No nudity please, we're British

Swimming this morning. Yikes! Mixed sex changing rooms.
Thankfully there was no nudity today.

Autumn Blues

I've been a bit low. No reason for it, just feeling a bit down.
Just feel as if I'm crap at everything these days. Maybe that's what happens when you get older. You doubt your own ability and that naturally slows you down. Leaves room in the world for the youngsters to start their ascent.
Yes, that's what it is. That and the autumn blues.
Not that I'm crap at all.
That's what I'll keep on telling myself anyway.

What is it with swimming baths and nudity?
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for naked bodies in the right context. Oh, and preferably if I know that person.
What I really object to is the huge nakedness that seems to follow you around changing rooms.
You're showering demurely, one piece bathing suit firmly in situ and minding your own business, when suddenly the person next to you peels off their cozzie and starts to scrub at parts that, quite frankly, should be kept under wraps at all times. Then to make matters worse, their friend stands at the other side of you and proceeds to carry out a conversation across you.
Last time this happened to me I was determined to stand my ground. Stoically ignoring the pair I showered and rinsed, swiftly stepping away from swinging bosoms at strategic points.
I almost came unstuck at one point when one lady dropped the soap. I could see from her face that it was only a matter of time before she bent to retrieve it, and so I decided I was clean enough. Time to make my retreat.
Just at that second she lunged forwards, at the same time as her pal, and I was caught in the middle.
Nowhere to turn to, just have to stay where I am shower, shower, showerrrr, brrr.
Eventually I got out and dressed. As I left the changing rooms the pair were still carrying on their little naked conversation, this time in the general area.
My last glance back showed a Blackpool seaside print of one large lady swiping a towel between her legs with a sawing motion.
Not a pretty sight.

I love em all really

I don't want you to get the wrong impression...I really do love all four of my lads. Even though I sometimes have a good old moan.
Take D for instance, he rang after 11pm last weekend. The old fella and I were just at a crucial point in the weekly nuptials when the 'phone by the bed interrupted us mid thrust.
"Shit. Who the bloody hell..?"
I picked up, feeling none too pleased, but had to mellow when I heard a chirpy little voice say "Hey mum, how are you?"
"Fine son." (The old fella grunts next to me at this point. He's realised D and I could be in for a long conversation and he's not sure he can sustain his interest until we've done.) "It sounds a bit noisy there. Where are you?"
"Just in the Union bar. Can you post me my Pokemon cards?" Waves of laughter in the background.
"How are you?" But it's too late. He's gone.
I turn to tof and nudge him out of a snore. "Still OK to go?"
He grunts, fiddles under the bedclothes a bit. "OK, just give it a minute."
Oh the joys of getting older.

Welcome back son. (How long did you say you were staying?)

I remember a Charlie Chan film I saw when I was a youngster, about a chinese detective with many sons, so many that he called them by numbers. It's a habit I fell into after our fourth son was born and we couldn't decide what to call him. He was number four for the six weeks before we registered him and I suppose it just kind of stuck.

Well number two son returned to the nest yesterday. And don't we know it!

Within two minutes of his arrival...with entourage of course, we were drafted in to give lifts, arrange food and generally wave goodbye to our quiet, settled existence.

Why has he returned? Another cash flow problem?
And just how long will he keep us in this state of nervous tension?

Well, at least until Hallowe'en is over. Seems he's going to be juggling fire-poi for the local kids. I just hope they have quick reflexes. Still, that's not as bad as his latest exploit...fire-breathing. 

I reckon that's a talent he discovered by accident. Probably when he last had a bottle of vodka in one hand and a spliff in the other.

Whoosh!

There you go.

Just got back from a trip to the town centre. Was accosted by a nubile young thing who asked if I'd like to have my eyebrows threaded in front of three hundred passers by. One lady was in the process of being done, leaning back in the reclining chair she actually looked at ease as her hirsuteness was attacked.
I declined the offer.
The only bits I need depilitating are not for public display.
Honestly...where will it end?
What has happened to the mystery?

On a further note, don't try doing pelvic floor exercises whilst driving in heavy traffic.
I know what you'll say...they can be done discreetly anywhere.
Not when you're supposed to concentrating on driving they're not!

I just hope the scratches will T cut out.