Anyhow, maybe I am just worn out and emotional because having just done 14 hours in cattle class on the smallest seat ever (don't let me start on about Emirates as an airline...) the feckers would not let me in the first class lounge for a comfy chair and free beverages.

My advice for what it is worth, go via Singapore every fucking time. That is how you build an airport!

Eat me...

Ok kids. I'm orf!

I have the mandatory Wilbur Smith novel in hand, my pith hat on my head and I am heading into deepest darkest Africa for a jolly.

As Captain Oats said to Scott - I may be away some time...

Have fun and if I survive I may bore you with a slide show on my return.

Woops I did it again!

No, I have not flashed my bits to paparazzi, no I am not cruising around town with an unsecured toddler.

I have been attempting to break bits of my body in the pursuit of happiness.

Well that is a bit melodramatic but I am a boy and by all accounts we don't do pain and suffering very well.

With summer technically drawing to a close it was with a rush of blood to the head that I hit the water yesterday afternoon for a bit of kite boarding. It was an average afternoon with just enough wind to get going but the sun was out and the water was warm.

My circle of kite buddies is rapidly growing and no less than a dozen text messages bounced around between us all to confirm where we were going and what the wind was doing.

It was like a demo day with people swapping kites and boards and generally showing off.

The biggest kites amongst us were a couple of 16m beasts. These things are like tractors and in 10knots will blast you along very nicely indeed. In 15 knots anyone under about 95kg will start to get nervous. Above that screaming and large amounts of air time starts to be compulsory.

At this point I have to admit that technically I am a n00b in this sport. Sure I can get up and going and have even started doing small jumps and turns but at that point where ego exceeds skill level I end up with a salt water flush of my sinuses and generally entertain those sitting on the beach or sailing next to me.

Yesterday was no different.

On a 16 and heading towards the beach, I found myself on a little gust and the beach was coming up fast. Much faster than expected.

At this point there are two little physics lessons you should know about kite surfing.

1) The faster you steer the kite, the more power it generates - fast movements of the kite over your head will result in huge airtime. This is how you jump!

2) The more people watching, the bigger the crash.

I started to turn the kite back to other tack while trying to ease the power off and initiate the turn but a 16 is a big kite and it moves slowly. I was running out of water.

I turned the kite a bit faster and knew I was peering over that bleeding edge.

Silence. I am flying! Cool...

oops...not cool!

Eject, Eject, Eject!

I kick the board from my feet as the sand appears under me, I keep the kite over my head and power it up again to control the landing. At this point I am well outside my skill set and know it.

The landing is awkward and I roll my right ankle and go down like the proverbial sack of potatoes. Rolling forward and straight back to my feet looking cool - all be it covered from head to toe in sand.

My ears are ringing with the laughter from the peanut gallery.

I do what all self respecting blokes do. I ignore the pain in the ankle, I grab the board and return to the water in a defiant cloud of spray and a wave to the crowd. For about another 30 minutes.

What
A
TOOL!

Today I can hardly walk. The peanut gallery were not fooled either. They got to watch me limp around the beach packing up and again later as we left the Thai restaurant. Even a great feed and a few Bundy and cokes could not fix it.

I hope I can get it sorted before tomorrow - there is more boarding to be done and dancing during the week. I have watched a movie already with the ankle bound and elevated and I am over it!

Less limping and more action please.

It hurts so good.

My feet are bound tight in my Bloch jazz trainers, a bead of sweat is swelling on my brow while another two chase each other down the small of my back.

Head thrown back, the water feels like it is being injected into my veins as soon as it hits the back of my dry throat; a cool wave of hydration that rolls and crashes over my body from under the skin.

I don't think I have drunk so much and pissed so little in my life.

Bringing my eyes back to level I smirk to myself noticing that my foot is still tapping in time with the music despite the ache in my joints and the thigh that threatens to cramp.

As the music builds to the end of the phrase I scan the floor for the best couple to see how they will work the hit - always looking, always hungry for more style and ideas. I count down the beats in my head and cock my head as the guy leads the dip early then snaps his partner back up right on the hit. Her hair flys forward and her head rests on his shoulder. Classy.

