We had a little socially distanced gathering the other day which I feel I should tell you about. Amanda, as you likely know, is my wife’s friend and the editor of Pig And Pig Farmer Weekly, the seventh most popular pig related publication in the Midwest. As such I have found inviting her to some brainstorming sessions has helped at times. On this occasion Bernard, my photographer, and Sebastian were also present.
Poor Sebastian, he’s very worried about his sister, who you will remember made a small error and applied for the job involving a little ‘light house keeping’, and is now positioned in the far north manning a navigation outpost alone in the northern arctic. Bernard is also feeling quite disrupted. He loves to go hunting and fishing. The cold months unfortunately reduce his leisure activities substantially. So, you can see the need for a something to destress us all seemed quite pressing.
“I think we should address the elephant in the room,” said Bernard. Naturally I glanced at Amanda. He continued, “we need some direction. Something to help us see past how difficult things are at the moment. We need some goals.”
“You are so right, Bernard,” I agreed. “It’s like my friend Justin said just the other day. Spring is coming! We should remember that!”
It’s not unusual for me to have a call from the Prime Minister’s office late in the evening, with Mr. Trudeau looking for a little advice. He often asks me for a helping hand, and I am always happy to give him one.
What a start to the New Year! Naturally I’m very excited about events in Washington. My connections there are strong and I’ve been hearing that there will be some new advisory boards and committees coming with the Biden administration, and several new faces. I’ve even been asked to sit on several.
Just the other day Sebastian and his sister, Rainbow, came over to my place to visit. Now, I should say we’re very careful about social distancing, so we sat in the garden and Ali brought us tea. He is a treasure, you know.
As we sat there planning out 2021 Rainbow pulled out a piece of paper and started reading to me a horoscope she’d put together. Now, as you probably know, I don’t really place much store by these things, but poor old Rainbow needs all the encouragement she can get at present. The yoga studio she works at recently closed down, as a result of Covid, and sales of her personally blended Kale and ginger protein shakes have not done as well as she’d like.
She read me my horoscope for 2021, which apparently includes challenges with communication (that’s worrying), some enlightening travel and overcoming feelings of isolation. I listened and sipped my Lady Grey tea, while I twisted a lock of my hair round my finger. It all sounded a little unlikely.
I would probably have forgotten all about it, had it not been for a rather surprising development the following day. One of the jobs Rainbow applied for online contacted her asking how soon she could start. She’s looking after some old place on the north coast. Naturally she was excited, agreed to start as soon as possible, and ended up flying the following afternoon to take up her new position.
I should probably have been alerted when Sebastian told me about the job after he’d dropped her at the airport.
“It said she’d be required to look after the place and do a little light house keeping,” said Sebastian with a concerned look on his face. “And they asked her if she had any marine experience.”
“And does she?” I asked.
“Well, she has a paddle board. She likes to do that sort of thing. She’s done some yoga on it while afloat. Pretty cool, really,” he mused. “When she asked what the Covid situation was they told her she’d not need to worry too much about that.”
The rather panicked email he later received made it clear that the job was not quite as she expected. It was a rather unfortunate grammatical error, but needless to say Rainbow now realises there’s a difference between ‘light house keeping’ and ‘lighthouse keeping’. Being the only person for 300 miles off the north coast of British Columbia will give her all the solitude one person can handle. It did make me think she’d perhaps mistaken the horoscope she read for me for her own. I’m told that when the weather clears up the location is quite beautiful. The weather forecast says she should expect things to clear up a bit by the end of April. I hope she took her paddle board.
But that is not the main reason I am writing. After long discussions with Katia Thornwood and Mistress Meg we’ve decided to release something special for the women in our members lives. Yes, we have a new program designed for Women Who Feminize Their Men. This is a wonderful program for any woman wanting to feminize and sissify their partner – with or without their knowledge. Yes, you read that right.
So, if you know someone who should be sissifying someone in their life, then please steer them toward this wonderful new offering. I am also including it in my Patreon and calling it the Nightingale Tier.
