By popular demand, here is the expanded version of weirdness point 3 below. The Chambers that I am member of was founded by a former Lord Chancellor. You may know him as a renonwed expert on flock wallpaper (to any Americans reading, bear with me here). One of his pupils, and another member of chambers got himself elected PM. To fox google I will refer to him hereinafter (a good 3 dollar lawyer word that) as Mr Anthony Blah (or “AB”).
Let me make it clear from the outset that he went off into politics about 4 years before I joined so I do not claim that AB and I are blood brothers and homies. He wouldn’t recognise me if I emerged from his U-Bend singing an aria. Shortly after his election he held a party at Chequers, the Prime-Ministerial country residence, he invited the whole of Chambers. That is how we came to be sat in a coach, each of us with our spouses and everyone dressed to the nines as armed police pushed mirrors under the chassis to check for bombs. Chequers is magnificent. It is somehow grand and intimate in equal measure. It was balmy weather and we stood in a twighlight breeze sipping at small drinks and looking forward to the evening.
AB had a word with everyone. As he shook my hand I asked “so what have you been up to since you left Chambers?” As he is a prince amongst men he did not kick me sharply in the nuts or have me shot as my feeble wit deserved. Instead, he laughed and said graciously “Oh you know, this and that”. It was my wife who swung her party shoe with emasculatory intent and later begged the armed police to mow me down.
Feeling in need of preserving my privates further from the penal intent of my mortified wife I made to hide in the lavatory. I was quickly lost. A figure emerged from a bush. It was a 6 foot tall Wren (a female naval officer) with her golden hair tucked beneath her uniform cap. Dressed in a lice ridden greatcoat and carrying a bottle of Bucky she would have been eye-meltingly good-looking. However, and this is where the fantasy kicks in … well … a woman in a uniform. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” she asked. Fortunately my mouth had gone completely dry in an instant so I could not inadvertently utter any of the things that sprang to mind at that moment. My sub-conscious decided that the best way to get me away from the skin-crisping radiance of the woman and protect me from lustful thoughts would be for me to mime needing the lavatory. What can I tell you? I was unhinged.
She pointed to a door into the house and I made my way there only to find another officer, this time a Waf, with the biggest and brownest eyes I have ever seen on anything that wasn’t cattle, proferring a bottle of champagne and asking if there was anything I needed. My options seemed to be to burst into tears or just start running. I mumbled “toilet” and tried to walk away with a saunter that made me look like a comdey drunk. She clacked off across the tiles in her patent shoes and blue skirt. I found the loo, splashed my face with some cold water and then rejoined my wife (the divorce lawyer) who was gossping with some other guests about how trashy Mrs Blah’s dress was.
I’m with you on the bucky but are you quite sure about the lice?
never mind all that, moobs – do you realise that your jacket tones perfectly with the back of your blog. All those years of education, training and working and it comes down to this.
AB a pince amongst men? I think I’m gonna be sick. How was the fantasy ‘fulfilled’ by seeing an uncommonly attractive woman dressed in uniform? Mine usually have more action.
My fantasy was to be approached by gorgeous women in uniform who would make inadvertent innuendos. I am Roman Catholic. My fantasies never contain action.
What happens in yours?
I’m far too shy to say.
That’s the thing with us Catholics. We’re free to talk about it, but not do it. For everyone else, it’s the reverse.
I don’t know what it’s like being a Catholic but I have to say even from a Calvinist point of view that was a funny blog entry. Thank you so much for posting it. If I’d been drinking a cup of tea I’d now have to buy a new monitor.
Heather – Perhaps I should get my “colours” done – Mrs Moobs swears by it. She is an autumn person.
Rick – unless you tell us we will just have to imagine for ourselves. Do you really want the blogoverse mentally picturing you in compromising positions of increasing perversity (unless that is your fantasy of course)
Brolo – Very nicely put. I am often struck that no-one seems to see the apparent contradiction in the two popular conceptions (so to speak) of Catholic sexuality: (1) That we never have sex; and (2) That we have preposterous numbers of children
Gamba – Being a Catholic is like being a dashing highwayman or a pirate (I seem to have Adam Ant on the brain); full of swashbuckling adventure, romance, and unrestrained bonking. This is not a shallow attempt to deceive you into the sweet embrace of the mother church.
I always thought Catholics were rather romantic. That’s what comes with being brought up in a backward, sectarian society. I became obsessed with the Other because it is taboo. Now I’ve met Catholics and I know they’re just like everybody else except they have candles in church.
Not really relevent to this post, but I have got a good book about the Catholic Church’s role in European anti-semitism in the 100 years or so upto the Holocaust.
As for the imagination thing, go ahead. People have always had strange thoughts about me.