As the song fades out I see a pair of hands point towards me and roll outwards, palms facing the ceiling. Her smile in concert with the hands draws me onto the floor.

I don't know her name but she is smooth as silk. I need smooth right now and the song that starts is just right for my mood as well.

Better Than Ezra – Juicy

The first few moves are like sampling a fine wine. There is cascade of sensations that are intoxicating. A splash of enthusiasm mixed with fear of the unknown. The scent of magic yet to be unleashed.

We roll around each other, gently guiding and exploring how the other reacts to the music and our signals. I keep it subtle but firm and it is working well. The smallest pressure and body lead sends her where I want her to go. We are connected in dance and lock smiling eyes.

The pain fades. The aches are forgotten and there is only the two of us moving as one with chests expanded and shoulders back. We are in a ball of colour and the world is grey around us.

Two songs later and we are done for. The weekend has caught up with us and the last schooner of water has been boiled out of my muscles already - it is time for more.

We leave the floor hand in hand like life long lovers and with a gentle squeeze say our thanks for sharing that moment in time. It has meant everything and nothing all at once.

As out fingers part I am dragged back into the present. The pending cramp is back and demanding my attention. My body screams abuse at me and I feel the first mouthful of water evaporate on my tongue in a puff of steam.

Friday seems like a week ago. Counting on my fingers I realise that in the past 42 hours I have been on the dance floor in one form or another for about 28 hours.

I have done kicks, tricks, threesomes and competition styling workshops. I have had an hour of yoga and Tai Chi which hurt as much as anything else but I am sure was the only thing that got me though the two hours of lifts and aerials. Now it is time to stop. My body has quit and wants to go home.

Another pair of hands beckons and I follow my legs onto the dance floor before I even know what is happening.

I smile warmly to a new stranger with soft hands and the most incredible triple spins.....

Woe is me.

I feel happy. I feel sore. I feel tired.

Saturday was an annual fancy dress party at a good friends place. They have the sort of parties that everyone looks forward to. Great music, always themed and well attended. They have a survivors book that you only get to sign if you survive until sunrise.

Need I explain further why I am tired?

This party was a uniform party. We had all the French maids, naughty police officers and nasty nurses you could poke your stick at.

They also had a proper pole dancing pole - with elevated base and rotating pole. By the morning it had been witness to some spectacular gymnastics along with some not so sexy stuff from the lads, me included.

I honestly think that if you are having a party, a pole is a must have. It makes for a great sideshow and brings out the be(a)st in the ladies.

The other great ingredient is a heated pool. At about 2am it was time to get swimming with the obligatory bomb off the first story balcony into a pool populated with half naked women folk - just fantastic.

A very polite and mandatory visit from the local coppers at about 3am had the volume turned down but did not prevent the hard core few going to the blissful end.

After a quick trip home for a few hours sleep and a change back into real clothes it was time to hit the water for an afternoon on the kite board. It was only a few hours but I learnt a new trick, got to show off in front of my lady lover and now feel like I have done about 1000 crunches. Damn it is is good workout.

That is where the sore bit comes from.

And happy? well in a few weeks I am off again on an adventure to Africa. A wonderful week in the Masai Mara, with some luck away from all the trouble and political violence. The down side is I am travelling alone but timing and the risk of travelling in Kenya did not really make it viable to take a partner this time around.

Technically it is work and it will be hard work at that. I can however tell you from past experience, one face to face with a pride of lions and you forget the 14 hour days you are putting in and relish in the fact that you are getting paid to work in an area that most people consider the trip of a life time.

Life is good.

Our Cate.....she's gorgeous!

Sometimes I surprise myself.

Tonight I had a night in. No sailing or dancing for me.

While relaxing in front of the idiot box I stumbled onto a documentary on the ABC, In the company of actors.

It was a behind-the-scenes look at the creation of the New York production of Andrew Upton's Hedda Gabler starring Cate Blanchett and Hugo Weaving.