As we go into an inauguration week, and watch the chaos of a presidency we’d all rather forget recede slowly into the distance, don’t forget there really are brighter days ahead. We’ve all got rather used to chaos. That’s not normal and we’ll leave the craziness of the last days behind us before long.
The other night Bernard was being uncharacteristically quiet at the table in the restaurant, with my friends and I enjoying the New Year celebrations. Sylvester and Ali were laughing. I remember, particularly, as I was explaining that while in Australia last year, between photoshoots, I had been diving and had been describing the various merits of the sea cucumber. Bernard had been on the trip, though since his transplant has not been doing much diving.
We were enjoying a wonderful meal at a restaurant in the heart of Montreal which served favorite dishes from around the world. Sebastian had ordered the German Sausage, and shared some of it with Bernard. The succulent meat was exquisitely prepared, and Bernard tucked into it with gusto.
That was when I noticed Bernard changing color. “Are you alright?” I asked. When there came no reply I felt a wave of panic sweep over me. It’s only a few short weeks since Bernard’s operation.
If you’re a regular reading of my material you’ll know that Amanda is not my favorite person on the planet. It was only as a favor to my wife that I invited her to join us for dinner. My wife is on one of her trips. This is a charitable one, I believe. If I remember rightly she’s feeding the hungry in Africa, or something. Maybe it’s the Africans in Hungary. It’s so hard to keep track of her. She has such a big heart. Before leaving on her mission of mercy she had made me promise to take Amanda out with us for dinner on New Years eve.
I remember very vividly, as that night I had chosen to wear a mid blue evening dress, with a bodice that laced up behind, and matching blue heels. The blue was a very particular shade, and as I watched Bernard he gradually changed color to a matching hue.
“What on earth is the matter with Bernard,” I said and looked at Sylvester.
“Search me,” answered Sylvester.
Suddenly Amanda leapt to her enormous feet, and shouted “Heimlich manoeuvre!” For a woman of disturbing proportions she certainly can move swiftly. It reminded me of one of those National Geographic TV shows, about when hippos attack.
“Don’t worry,” she said to a terrified looking Bernard, who by now was clearly choking. “I’m a trained professional.”
I took a long sip of my wine, and said to Sylvester, “This should be interesting.”
Amanda was behind Bernard, wrapping her arms around him and began squeezing. Bernard shifted to a deeper shade of blue.
“That’s it Amanda, you need to reach around him,” said Sylvester.
“And then jerk him. You’ve got the idea,” I added helpfully. Amanda seemed to be thrusting powerfully with her hips, and Bernard looked increasingly alarmed.
A moment later his head jerked back and he coughed and his throat seemed to clear. I was most impressed by the whole thing. Amanda had indeed saved the day, and Bernard had made a new friend.
What a way to go into the New Year. So, if you feel like sharing, let me know what New Years Resolutions you plan to break this year.
I sincerely hope you are enjoying the news I share with you. You can participate and comment even more at http://FionaDobson.com
Well, what can I say. It’s not been an easy week. As many of us go into an election week, I know all of us are going to be feeling a certain degree of stress. Be assured I am here for you.
I always find it helpful to listen to the Fiona Dobson playlist on Youtube to dispel stress. It really does help put a smile on my face, even when I do read about something mind bogglingly moronic that the buffoon in the White House is up to. I believe it was Mayo Angelou, that great philosopher that said, “Mask up, asshole.” That, however, is not the main reason I’m writing to you.
Several of my members have written to me this week concerned about my good friend Rainbow, the yoga teacher, who has recently found herself out of work due to the problems we face associated with Covid. I selected one email at random, from Mildred, of Colorado Springs, that I felt I might share with you. Mildred suggested that perhaps Rainbow could make use of her talents as a vegetarian, helping others improve their diet. How very thoughtful, Mildred. I will pass the suggestion on to Rainbow. Vegetarian meals can indeed be an exquisite blend of flavors and are sure to excite the taste buds and satisfy the appetite, unless you’ve ever actually tasted meat.
