Friday, 29 April 2011

New sex club just down the road.

I was chatting online last night and my chatee suggested that I should visit a local sex club. Somehow I mentioned that such a place had opened a couple of miles away in an old police station and that it could somehow kick off a post, she suggested that I should sample their services first to add authenticity to the post, how we laughed, you had to be there, no not the club!
Funny thing sex. There are two dogs in this house driven demented by it, the boy dog thinks of almost nothing else, wants to suck and lick my toes as foreplay to trying to rape my leg! Saying no has driven him wild, now his old mother, about 90 in human years is giving off the chemical signals and you would think he had found and consumed a whole stash of interesting drugs! Given half a chance, when the moment is right he will arrive like an exocet missile for their incestuous coupling in as public a place as they can find.
Several recent blogs have mentioned the desperate interest in the contents of our underwear especially as a means of classifying us in their minds, always it is the sex in transsexual that seems to get them. Often there is no sex in transsexual! As curious as people seem to be 60  to 70% post GRS patients have reported not using the new equipment and those who want to often report difficulty finding any partner to play with. 
Strange how the rest of the population is not really willing to define themselves publicly with the exact contents of their underwear and just exactly what they do or would want to do with it. I am sure they woulds make the lives of most transsexuals seem very dull. For those who are not so shy there is the new club and clearly some do want the public to know what they have and how they want to use it
On this planet of six billion plus we are far from alone in our difficulty to easily find a compatible partner with all the handicaps of societies constantly changing rules through time and space battling with the random brainwashing by family and friends. Sometimes it is a wonder that there are any happy relationships out there as we play these games of sexual poker never fully able to declare our true hands.
Today they say the world is tuned in to watch the post coital matching of a couple of British  twenty somethings, perhaps it will be a better match than the one the bridegroom’s mother made when entitled to wear white and did not fully understand what she was signing on for. Why so much fuss when divorce has become so normal it is almost expected and should be incorporated into the ceremony, “Will thou take Will until lawyers do you part?”
I am happily married, not something my younger self could ever have imagined I could have written. By three I knew life had all gone wrong, the world did not see me in the role I knew should be mine and my role models were the happy same sex female couples which I encountered. By the time biology lessons had confirmed my fears and it was also confirmed that male / female couples were the only acceptable ones I really had given up on being part of this world and settled down to a solitary life. I had not even bothered to analyze my personal feelings and drives, experience had already told me that both sexes rejected my company and even if I could find a lesbian, why on earth would she choose me over the real deal!? Surely I told myself I was at he end of a very long line of millions probably so why even join the queue?
It is only recently that I have realised that I fit a definition of asexual. Not being too bothered or interested I had never really enquired! I had a drive all be it one which could hardly be measured by even the most sensitive instruments on the planet but it was actually there, well sometimes. I assumed asexual meant absolute zero activity but seems not. Even those in the category will engage with those they form bonds with, they don’t have to want the sex but we all perhaps want closeness and to make a partner happy. Not having any need for a male climax, preferred not to have the smelly sticky stuff everywhere to be honest, I could do the tantric thing and keep it available for a partner's pleasure indefinitely, until demanded to stop providing orgasms! Interestingly this service is not popular and the very small number who have tried it soon got bored. I loved being part of someone else’s desires, it was the trigger to what pleasure I derived along with the female body to play with. I am delving far back into the last century to remember these things!
I now love the utter calm of zero sex drive aided by the lack of testosterone and the HRT which you might have thought would increase it. Sex in films elicits no response beyond the analysis of the woman’s curves and wondering what on earth such a woman could possibly see in the horrible male she has been told to like! Finding a sex club in the vicinity merely caused a curious chain of thoughts on the strangeness of human sexuality and what would drive a couple to emulate the dogs on heat to publicly copulate with strangers of unknown cleanliness. No doubt this gives away my desire for adoration, serial monogamy and horror of disease. Link this with the fact that my drive has never really given me the urge to cross a room in search of sex let alone drive miles and pay entrance fees suggests that I shall not be spending tonight researching the facilities down the road.
I have sometimes felt like someone who has no sense of taste bewildered by those who spend their lives seeking out fabulous foods when you only need the right mix of protein, carbohydrate, fats, vitamins and a few trace elements to survive. I wonder what it must be like to be driven by desires and utterly open to experiencing being taken into the world of someone else’s lustful urges but it is not to be…
Good luck to those who do get their dreams fulfilled.

