The text message which just landed on David’s phone read:
~ I’ll meet you at Larry’s Bar in town. 8pm. Don’t be late, Karen x
David tucked himself into his lilac cami-knickers before pulling on a pair of jeans and T shirt. There was just enough time to take off the crimson red nail polish before making his way to the bar to meet his friend.
It had been ages since Professor David Forbes had last seen Karen, and he was looking forward to catching up over a meal and a bottle of wine. They both studied at Cambridge and had dated for a while, but the sexual attraction inevitably morphed into platonic respect. Although Karen enjoyed a bit of kinky fun in the bedroom, her repertoire didn’t quite reach the heady heights of dating a cross-dresser. Of course, David at the tender age of nineteen hadn’t intended to reveal his dark side, his ‘Diana‘, to anyone at the university. Despite first acknowledging his feminine side when he was about sixteen, David’s relationship with Diana had still been very much at its experimental stage during his first year in Cambridge.
A compelling urge mixed with curious desire gave birth to many experiments—underwear, dresses, makeup—all strictly between David and the four walls of his student residence. Oh, and the full length mirror he had acquired for next to nothing from the local junk shop. There was just that one exception.
One evening, Karen had arrived at his room a full hour earlier than expected, only to catch him in mascara and lipstick, together with a black thong and matching cropped top. Shock, horror and yelling eventually gave way to heart-to-heart confessions. David would never deny who he was and who he wanted to be; Karen would never claim she could cope with that.
I am pleased to say that all the content here – in the Premium Program and in my Patreon – is designed to appeal to my friends of all adult ages.
A very significant portion of my membership are in their senior years. For many of us, it’s only then that we really know ourselves well enough to accept the feminine within us. I love my senior members.
By the way – don’t forget the great Fiona Dobson playlist for an immediate pick me up! Get to it HERE.
So many of my friends privately confide in me that they’ve always wanted to crossdress, but just never really knew where to start. It’s not the clothes that were the problem, it was how to think about gender.
I generally suggest they listen to this talk to help get their heads in the right place. After all, crossdressing is more about what’s between your ears than what’s between your legs.
In a tattered journal given to me by one of my clients, I came across the following account which you may find of special interest. It was clearly written describing a time when my visitor was little more than an infant. You will see that we’ve named him Billy junior, to help keep things straight. I would guess that the diary entries are from the late 1950’s, judging by the content and condition of the journal.This episode is provided free to give you a taste. If you’d like to enjoy other episodes be sure to sign up for my Patreon at the Seahorse Level.
I do find it irritating when some of the men go on about the war they fought in France. You’d think the French girls were entirely devoid of Christian morals. Worse, the men seem to think this somehow attractive.
I find it deplorable and when Bill said he was thinking about joining up with this business in Korea, I put a stop to it before he could get that particular ball rolling Magdalene told me about her brother and the disgusting things he’d got up to over there. Seoul is a hive of iniquity, of course, but it’s Japan that seems to bring out the very worst in the men. I really don’t see what it is that they find so attractive about these foreign girls, though I’ve heard they do everything, even on the first date. But that’s just me, I suppose. Someone has to uphold American values in these modern times.
I believe in apple pie, Chevy’s and the ball game. And while Bill’s out watching the game with several of his friends, I guarantee you I’ll be have a ball game of my own with exactly whoever I please. These long skirts cover a multitude of sins, I assure you.
Just the other weekend I packed a nice lunch for Bill, and threw in a couple of beers, for him and the boys, who were off to watch a ball game in a neighboring town. It’s only forty minutes drive but you’d think they were going to the other end of the country.
As he drove off, the hood down, the five of them were laughing and joking. I had some laundry to do, and I’ve never liked the game myself.
“Don’t wait up,” shouted Bill, with a wave. Honestly, you’d think I was his mother. By the time the dust had settled and the car had disappeared I walked back inside our rancher, and poured a large gin. It was a quiet Saturday morning and I had no plans for the day at all, beyond the washing. I sipped my drink, a little lemon added to it.
I hope you’re enjoying the ongoing serial, Clothes Maketh The Man. If you’re not already a member of my Patreon, you can enjoy the first 24 parts free. The subsequent chapters are unlocked for the remarkably generous low, low , subscription of just $1 a month.
As we progress through our Covid winter I know many of my members are going to feel constrained by the challenges of being either locked down, or at the very least restricted in our movements. These are precisely the challenges that we should rise to as we move through the dark months.