Fortunately Sebastian, Sylvester, Ali and the rest of the crew are all managing ok. Amanda, my wife’s good friend, has moved in with my next door neighbor Marjory, with whom she is conducting a sordid lesbian relationship. She is working from home there, and I mentioned to Sylvester (who has designs on Amanda for some inexplicable reason), that I often saw her in the conservatory beavering away. He replied “Amanda is indeed elbow deep in,” and at this point he paused meaningfully, “…work.”
What times these are. Nonetheless, I felt I would write and tell you of a rather unusual incident that took place the other night. As you may be aware Canada is large. In fact it’s huge. Earlier this week I was driving across one of our seemingly endless prairies, late at night when I saw mysterious lights in the sky, approaching at high speed. At first I thought it might be our Prime Minister, my good friend Justin Trudeau in his private plane. He has the disturbing habit of flying very low over the prairies, smiling and waving at us as he goes by. You may have heard of him, he’s the head of state in the North America that can read.
However, it was not he. I should have remembered he’s usually tucked up in bed by 9 pm with a cup of hot milk. No, this was altogether too fast to be something of this world.
Now, I think I know what you’re thinking. “Oh, not again!” Yes, that’s right, you’ll remember I had an encounter with alien life forms a little over two years ago. And indeed once again this vessel drew level with my speeding Buick, and I felt the sensation of being lifted off the ground, as if by a giant alien hand.
Faster than you can say ‘anal probe’ I found myself in the hold of the enormous vessel. Two alien figures dressed in a silver grey fabric, some type of satin I imagine, walked out of what seemed to be a wall of light toward my car. I was a little disconcerted, as you might imagine. After all it’s not everyday that you are accosted by higher life forms. One of them tapped on the window, and as I looked at them I realised these were the very same two aliens I had met once before.
I put my mask on, and then lowered the window.
The closer of the two aliens leaned toward me and then said, “Excuse me madam, are you the owner of this vehicle?”
“You know I am. Remember, we’ve met before.”
“Just my little joke,” he said with a smile. His sense of humor had not improved in the two years since last we met.
The closer of the two aliens turned to the other and said, “I told you, we’ve seen this one before.”
They seemed to pause for a moment, consulted what looked like an Ipad, and then one shook his head in disappointment, before saying, “Well, let’s get on with it, otherwise we’ll never make the quota.”
Ever helpful I said, “Are you running out of people?”
The nearest alien nodded, and said. “It’s this Covid business. No one’s going out much these days.”
“Well, it’s not like you ask permission,” I said.
“No, but when we pick up someone off Davie Street in Vancouver, and they’ve had six pints of Alexander Keiths everyone just thinks they had a good night at The Junction. No one believes they’ve really been abducted. You know, plausible deniability and all that. But these days,” he shook his bald head, “not so many people are going out for the night. That’s why we have to hang out in the middle of nowhere.” At this point he turned to his friend and said, “I’m not even sure where we are!”
I sighed and said, “Covid.”
In agreement he nodded and sighed, “Covid.”
The senior alien, clearly impatient, then chimed in, “would you mind getting out of the car please?”
I stepped out of the car, and the two of them led me into a small examination room. Instead of the surgical table and lights that one expects in these circumstances, I was placed in a reclining chair and the first alien asked if I would be kind enough to read the letters on a lightbox directly in front of me.
“A, F, G, H,” I said and then asked, “is this it? I mean, you’re giving me an eye exam?”
“Please just read the letters,” said the one that appeared to be in charge.
“M, S, X, no, really is this it?”
The second alien cut in at this point and said, “They don’t let us use the probe any more. They said it’s not politically correct. Something about it not being ‘woke’, whatever that is.”
“Well,” I replied, “it’s not like you ask for consent, is it?”
“We didn’t get many complaints in this sector. At least not on Davie Street.”
“No,” I said. “You wouldn’t. You might get a few people disappointed that you didn’t at least leave your number after you’d finished.”
At this point the first alien smiled at me and said confidentially, “who said he didn’t,” and then winked.
Anyway, I felt I should share these events with you. Now, if you’re in the US be sure to get out and vote as soon as you can. If you don’t live in the US, let’s wish our friends’ the best for their election.
What a strange day it’s turning out to be. Our members are all out doing wonderful things. Julia in Holland, one of my favorite members in our Whatsapp Group, has been out and bought some beautiful summery things, and nearby I know Lenni is having a garage sale.
