Tag Archives: artists mannequin

Let’s talk about sex, baby

‘I wonder how hard it is to write a porno?’ I mused at dinner yesterday. Unfortunately, I was unable to hear other people’s responses, because I was too busy internally congratulating myself on my use of ‘hard’. ‘It can’t be that difficult,’ I continued, when my internal monologue had settled down a little. I know a bit about writing about sex.

Writing a sex column requires very few things: an endless supply of names, euphemistic and otherwise, for genitalia, which a former nanny referred to as ‘private parts’, which made my Mother roar with laughter and tell her to stop being so repressed. She did not last long. (With us. As far as I know she is still alive and well); an ability to plunder one’s own most intimate experiences for material, and an anatomically correct artist’s doll.

(Nothing could be more embarrassing then encouraging one’s readers to try the ‘latest position’ only for it to be proven impossible- the blow to one’s credibility would surely prove fatal)

Equally, the very best sex columnists have a keen sense of their own importance- sex being paradoxically vital (and good sex can certainly feel essential) but its absence not being fatal to one’s happiness. I know this for a fact, because the suicide rate amongst nuns is desperately low.

I pointed this out the same dinner party, and the chap next to me helpfully explained that this was because ‘the nuns are all sleeping with one another’, which I thought about whilst waiting for the quinoa, but dismissed by the time the fishcakes arrived as too close to a porno to be realistic.

The veracity of pornos is something that has been troubling me recently, mostly because a very good friend of mine thinks that we should write one. ‘Yes,’ I agreed happily. ‘I have actually already written a few scenes.’ My friend looked at me, completely confused. ‘Ah,’ I explained. ‘An ex suggested we made a video. I was delighted, and spent the next week writing an intricate and plot-driven script for this video. Apparently he had more well, sex, in mind than soliloquies.’

It is uncertain whether my friend still wishes to write this porno with me. Needless to say, I have thundered ahead regardless, and begun writing a script which I think will be a roaring success. I have even this time included some private parts. (Though only in carefully mannequin-posed positions).

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I’m having a bad day

Today has not started very well. We didn’t win the pub quiz, and my little sister and I are playing ‘it’ with the heating, so I woke up freezing at about 4.30am, my friends have gone for a run but I am on deadline so am sitting at home panicking about them becoming skinnier and faster than me, and I just burnt my tongue on my herbal tea. Oh, and I’m drinking herbal tea. Things couldn’t be much bleaker, all things considered.

I’ve started playing with Eric, my little artist’s mannequin, and found myself apologizing to him for not having found a nice artist mannequin lady for him to play with.

It is quite possible that I should be less worried about my friends’ newfound fitness, and more about my encroaching dementia. Luckily, I’ve finally worked out how to balance Eric so that he looks like he’s flying. So things may be looking up. (Not for Eric though- he’s seconds away from certain death).

I am wondering what I can do to improve today-I imagine I’ll have some time remaining once I’ve planned Eric’s (poorly attended) funeral, and my Mother always says that the best way to feel happier is to do something for someone else. I have thought long and hard about what I can do, personally, to make the world a better place. I have decided, therefore, that I will devote the rest of today to making the perfect pancake.

Not only will this help my name to go down in culinary history, it will mean I have an endless supply of pancakes, and will help to fatten up my friend in the name of ‘science’. Really, I’m feeling much cheerier already.

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