It’s quite normal, when unable to dress as we desire, to feel a little down. I’d like to make a few suggestions that may assist those of you unable to indulge your usual dressing practice as much as you’d like. It is important to remember that being non-binary, or crossdressing generally, takes place largely between the ears, and not the legs. How you think, and finding that more sensitive side of your nature, is a very important goal.
You’ll find many of the free hypnosis files available here to be of great help. Keeping your mind in the right place, and training yourself to accept it, is a great step forward on your journey – and one that will provide comfort during those moments when there is no possibility of dressing.
The most helpful thing you can do during this time is to develop a routine during the day. When you get up and have your morning wash and shave, waiting a few minutes and then using a little moisturizer is sure to give your skin a nicer texture and will start the day in a positive way. Give yourself a few minutes after shaving, as you don’t want the pores of your skin to be too open when you use the moisturizer.
If you have the habit of taking a daily walk during the lockdown, you may wish to try an exercise. Imagine walking in a feminine manner and slowing your pace a little. Taking slightly shorter steps and allowing a more feminine motion, as subtly as you reasonably can, is a satisfying and enjoyable process. Observing how a woman moves, and giving yourself that same, more fluid gait is both satisfying and reinforces the gradual changes that you will start to enjoy as you progress along this path.
Using a small amount of eye make up, probably imperceptible to others, is a good habit to form. It’s quite normal to feel others will notice it, but rarely do others notice a subtly applied amount of discrete eye shadow. Using it will make you feel more feminine and satisfy that basic urge we all enjoy as we groom ourselves a little.
Planning, selecting a few interesting outfits and combinations of clothes, and doing a little online research into ordering, can be a useful pastime in preparation for more enjoyable times ahead. One way or another, after all, spring is coming.
These are simple steps. You’ll find many more in the Premium Program, should you wish to move more overtly ahead. Most of all you should remember that crossdressing is about being yourself – your true self – rather than the person society has pressured you into being. Doing so, with or without being able to crossdress, will help you feel more comfortable and better prepare you for the months ahead. And don’t forget, there’s a host of stories here to keep you entertained, either free or within the Patreon platform.
As you probably know, Mistress Meg looks after my Seahorses. These are members who require a little encouragement to dress. There’s no knowing just how compelling a good spanking can be – but some of my more reluctant members require this form of gently applied discipline.
She’ll lead you, while you’re unable to resist, deeper and deeper into a state of compliance and subjugation. You’ll enjoy her softness and the powerlessness you experience as she toys with you. Mistress Meg now has a special page HERE.
Both Katia Thornwood and Mistress Meg are always keen to assist in this department. By joining my Patreon as a Seahorse you get content designed to encourage these very special members. Once you’ve joined you’ll have access to all these posts and many more. If you’d like to learn more about Mistress Meg’s secret pleasures be sure to check her special page out. Be aware, some of the content here is quite adult.
You can use the button below to join my Patreon as a Seahorse for just $10 a month.
What a very stressful few days it’s been. Just today I had one of the neighbourhood boys over while my delightful niece, Nancy and I arranged some flowers in my house. I do find it so relaxing to put out a few nice flower arrangements.
The children in Huckleberry Close seem to gravitate to my house, and the large garden I’m lucky enough to have. Fiona’s delightful gardener, Ali, has been helping me and cutting some beautiful blooms for me to arrange in the house. The unfortunate challenge of being so available to the neighbourhood children is that from time to time the rather revolting neighbour, Donald comes and plays in my garden. I try to be kind and even handed, but it’s really not always easy. I think all the children think of me as their personal Auntie.
It’s hardly surprising really. They love to come over and are sure to sample my pie, or anything else I put out on the kitchen table. I like to provide a nice spread. Some of the young boys just can’t get enough of it. I should be flattered I suppose, that they have such hearty appetites.
“Auntie,” said young Donald this very afternoon. “What’s an erection?”
“Donald, that’s a very unusual question. Now, let me see. Your mother should really talk to you about this, but when a man and a woman… No, when two people… No, when a small group of people of undetermined genders or something between genders…”
“Auntie,” said little Nancy jumping in and coming to my rescue between placing holly sprigs in vases I’d put out on the table. “I think Donald means, ’What’s an election?’”
“Oh, I see,” I said with relief. “Really? You don’t know what that is? Ok, let’s see. How can I explain? It’s something we do now and then to get rid of people who aren’t running the country the way we like it. For example, by locking up all the little children. Or making promises they don’t keep, or are generally doing things that are douchy and not representative of our values.”
“What are values, Auntie Kittie?” asked Donald.