Julia has been doing so well. She, like many of my members in the Whatsapp Group, shares some of her experiences and activities with other members of the group. It makes it a very supportive community.
This afternoon a few friends will be stopping by as the isolation period begins to lift. Lockdown here in Canada has been well observed and the results mean we are now able to begin very gradually restarting 2020. I, like most of my friends, feel that having a glass of wine in the garden with one or two friends is much more comfortable than going out to a restaurant, for the time being at least. It also gives us the chance to have a bit of a barbecue in the garden. Sebastian is hoping to treat us to his sausage later on. I am wearing a denim skirt, tee shirt and a lovely floral mask, and keeping things very simple.
Sylvester and Sebastian arrived a little while ago astride his enormous chopper.
Taking off his helmet he said excitedly, “Amanda’s going to drop by later. She wants me to check out her cans.”
“I’m sorry?” I replied a little surprised.
“Her headphones,” he said. “She says they crackle. She wants me to see if I can sort them out. It’s probably just a loose connection. They were very expensive apparently. Mind you that was in 1993. Still, I said I’d check them out.”
“Oh,” I said doubtfully. “I see.”
I have told Sylvester on more than one occasion that Amanda is in a relationship with my neighbour, Marjory the competitive lesbian eater. Or should that be ‘the competitive eating lesbian’. Well, as I’ve mentioned before Marjory is apparently quite a big noise in the world of competitive eating, although like so many sporting disciplines they are experiencing something of a famine this season.
“You should be a little careful,” I said to Sylvester. “Marjory and Amanda are together, as inexplicable as it may be. I’m not sure that you should be hunting in that particular briar patch. You might get pricked.”
“I don’t mean to be pedantic,” said Sebastian cutting in. “But, I’m not sure you can hunt in a brier patch.”
In the interests of contextual accuracy I rephrased my doubts to Sylvester, saying “I’m really not sure you want that bird in your hand. Better to leave it in the bush.”
Sebastian mumbled something about Sylvester having big hands and added that there are plenty more fish in the bush. I decided I should let it slip past. Instead I shot them both a look of disapproval.
“OK,” I said. “Let’s try this again. I don’t think, Sylvester, that you should have your snout in that particular trough.”
I think I may have to go in a moment. Sebastian has just got a call on his cell and let everyone know that Rainbow will be dropping by shortly and wants to show us her jugs.
“She’s only just got them out of the kiln,” he said helpfully. “She want’s to show us her pottery. It’s come on so well recently.”
Have a delightful weekend and if you’re one of my American members have the very best of Independence Days. To all my members, keep it real and stay distanced and masked if you can.
As you may know, my personal trainer, Sebastian, has a delightful sister named Rainbow. The west coast has many people named by well intentioned hippy parents, that have grown up to be very unlike their free wheeling parents.
While Rainbow is decidedly whimsical and likely in line with what her parents expected, not all my acquaintances are so well named. For example, Rainbow is a yoga teacher and perfectly qualified, being both gluten free and lactose intolerant. However, another friend of mine was blessed with the name ‘Swallow’ by her parents. If the swallow really is the bird of love, then one would hardly expect a corrections officer working in a high security prison to carry such a name and yet that is indeed where she has had a quite successful career.
“Swallow, Fiona!” said Sebastian, pushing me onward.
“But…” I protested, my mouth almost overflowing.
Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, added, “Go on, Fiona. You’ve taken more than a couple of mouthfuls already.”
She gave me a knowing look and whispered, “I know you love it really!” Then she lay back on her yoga mat in my garden, the soft fragrance of lavender wafting over us.
I should explain, Rainbow and Sebastian are at my place this morning and brought some healthy kale and ginger smoothies with them. I know how good it is for me, so even though I may gag a little, I manage to force it down. I don’t mind Sebastian and Rainbow coming over for breakfast as long as we enjoy it in the garden, and maintain a reasonable social distance.
“It tastes very,” I searched for words, “…healthy.”
It tasted so healthy I wondered if I was going to throw up. It’s not the first time I’ve been exposed to this recipe. To be fair, one does feel wonderful when one finishes drinking it.