Sunday, 24 April 2011

Lazy Easter...

The plan to laze in this little paradise soaking a few rays of sunshine as the bones warm through this Easter has slightly backfired. Instead of this magic corner of France being driest and warmest it has for the first time ever all reversed. The meteo channel which I watch for the fashion parade of the women presenters and sometimes miss the weather,  warned of this for days so I worked on a few barrow loads of wood for the woodpile. Not a pristine pile of logs like the picture of Anna’s store a few days ago, the wood here is grubbed up vine stumps since folk here are changing from the old individual low vine bushes to taller wire trained vines which can be harvested with a super expensive machine, pickers are becoming a rare sight in the vineyards now. I wish they had pruned the stumps before creating a huge piled tangle across the road from the house but at least I thought the snipped up remnants of the last year would make good kindling. I survived admonishment for cutting up a woven basket weave chair to make a container for the bits, my sister inlaw loves watching things fall to bits in the garden! All tucked away well under cover from any possible rain ready to keep us cosy and even cook over I thought. The massed percussion which woke me was driving rain which soaked everything!

Often we live quietly over here while the restaurant works away, we don’t mind eating scraps sent over like the dogs do, like the foie gras yesterday lunch. Today was going to be quiet so we made up numbers for them and tried a new dish of egg and asparagus which was out of this world, someone has to test these things! We nearly got out of the restaurant before being invited to sit and chat to Eve and David who have just bought an abandoned wine store just a hundred metres away. They had come down a couple of years ago to the wedding of their friend who lives in the castle at the top of the village and fell in love with the area. She was tall and dressed in a fatigue green parachutist jump suit and looked so chic even though she had just taken a break from cleaning out junk abandoned half a century ago. Once we had helped them with their bottle of wine we went to survey the project, hope they have pots of money! 

There are a few holes starting to show in the roof which is probably why the owners decided to eventually sell, despite the horrendous downpour we have just had the floor was bone dry and the copper sulphate stored in hessian sacks showed no sign of ever seeing damp. She should have no trouble keeping her architect in order since David her partner (legal civil partnership!) is an architect in Paris while she is a sculptor. Ancient front door is in need of a rebuild at the bottom so she took me to show me one which had been repaired with great sympathy nearby, I said that it was a shame that the guy who had done that one was not coming to visit until next week since the rain had defined exactly where the limit of the problem was, she knows we are on the same wavelength, could be a friendship here! After we had explored the dark cavernous space and were about to leave the repair guy arrived! He knew that the rain would have defined the limit to the problem so drove out of his way with car full of family to check out the job, clearly some worthy folk still.

Now we find that Lisa (who would have thought there could be so many?) and friends of her’s we visited are up from Barcelona to eat  or local oysters and are booked for tonight and it is our job to amuse them and it means we get a chance to taste the goat dish they have on the go.

This is not us eating Sophie’s garden clearing goats as promised, The two virgin girl goats turned out to be a pregnant hussy and a castrated boy. The two baby goats turned out to be ultra cute but untamable menaces eating everyone else’s gardens so have been given away while the originals instead of being in the freezer have become registered pets! They are now to fussy about what they eat to be able to clear Sophie’s garden which is what she got them for in the first place!

Well that went really well, especially the brochette of interesting internal bits of goatette. Our visitors had eaten three dozen oysters each the previous day down at the lagoon, I think I had just short of a dozen last week, clearly not the appetite which I once had and certainly could not keep up with their drinking. They should get on with the high speed link to Barcelona then we could visit them more easily. Last time we went directly to a party from our airport arrival and even though we were far from central the car parking cost us more than the accommodation for four of us.
Through the colds and subsequent hacking cough phase we have taken up residence at opposite ends of this large bed / sitting room which Yanna built with en-suite bathroom for her mother who used to alternate between us every three months. Julie has lived in great luxury at the bedroom end while I have camped out in a single bed living like a refugee at the far end. Last night we were reunited and together slept like puppies till lunchtime! So much for Easter! They do not seem to bribe children with chocolate eggs here but they do ring the church bells for a special service just across the road, we both remember hearing the bells, making comments about them but immediately being soothed back into a coma. For someone who these days sleeps so little I find it strange just how much of the time here has been slept away.