“Don’t worry, Donald,” I replied. “I’ll let you know if you ever get any. We usually elect people based on policies, Donald. So, for example in Canada we believe in religious freedoms, freedom of thought and belief, and freedom of expression. You believe in freedom of speech, don’t you, Donald?”
“Well, I guess,” agreed Donald reluctantly.
“Well shut up then,” I said firmly.
“Tell him about the polls, Auntie,” piped up Nancy, always keen to be of help.
“I don’t trust the Poles,” said Young Donald.
“Don’t be so racist,” I said and cuffed him around the ear, before sending him off to the bathroom. “Be a sensible boy and be sure to wash your little hands after.”
Donald has a lot to learn in the hygiene department.
Nancy turned to me and said, “I’m not sure Donald quite understands about democracy.”
“Oh,” I said gently. “I’m sure he’ll learn. And then probably be thrown in a cell where he belongs, before dying alone in disgrace. Under the circumstances I think that’s not a bad outcome.”
“What do you mean, Auntie?” asked Nancy.
“Well, five hundred years ago we would have stoned him to death, in the time honored fashion. Under the circumstances, if I were Donald I would consider myself lucky.”
Don’t worry, it’ll soon be over. Let’s just stay calm, and choose an extra special pair of panties with which to celebrate as the tide of change flushes out the U-bend of the last four years.
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.
I do so love this time of year, with so many of my nephews and nieces going back to school. And St. Bernadette’s is as busy as ever, mercifully being spared so many of the challenges of Covid. It’s so exciting to see some of the new gurls arriving.
As Andrea’s adventures become more intense she finds herself increasingly at the mercy of her own passion.
“In some prehistoric world would they have forced me down on the ground, and pulled away whatever primitive coverings I had, only to force themselves into me as they bit hard on my neck, while thrusting deeply till they were satisfied? Was I just meat to be used for their satisfaction? I felt myself quiver at the thought. How wonderful that might have been.”
Come on, you know you want to wear the panties. Now sit down and let me hypnotise you. You’ll be so much happier as a gurl. Enjoy Stacey’s free hypnosis Here.
You possibly know Stacey, she helps out Mistress Meg. Get better acquainted with her by joining my Seahorse level for just $10 a month. If you need a little encouragement, you’re going to find it’s the best dollar you spend this month!
Like many of us, I never got to talk to my parents about things like sexuality and transgender topics. Both of my parents would have been mortified to have the subject raised over the Sunday roast. And then they died.
To be fair, I don’t think either of them were quite ready to talk about such topics. They were born in the 1930’s and these are subjects that simply weren’t on the agenda during their lifetime. That is not to say that they don’t have a contribution to make on the subject of ‘Pronouns’.
My mother, a girdle wearing statuesque woman of conservative English values, held one thing above all others. Politeness to others. Had I told her that a guest in our house identified as a punk rock hamster, then out of deference to the wishes of a guest we would have had to refer to the hamster at the table with unquestionable politeness and respect. I suspect that had Stalin or Mao showed up in our English parlour for tea, we would be expected to hold out the chair, sit after they had taken their place and make polite conversation about the intemperate weather and the promising outlook for the turnip crop this year.
Raising the subject of genocide, persecution of minorities or (God forbid) the forced labor camp deaths of homosexual prisoners would have been considered bad form and may have resulted in a reluctance to return for tea another time. Admittedly this exact scenario never played out in our home counties home, but I think you can see where I am going with this.
Equally, it can come as no surprise that when my father watched a documentary about German prisoners of war – a small number of which escaped from a prison camp in Northern England in 1944 – he stared at the television screen with visible disdain. For the Waffen SS officers to have dug a tunnel out of the confines of a prison with a desert spoon merited their being sentenced to hang immediately, if for no better reason than to do so using a desert spoon, before the use of main course cutlery, was practically a crime against humanity. Well, English humanity, at least.
So, I can say with absolute certainty that had someone come to the house and mentioned that their chosen pronoun was ‘they’, then the matter was settled. They would be a ‘they’ from that moment on.
As archaic as it may seem, this concept holds true as well today as it did in their lives. Whether straight, gay or any shade between, their principal object was to be polite and treat people with respect. To date I have yet to come across a system that improves on this simple behaviour. After all, when we do behave in this manner people do generally treat us with respect in return.
Now, I have to put the tea on. I’m expecting Kim Jong-un any moment. The supreme leader wouldn’t like it if I failed to warm the pot before he arrives.