Rainbow brings a couple of interesting points to her interpretation of yoga poses.
Sebastian is a very diligent personal trainer. This dreadful virus business has hit his business quite hard. He and his sister come over to my place every two or three days for morning yoga, which helps me keep nice and trim and as long as we are reasonably careful I feel glad of their presence. I get to dress in a beautiful leotard and tights as we do our yoga class, and Max my next door neighbor’s young son watches us through his binoculars from his bedroom window.
“You know,” said Sebastian, “your body is the sum total of all that you put into it. It’s best to choose things that are wholesome.”
I briefly thought back, remembering a long and and enjoyable youth, and smiled.
“See,” cut in Sebastian, “the thought has brought a smile back to your face.”
“No, you misunderstand,” I replied. “I was just thinking about a little encounter I had last fall. Very wholesome.”
However, that’s not the main reason I’m writing today. We’re living in turbulent times. You don’t need me to remind you of that. I do however want to encourage you to do a couple of things this week.
The first is to stay focused on social distancing and wearing a mask in areas where there are groups of people. Just because there’s a lot of protests going on, the virus doesn’t just go away. Guard your health with common sense.
Second, as I often suggest to my members, let’s not rush to judge others this week. Asking oneself, “what would I be doing if that were my brother?” is a good first step to trying to understand some of the events unfolding. Those of us who explore the gender spectrum understand about being judged harshly. Let’s try not to make that mistake with others.
If you’ve not already done so, be sure to join my Patreon, I’d like to try and get up to 175 Patrons this month. It’s just $1 a month and you know you’re going to get a lot of joy from it.
Enjoy the beautiful song by Marvin Gaye. Be sure to let me know how you’re getting along.
I am so pleased to see that my personal trainer, Sebastian, is finally calming down. In isolation, along with his sister, Rainbow, he’s been struggling a little with the stress of the process. Here in lovely Vancouver people have been observing the lockdown very well, and as a result we had just one new death yesterday. Of course, even one is one too many, however the process does appear to be working.
He does help me online each morning as I work out, but I can hear the stress in his voice. I mentioned this very thing to Mistress Meg just yesterday.
“He does seem to be a little on edge,” I said. “It makes it hard to relax as I am doing yoga. He is rather highly strung.”
“Yes,” replied Meg. “He probably should be.”
Sympathy is not the primary emotion that springs to mind when chatting with Mistress Meg. Many of you will know her from her writing on my Patreon in the Seahorse level. Never one to stifle her opinions, I think she thinks of Sebastian rather like a puppy that continually looks for approval. She seems unsure whether she should laugh at it, pet it, or give in to the inevitable urge to give it a hefty kick over the nearest fence while no one is looking.
I’ve been chatting with a few of the members this week and we’ve been talking about how people are handling social distancing and isolation. Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, appears to think it’s all a hoax and that it’s really just the authorities trying to disguise the fact that this is the dawn of the zombie apocalypse. She seems to think that’s why the streets are so empty. She says they don’t like the sunlight.
There have been some great suggestions in our Whatsapp Group for activities that make this period a little more fun. When Sophie asked what she could do to keep feeling feminine, Lenni suggested going out and getting some clear nail polish – even if you’re unable to dress in public. It helps you look after your nails and feel feminine.
I looked at Sylvester skeptically, my arms folded and leaned back against the stove in my kitchen.
“Really, a quarantine reserve?” I said.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Just enough food and supplies so
that you don’t need to go out, should you feel sick. I mean, spreading this
thing around the place hardly seems to be living up to your civic responsibility.”
“Is it really necessary,” I asked. “I was planning to spend
tomorrow morning at the nail spa.”
“Probably not.
Hopefully not. But perhaps. And if it is, then you’ll be a lot more
comfortable with it than without it. It’s not urgent, but you may want to have
a few things to hand.”
“I can imagine you’d have 200 cans of baked beans in yours.”
“That’s not fair,” protested Sylvester.
“Your flatulence isn’t fair,” I responded. “Besides, I think
I’d rather die of flu than be gassed to death.”