The word for dust in French takes up half a line
this is a nest for dust!

Much of the rest of the time has been spent repairing things and gardening with an occasional trip out. My packed clothing was mostly for a good 4 to 5 degrees warmer so I have not been my glamorous self and after a week I found all our collection of clothes which we leave here, for me tatty working clothes which has reinforced something of a “not much change really” attitude slipping in. Yanna has grumbled that with less muscle strength I am not quite as useful as before, him and he still slips into conversations occasionally though more to a slight annoyance than outrage now. Rushing to the shop just before closing time dressed in rags was bound to bring out an incorrect response but they are so rare these days I wondered who they were talking to! Duh!

Tuesday, 19 April 2011

A grand day out.

The family do some outside catering along with other restaurant and B & B business. Our niece was going to a tourism conference in on of the nearby towns so persuaded them that she should do the lunch! After a lazy morning on our part four of us loaded the buffet into the back of the Kangoo and hit the motorway directly to the venue site for midday in Narbonne. Once delivered we were free to play and drove just a short distance to my new favourite large shop. Captain Picard has brought together large quantities of fresh produce from all over the galaxy to Grand Frais, no wonder people are flocking into the area! 
Picnic items added to what we found round the house and we were back on the toll road towards Carcasonne, a perfectly preserved mediaeval walled town before taking to the country roads towards Limoux where the “champagne method” of making sparkling wine was first discovered. It used to be one of our favourites but after hearing of some of the vile characters involved in the trade may never drink any again. Out of town we drove into the hills which just a handful of years ago was unspoilt but clearly the local planning department are corrupt and odd buildings have sprung up is stupid places everywhere leaving only the last mile of car width road unspoilt. At the end was a potter we knew, Anna Scott, with whom we had planned our picnic lunch. 
We had everything but wine, then again last time we visited we found her in the vineyards supervising her pickers, little did we know that she had grubbed up all her vines because of the nasty corrupt cheating Limoux producers who used to take her grapes. Added to which the local mayor had ensured that she was the last to be connected to the mains water when the natural sources dried up. Paradise is full of serpents!
Anna is even older than us with a very colourful life behind her able to drop a few names into the conversation impressive to our generation. Now short on ready cash and never really been interested in it she perhaps wishes that the Picasso drawing had not spent it’s life in the full sun in the kitchen, the paper now browned and the colours faded. Everything in this tummble down old farm  house was full of interest including all the ceramics she had made based on her study of ancient coins from the archeological digs. The house stands on a stone age site and has Roman wheel ruts worn into the stone running along the rear wall.

Naturally I quickly took a few photos.

Sunday, 17 April 2011

If you were hoping for a load of pictures of the trip from Atlantic to Mediterranean showing the snow capped Pyrenees along the way, tough! After an evening watching the sunset from the restaurant while eating a fish dinner in restaurant hanging over the beach I started to feel a cold setting in at breakfast the next morning. First stop was the pharmacy to hold back the symptoms and that seemed to be working fine as we explored the Biarritz coastline so popular in the more elegant decades of the early 20th. century and still popular with surfers. Heading inland on country roads we aimed for somewhere we found by accident nearly thirty years before, it is said to be one of the prettiest villages in France and the Hotel was a beeswaxed time-capsule of old France. What we found was “cleaned up” village wanting to welcome tourists but now without character and as dead as a graveyard with about a dozen carloads of tourists from all over Europe wondering what to do next! Just before arriving we visited the most beautiful church a few miles away built with stones from a sacked Roman town. It has become a Unicef world heritage site which means that halfwits have been allowed to drape cables all over the interior to power unnecessary lighting which makes it impossible to see let alone enjoy the building, as for the junk piled into the corners of the building, crass information panels spoiling the views and as for the tacky cheap grey gravel treatment for pathways round the building…
The fairly new and quiet motorway lay a few miles north so we hit it and cruised three hours east where I could die in peace! Now four days later Julie has decided to try the very same cold for herself despite all attempts to stay apart and avoid warm skin contact! She regrets trying it and is spending Sunday evening in a miserable heap in front of a blazing fire.