I’m so pleased to be able to write to you, in these troubled times it’s so good to be able talk to others just like myself. Perhaps you too get frustrated by the pace of modern life coming face to face the slowed down life we now lead due to Covid. Well, don’t worry, I’m here to help.
On the site there’s a host of content to help you get through the day, as well as some great hypnosis files that will help relax you. Just explore and you’ll find a ton of it.
Before I go on I should answer a query that’s come in from one of my members, Mildred from Colorado Springs. In reply to her I have to point out that Minsk is a coastal city in northern Russia and not how a Russian drag queen walks down the street. I’m glad to have cleared that confusion up.
I also want to remind all my Patreon Members that you get a great part of the Patreon site that few people are really aware of. There’s a community aspect here where you can post pics and even connect with other members. When you’re a member just go here – https://www.patreon.com/fionadobson/community to participate. It’s a lot of fun.
Life in Huckleberry Close is a little muted these days, as people reduce the number of people they’re seeing – reducing their ‘bubble’. Well, as inconvenient as it may be, I think we all understand that this is necessary. Personally I am using this time to get a little fishing in – socially distanced of course. I’m also enjoying reading a few more books than usual. It’s a chance to do some of the things I don’t usually get time to do. For the moment I just don’t really feel comfortable with the idea of going out to restaurants, or getting on a plane.
Sadly Rainbow, who teaches at a local yoga studio, has been laid off, like so many others in that type of work. She’s asked me to help her with her resume and to help her apply for a few jobs. I asked her what qualifications she had, and if she’d graduated.
“Of course,” she replied while sipping her home made kombucha in my kitchen with Ali, my gardener, and I. “I have an advanced degree in Enlightenment with a minor in Colonic Irrigation from the Healing Light Yoga And Ayevedic Academy. I’m really not used to being unemployed. It’s almost as if my spiritual GPS is not functioning.”
“Well, I’ll try to help, darling,” I told Rainbow, feeling a little doubtful that those were skills that are in particular demand at present. “Perhaps Sylvester knows someone. He’s quite well connected in Little Italy.”
“Oh yes, I know. That’s the area around Patel’s Pizzeria, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said helpfully. “He’s quite big in the business community there.”
Now, you’re probably wondering why that part of town is called Little Italy. You wouldn’t be the first to think it was because of the profusion of immigrants from years back. It’s got more to do with the fact that it changed sides three times during the second world war, though. A very confused part of town, you’ll agree.
Ali listened sympathetically to Rainbow describing her difficulties finding work.
“I sometimes feel like the goddess Kali has cursed me,” said Rainbow.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Ali sagely. “I mean, it’s not as if she’s going to chase you down the high street beating you with her many arms and laying about you with that nose, trunk, thing of hers. It’s not like she caught you drinking Coca-cola instead of your usual distilled water, after all.”
“I don’t think the goddess Kali would curse Rainbow for that,” I said to Ali, unsure if he was teasing her. I am most concerned that his English lessons sometimes miss the mark a little.
“You’re right Fiona,” agreed Ali. “Perhaps Sylvester has something for Rainbow in his workshop. After all he runs a very tight shipwreck.”
I look skeptically at Ali. It’s taken him time to settle into the ways of Canada which are a little different to those of his native Syria.
In these difficult times we are all making adjustments.
Now, I want to tell you all about some spectacular Mary Janes I have recently tried from Glamour Boutique, my favorite online store. First of all, the quality of these shoes is faultless. They fit my size 10 male, size twelve female, feet perfectly. When I recently stopped by The Junction in Vancouver’s Davie Street, the boys were all very complementary, with comments ranging from how elegant they looked, to how good they’d look beside my favorite server’s bed.
These are a patent leather shoe, with a four inch heel – I can best describe it as being a heel size that say’s you’re somewhat innocent, and yet at the same time accessible and possibly a filthy little crotch ferret, much like myself. The dainty strap is equally at home being undone hurriedly after a night out, or being released by a lover’s teeth in a frenzied moment of passion.
Have a good look through Glamour Boutique’s site and be sure to mention my name when you order them. They’re a great company, reliable and always on point with quality merchandise. You need never feel awkward contacting them, and discretion is their watchword.
Now, I must get back to work. Sebastian, my personal trainer, is coming to give me a workout soon. He tells me he’s got an exciting new exercise regime he wants me to get into. Or vice versa. Something like that.
My gardener, Ali is a Syrian refugee. He’s a lovely man, and he and his family are making a go of things in Canada, and doing exceptionally well. His girls are doing so well at school. When I recently asked him what he thought of‘Proud Boys’he said that while his home country was not very tolerant of their lifestyle, he personally felt that people’s lifestyle choices are their own affair.