“Besides, it only has to last a couple of weeks. By then you’ll
be better. Or dead.”
“So you have 14 cans of beans, then?”
“And other products.”
“Well, if you get sick you be sure to come over here. I make
excellent chicken soup. And bloody mary’s. And I have a good reserve to see us
through, if Auntie Kittie hasn’t drunk it all. But you may have a point. If one
does get sick, going out for supplies might be a little bit of a drag. I shall
put a list together of things to get in.”
I took a pad of paper and started noting essentials. My list
started:
Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival.
Foundation (I don’t like to look too pale).
Eyeliner (If you have to take a selfie and put it on social media when you are sick, it’s nicer if your eyes really pop).
Blush (it’s always good to have a little color in your cheeks).
Influenza safe lingerie (Be sure to be buried in this if things don’t go so well – crossdressed to eternity).
Pink N19 face mask (which probably doesn’t work but goes well with that nice polo neck I got on Amazon last week).
Sylvester interrupted me with a hurt look on his face, and
said “I don’t think you’re taking this very seriously.”
“Quite the contrary. I have already set aside a very healthy
reserve. I’ve also stocked up on hand sanitizer, cancelled a flight I don’t
really have to take, and I am expecting to work a lot more from home in the future.
So, I think I am very well prepared.”
At that point Sebastian and his sister, Rainbow arrived for
our evening ‘wine and yoga’ class.
As I pulled on my leggings in my bedroom I asked Rainbow,
who was also changing, what she thought about it all, and immediately regretted
it.
“Well, I don’t think canned food is a good idea. Everyone knows canned food is not as good as
fresh, and probably has evil spirits in it. I’ve always found pineapple helps
me if I have flu. That and some kombucha. I do have some crystals though.”
While a lemon might be perfect if this particular illness
were more closely related to scurvy, I thought I might hold off on Rainbow’s
advice. Scurvy is not something we see a lot of in Canada.
“So, you don’t go with Sylvester’s baked beans only remedy?”
“If we don’t get gassed to death he’ll blow us up when
Sebastian sparks up a joint. I’m not sure which is the worse way to die!” she
replied thoughtfully.
There’s a lot of spurious information floating around. It’s
smart to be prepared, but not to panic. Probably the most valuable tool at
present is a bar of soap for thorough hand washing. But if you do end up sick,
be sure to have just the right night wear to hand if you end up quarantined for
weeks. And with that, I’m off to buy some new nighties.
Got some suggestions for your Quarantine List for CORVID19 survival kit? Be sure to add them to the comments below.
I could not help noticing, whilst driving home from the advertising agency the other day, the names on the back of vehicles. The model names of vehicles are of interest to me, from both the branding perspective and what it tells me about the drivers.
Have you been reading ‘Clothes Maketh The Man‘? Enjoy the ongoing serial now in its third year.
A therapist member of mine recently pointed out to me that
several of their erectile dysfunction clients did indeed drive muscle cars, in
more than one instance a Hummer. Frankly I feel anyone driving a Hummer should
be on their knees begging forgiveness from their children as the pump heat into
an increasingly fragile environment. On the other hand, given the erectile dysfunction
issues associate with Hummer ownership theirs a good chance that having
children is one complication these thoughtless tools will not have to concern
themselves with.
Sylvester, on the other hand has shunned the muscles cars
and even removed the photo on his office wall of him posing with his Dodge
Penetrator 3000. I am pleased to see him mellowing. I do remember the day he
pulled up outside my house, on his phone calling me to tell me he was there.
“I’m just pulling into your garage,” he said. “No wait, I’m
reversing. Pulling in again… backing up,
and going in again now. Perhaps I should go in the laneway round the back. I
can get the back way, but it’s a bit tight.”
You know, I may have said this before, but Sylvester can be
quite coarse at times.
Personally I like to drive a Buick Vagina. It’s the limited Silhouette
edition. So much more my style. Both feminine and powerful, with the twin turbo
V6 with the cuddle seats option.