Sunset with Spain across the bay


Dying in the garden, not glamorous!

Town postie, Port la Nouvelle

 Photography with several bags of 
market vegetables is nigh on impossible.

Delicate French pruning.

 A flower for Jenny

 requested a surprise desert

A glass of Maury with our olives

Coffee in the sunshine

Tuesday, 12 April 2011

On the road, savings vanishing fast.

On the road with only occasional net contact, no Black i, Berry phone or such like to play with. Met with Lisa and Jenny just outside Oxford at my sisters home. Took ferry to visit Guggenheim gallery in Bilbao and am now on border looking out onto the Pyrenees with Atlantic beach half a mile away. Never been to this corner of France so will look about before heading east to the Mediterranean border in a few days time. Don't expect to hear much from me for the next month! They say a snap is worth a thousand words, perhaps a few less for some of these!

Jenny's home made cider
Poor Rob was outnumbered six to one.
bit fuzzy since three bottles had evaporated.  
 Near Jenny's house!
 Had to compare local cider, Jenny won.
 Local building style, Oxfordshire
 Sunday pub lunch
 End of boat trip, Bilbao.
 Tagged prisoner in the cafe.
Hall full of steel, photos forbidden 

Saturday, 2 April 2011

R & R from the Trans battlefield

There are Trans wars raging throughout the net if you  surf about but all that will do is raise your blood pressure. Better wander amongst those blogs with a little T running through them but otherwise full of snippets of real  life. I used to write about my search for past lost or hidden memories seeking out my early roots. Some things bring back memories more than others, scent and taste can evoke decades past in a moment and reading one of my favourite blogs, dru-withoutamap but with a of the few really pleasant recollections of childhood came back to me. My comment says it, the taste of "apple juice " brings back memories of being left on summer evenings in the gardens of country pubs, Think Inspector Morse for detective fans, and the occasional treat of an "apple drink"  instead of our usual orange squash. No doubt illegal but my grandfather started on cider when he was two years old! These days I prefer French farm ciders, are the one's made from pears still ciders? After reading Dru's post I needed a treat after a hard day in the garden and was lucky enough to find the last bottle purchased with the last €s from the sale of pictures from last year's exhibition in France while on the way to the ferry in Le Havre. 

This is supposed to be me being happy having drunk half the bottle with my stir fry.
Gardening has been done with a chain saw but no matter how much I remove it still seems overgrown. One benefit has been an improved atmosphere in the car which had a three metre juniper chopped up and left in it for three days before I could be bothered to go to the recycling centre, a million times stronger than those dangly air fresheners from the petrol station, nice.
Julie has been busy writing various articles and today was the launch in the local museum of a small book about local worthies and she was asked to give a short talk about her chapter since the launch was being held next to the painting of George Paterson which she was responsible for buying for the museum shortly before her retirement. They got her to reduce the size of her contribution but she got some revenge by talking to a captivated audience for about half an hour, she would be there still if there had not been two others waiting to give their contribution. I bought a laptop because writing a book about the sitter was going to be one of the projects to fill in her retirement. She hates laptops, even the baby mac! Aside from that there is just no time  available to do research when being retired fills every moment with countless other random fun things. 

Having dropped Julie at the door of the museum I went in search of somewhere to park the car which did not cost a fortune, motorists are driven away from the centre of the city and forced to negotiate an obstacle course of building sites and roadworks but it gave me a chance to do one of my favourite pastimes, translating signs. Why are so few done well, look good and tell you something useful and unambiguous. todays sign shows you that spring has sprung but I like that it seems to say that you can't park in the short term parking. Who cares, I found free parking less than a hundred yards away. look at that! Born into an Imperial measuring system and still only half transitioned into Metric!