Ali’s English is sometimes not quite what it might be. He’s been here a few years now, but he still sometimes struggles a little. He has become firm friends with Sylvester, my mechanic and confidante, and I commented on it recently saying how pleased I was that they get along so well.
He replied, “Ah, yes. Sylvester. He’s a very good person. We get along like a horse on fire.”
Which reminds me, I must chat with his English teacher. I believe Mistress Meg is acquainted with him – Professor Longstaff. If you follow my Patreon as a Seahorse you’ll have read about him.
“But Ali,” I said. “Surely you don’t agree with Mr. Trump, embracing the Proud Boys.”
He looked at me with some doubt in his careworn face.
“As I said, Mr. Trumps lifestyle choice is his own affair,” he replied. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
I sometimes struggle to understand if Ali is teasing me.
“But what about all this “Stand back and stand by” business?” I said pressing on in what I was beginning to feel was a pointless exercise.
“’Stand back and stand by’? I thought they said ‘stand back and bend over’!” said Ali.
I gave up and left him to continue raking up the fallen leaves. Don’t you just love the fall? You can find some fun fall clothing ideas on my Pinterest HERE.
Don’t forget to sign up for my Patreon and help me keep shoving it up the Proud Boys… I think you know what I mean.
Sometimes the most powerful thing we have is words. When some violent hate group steps forward and starts promoting hate and division (while not even wearing heels, goddammit!) it’s up to all of us to resist.
Many of us in the LGBTQ community are taking back the words ‘Proudboys’ and repurposing them. I’m thrilled to see #ProudBoys trending on Twitter in a way those loser cucks never imagined.
As this month draws to a close I am forced to reflect on a couple of things. The first is that as I look forward to the fall I know that all the lovely clothes I like to wear with browns and the russet colors of this time of year are ready to replace the summer clothes I’ve been wearing. A long skirt with earth tones looks so nice. I’m looking forward to putting together some new outfits along a fall theme.
I should also make a quick correction in the advice I recently gave to my member Mildred, from Colorado Springs. When I suggested a pair of sugar tongs can easily be used to pull fur balls from a cat, I should have pointed out that these are in the cat’s throat. I’m glad I’ve cleared that one up.
Sylvester appeared in my kitchen today just as the coffee was percolating. He was full of himself, freshly back from a trip out of town, with my neighbour Marjory and her girlfriend, Amanda (the queen of tweed). This unlikely trio spelled trouble, without a doubt.
Like so many other businesses, Sylvester’s workshop has seen a little bit of a slow down during this Covid period. People seem to be travelling much less, and so they need less work on their vehicles. A mechanic’s life is not an easy one in times like this. Having said that, poor Rainbow, Sebastian’s sister, is teaching no yoga classes at all, and her usual way of supplementing her income by waitressing is a total washout. I suppose we should all be as supportive to anyone in the hospitality trade as we can. I shall bake Rainbow a nice gluten-free peach cobbler, which is sure to make her feel better.
I poured an ethically sourced coffee for Sylvester and myself, pulled the grey blue satin wrap I was wearing around my body, exposing my recently shaved legs and contemplated my pink fluffy slippers as Sylvester stared at his phone. Don’t you think it so rude when people spend more time staring at their screen than the person they’re with? Sylvester can be really quite coarse at times.
“Marjory took this great photograph, have a look,” said Sylvester passing me the device.
I cast a critical eye over it.
“She’s not a bad photographer,” I said looking at the picture of Sylvester fly fishing.
“Yes,” replied Sylvester admiring the picture. “I think she really caught something there.”
“Yes. Covid, perhaps. Or Chlamydia, more likely.”
Sylvester looked a little crestfallen and said, “It’s not like that.”
“Of course it isn’t.” I replied. I’ve made no secret of my disapproval of Sylvester pursuing Amanda. The poor sap seems completely unable to control his desires.
“Though, I must admit,” he continued, “if Marjory wasn’t on the scene…” His voice trailed off and he stared into the distance lost in thought, before adding, “I can imagine making sweet music with her.”
“I’m sure you can,” I said skeptically. “Perhaps she could be the clap machine.”
But all this playful banter is not the main reason I’m writing tonight. It’s to suggest that if you haven’t already joined my Patreon it would be delightful to see you in there. You can join for as little as $1 a month. If you’re already a member, thank you for making this blog possible. I’d love to lift my Patreon membership to over 175, and try as I might I don’t seem able to crack that number. With your help I’ll get there in the end.