Vehicle names and designs do tell us a lot about their
drivers. I noticed a Kia Soul in the traffic as I was driving home, and I can
only speculate that some Korean designer sat down and thought hard about what a
car designed for Spongebob Squarepants might look like, and then took up the
challenge to build it. Ironically the driver of this particular vehicle did
look like a cartoon character.
Sebastian, my vegetarian personal trainer, drives a Kia Hymen when not riding his electric bicycle. His sister, Rainbow, drives a Nissan Slide with a synchromatic gearbox. Amanda drives a Prius, which is entirely predictable, while of course Ali, my gardener, drives the Smart Car with a rifle rack on the rear window, adapted to carry his gardening tools. He’s proud to declare he always shows up with his hoes.
One of my Vancouver members, Lenni, is originally from
Alaska, and proudly tells of her mother having driven a Ford LTD wagon. This vehicle,
with a 7.5 litre engine has the dubious distinction of being capable of hitting
a moose, killing it, and then being able to transport it back to the trailor
park for butchering. I can’t help thinking life in Alaska holds wonders I am
pleased not to have either witnessed or shared.
Instead I think I’ll go and get Sylvester to change the
fluids in my Buick Vagina.
I enjoy sailing. More than that, I love sailing. Sometimes I will take Sebastian out and we’ll race 16 footers at a local club, and we do pretty well. Other times I just want to mess about on the water, just being me. And that means probably dressing in something mildly effeminate which, when viewed from a distance, you’d never know what gender I might be.
There’s something fundamentally genuine about the elemental
connection with wind and water, and this strangely indeterminate person between
the two. Regardless of gender, how one acts with sail and rudder will result in
something beautiful. The wind has no gender bias. The wider world, however is
not so generously democratic.
I have noticed from many of my members that there are definitely days in which they are more inclined to be feminine than masculine. For many, it’s not even a question of ‘days’. It’s a matter of situations.
Sebastian is a man who knows his way around a sausage. The recipe for his Jamaican Sausage is at the foot of this page.
I was quite shocked this morning when Sebastian appeared in my kitchen with his sausage in his hand. Sebastian, as you doubtless know, is my personal trainer.
“That thing’s enormous,” I said, as he held it out in front of me.
“I know,” he replied with a cheeky smile. “It’s Jamaican.”
Sebastian loves to make sausages and really is most adept in the kitchen. He’s always coming up with new recipes.
“What particularly makes it Jamaican,” I asked. as I turned on the grill.
“Mostly it’s the spices, but I also add a little pineapple and orange. It gives it a citrus lift.”
“That sounds delightful,” I gushed as the sausage began to sizzle and dribble a little fat under the grill. the aroma that filled my kitchen was delightful. It would only be a matter of time before Marjory and Amanda appeared from next door, in all likelihood. It’s the end of the competitive eating season, so Marjory is spending much more time at home.
As you likely know, I work for a well known advertising
agency in an active office in the delightful cosmopolitan city of Montreal. It
is often said that for each job in some industries, several other people are
supported. So, for example while a car plant may employ 4,000 people a further
6,000 jobs are created servicing the 4,000 people employed with things like transport,
employment services and catering. In much the same way, my work supports not
just myself, but also Sylvester my mechanic, Sebastian my personal trainer, Ali
my gardener, young Max who helps with technology on my blog and several other
assorted hangers on and peripheral individuals.
I was talking on this very subject with Bernard, my photographer, when we were out on agency business just the other day. Ali, who so lovingly tends my garden, spends more time there than I ever do. Instead, while he enjoys my delightful Champaign colored roses in my garden I am out driving with Bernard on a task for the advertising agency. And I’m paying Ali! It all seems rather obtuse. That said, I do love Ali, and his daughters are sweetness itself. They arrived in Canada just a couple of years ago, refugees from the war in Syria.
I’ve been having some dreadful trouble with my colon lately. Now, I know what you’re thinking, but ever since Max changed some of the settings on my computer keyboard I just keep getting a problem with it! I think he reset the layout to the French keyboard!
In the wonderful sunny weather we’re having I’m going to remind all my girls the importance of moisturising your skin. Using a nice aloe cream helps, and you can find them at any pharmacy or health food store. It keeps you looking fresh and really helps your skin.