Back in 2004 I had the amazing pleasure of seeing the original Sydney Theatre Company production before they took it to New York in 2006.

I love great theatre and the exchange that takes place between stage and audience. Sitting in the front row (I was so, so lucky with the tickets) at times a hand full of feet away from Cate and Hugo was mesmerising. Cate in particular has an intensity that even her best film work does not quite do justice to once you have seen her live.

Little snippets of the actual performance made me smile, laugh and even clap - all while alone in my lounge room. Seeing inside the rehearsals and watching the artists interact, bounce in and out of character while looking for the right tone or movement or position was a delight.

The documentary wrapped at the end of opening night at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. I found myself with a tear in my eye as the cast took their bow to a standing ovation in front of what is considered one of the most educated, if not conservative, theatre audiences in the world.

You know something was good when three years on and the echoes of emotions lived during a live performance come burbling up and kick you in the teeth.

What a rewarding night in.

Absence makes the hits go yonder..

Sorry folks, I am officially a slack bastard. While visiting you all and even slipping in the odd comment here and there, I have sadly forgotten to update my own blog with the promised sequel to the last adventure.

I have however finally replied to the comments on the last post so apologies for ignoring you all.

It is on it's way but I just have not had time to give it the attention it deserves.

Part of the problem is that summer is here in full swing in good old Sydney town. Summer never arrives until just before school goes back and generally right when work is getting that whole frantic, start of the year atmosphere.

Summer also means more Kite surfing and yacht racing (Yipee!!!) and less time in the glow of this here monitor. That is just the way it is ok.

As I type I have just come home from a great little twilight race. The day was a stinker at over 34 degrees Celsius but with a cool change and thunderstorms forecast to cool it all down about mid race.

We had a bunch of guests (read sponsors) on for the race. As the black clouds rolled over the city and harbour and the fat drops of rain started to hit the deck, they ran for cover to the comfy confines of the cabin.

Except one.

She got it. She was not there just to swig the champagne and be taken on a joy ride. She was interested in the race, her face was lit by the moment and the action as the rest of us race crew kept pushing the yacht to the finish line.

I don't know her name, I hardly had a chance to say two words to her but she obviously enjoying being out there in the heart of a storm, wet hair frizzing up and chin set against the pounding rain.

I love it when people get excited. I love enthusiastic people. It was almost as good as the race it's self just knowing how much fun she had on this wild and wet evening.

The other suits missed out. You know they will be telling tales of their big race and the "perfect storm" and just slipping past the bit about sitting it out on the leather seats below deck.

Comment of the afternoon; "Have we won yet?...let me know if it stops raining ok?"

Twat. Even the mystery girl rolled her eyes at that one.

The gift of love

The anticipation was too much, waiting for Christmas day to arrive was never going to happen. After all, some presents are never meant to be opened in front of grandma and the kids.

I had been bouncing from blog to blog, comment to commenter when I landed on a discussion about glass dildos. Hours of research later and just a little bit of self relief later I had made a purchase for a special friend.

As a fan of the muff, one of my greatest and least elegant struggles has been to work some sweet penetration and a little G spot play while dining down there.

A toy is by far the best answer I have found. It gives me reach and control without finger cramps or the need to break lip and tongue contact on the lady in question.

The toy I purchased looks like this one.

To our surprise the coloured bits were stick on and weeks later I am still finding them around the house in the strangest of places. A note for the fun loving public, always wash your gift before giving because it sure breaks the mood if the reaction is as desired when they unwrap this beauty.

There is a fantastic range out there to every one's taste and kink. They are fantastic pieces of art that fill the roll of function too.

The test drive went something like this;

I had let on about a week beforehand that I had made a purchase. Her eyes lit up with curiosity quickly followed by a sly smile when I let on that she might have to receive this gift in private.

When we returned home from a function the gift was waiting on the bed, wrapped in silver paper with a thin ribbon to match.

She gently hefted the box in one hand and shook it lightly. I smiled in anticipation of her reaction. Would she be shocked, scared or offended by this toy? We had not played with dildos in our short time together, it might be a bit forward, she may not like toys.

