incident on bog street

dragged out 'on the town' by do-gooder beauty. i go because i like to be seen with hotties. when they want u to be having a good time and youre grouching like me, from the distance, their petting and chivvying can pass for unrequited passion and yearning. good for the image.

among le tout corfou swilling and milling and chortling and braying was an excited gardenry type who asked after the garden and got a frosty look. she said oh yes she knew all about that because she got the news from a dedicated albeit disapproving follower of my blog. i followed her finger and lo n behold, a Bore of Yore and an old enemy sin

ced she'd chided me: "This vase of flowers - can't you appreciate their beauty?"

"That is not gardening. Yes of course once upon a time i could make the right noises. No longer.

I play the guitar, love making mischief on the computer - doesnt mean im interested in how theyre made nor being chained to a bench planing and glueing.

As it happens, no one can accuse me of ever expressing any interest in gardening OR gardens themselves."

Battle lines drawn and we had not crossed epées since. Bludgeon in her case, the fat cow.

So over she waddles with that smile on the hippopotamos and asks how the garden is doing, to which i reply that the irrigation goes well, the paths raked and the agapanthi the envy of the region.

then she 'subtly' addresses the contents of my blog without acknowledging its existence and i note with fascination how it is impossible for her to address either my loathing for gardenry or my contempt for the theft.

I have so solidly created its own vocabulary that she is unable to sidestep my seductive references - Piece of Work, Villa Thefti, thief alley, girls' jewelry, elginised. kai tou alla.

we joust and i make mincemeat of her lumberings.

i remember her quite recently emailing me a request that she bring some friends to look round the garden, such as remained. i note the time so's to have the gates locked. delete her message. sodding cheek.

she suggests there is something wrong with my email because a message clearly did not get thru. i calculate the date of her mail and she agrees it was about then. i give her my charmingest cee-lo smile and dismissive nod.

up comes my pal, delighted to see me 'mixing'.

"Is this your girlfriend?"

I wish" pulling her to me and licking a tanned shoulder blade. "Will you just look at the body on this one? I'd need industrial strength batteries in the Pacemaker to do justice with mamzel here."

Mamzel giggles and kisses me on my clammy cheek before drifting away in cloud of Aubusson and tick-tock of pert derriere above erectio-galvanising of that thing women can do with perfect legs.

"Whoof," i breathe sans emotion, "should be a law against that."

"Well, she could be" suggests Hippo.

"Could be what?" i ask with icy politeness.

I spot another party of swingers and head over to shake and canoodle. One of them is a guitarist and we talk about Agiotfest and an amplifiable Takamine he knows is coming up for sale. I take the owner's number and feign keen-ness.

Not really for me so i bid my pal bon soir and she urges me to stay awhile and go on to a party later. Not for me.

We embrace kali nikta and she feels pretty damn'd good in the hug.