That would be sad.

I enjoy using toys on my lover, it opens up so many opportunities to explore and raise the intensity.

As the paper came of there was a sharp intake of breath and her eyes widened.

"Can we use it?" she asked.
"That was the idea." I replied, relieved at her acceptance.

As happens, passion took over and the gift remained snug in it's box as we kissed and fondled out way out of our clothes. While I wanted to get this bad boy into the action I also wanted to make sure she was as ready as can be. I wanted to taste every inch of her body and leave this glass magician to last. The Christmas gift was not just the toy but a session devoted to pussy worship and the introduction of our new bed partner.

She was restless and fidgety as I kissed the inside of her thighs. Every now and then she would sit up and reach out for me and I had to push her back gently with a kiss so she would relax and allow this to happen. While my cock was hard as all hell, this was for her and there was time for cock later.

As I parted her lips with my tongue I was greeted by her sweet taste. It is amazingly sweet and always wet and ready when I get there. With one finger holding her open just slightly I drifted my tongue along one side of her slit stopping just short of her clitoris. Breathing out gently on the hood for a moment before caressing the other side with my tongue.

The roll of her hips told me she was ready for a direct hit and I plunged my tongue deep into her pussy then licked from bottom to top, teasing over her clit and ending with a gentle suck that sent a shudder through her body.

After a little more time spent like that it was time to get serious. With one hand I groped around for the box and freed the toy from it's wrapping. As with any toy in a presentation box there is always a hidden twist tie to keep it looking just so and at I worked on her with one hand and the box with the other, the element of surprise was lost.

In hindsight it was a good thing. As she negotiated the unwrapping for me we became aware that the pink blobs in the shaft of this massager were in fact painted with a cellophane like material.

One of the painted bits peeled off in her hand as she stroked its length and got to know her new lovers form. As quick as I could it was off to a sink to gently remove the offending decorations with the bonus that the cool glass was now warmed and ready for action by the water.

Back in the bedroom and we were back on track in no time. Lying between her legs I raised my head so she could see me take the round head of the dildo in my mouth, applying a light coat of saliva.

I have never sucked a cock before and the head on this thing was impressive as it filled my mouth. I tingled as not for the first time I wondered how special it would feel to be a girl and how it would feel to be on the receiving end of this sort of gift.

As I pressed the head against her opening two hands appeared from above to hold her folds open for me. I lent in and flicked my tongue on her clit and pressed the dildo home slowly teasing it back and forth until the head broke though and slid inside her.

Looking up over her tummy I could see her head pushed back into the pillow, back arched and breasts heaving with each laboured breath. Her bottom lip was pinched between her teeth.

Pulling the dildo back I revelled in her lips gripping at the head before puckering around the shaft as I moved it deeper into her. I released my gaze on this beautiful sight to return attention to her clitoris with my tongue. Pressing it flat against the top of the dildo and licking firmly up to her clit tracing a firm circle around it once, twice then third time before driving back down to the dildo to taste more of her fresh juices on it's shaft.

With a gentle downward pressure the head of the dildo tilted up and hit home on her G spot. With firm and rhythmic strokes I took the cues from her body as to how much pressure and how deep to drive each time.

In no time her knees came up and closed me out as she drew her knees together. All I could do was drive the toy home and watch the show as she started to buck and weave under it's spell.

With a free hand I reached around to embrace a nipple and the touch was like an electric shock pushing her over the edge. I was no longer driving this train, it was crashing down hill with no brakes and all I could do was hold the base of this glass marvel as she rode it to the end of the line.

As the waves of contractions and shudders subsided I slowly tried to withdraw the toy. As the head pushed her open one last time it caused an aftershock almost equal to the first orgasm.

Curling up beside her on the bed, she rolled into my shoulder and lay their breathing hard. A small tear rolled onto her cheek and she smiled the glazed smile of the deeply pleasured.

"Thanks.." was all she could get out before we kissed.
"Merry Christmas" and was my reply when our lips parted.