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Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Heatwave

So last night, as I was heading through Soho, I happened upon four tramps fighting over a can of Stella. 'Well no need to go to Leicester Square and see the UK "Sex and the City" premiere then,' I thought. Honestly, I think I should get a badge; I was probably the only Gentleman Who Owns Tweezers who wasn't there leaning over the barriers to watch Sarah Jessica Parker canter around the red carpet. Old Compton Street was a ghost town. I'd like to say the staff of the Ku Bar were offering blow jobs to get punters in, but frankly there's no change there.

Anyway, completely off the point, here's a New Fact for you: in stock exchanges, when things get a little heated and excited between the stock brokers, there is apparently a noticeable elevation in testosterone in the air. Interesting enough, I think you'll find. But I then went on to discover that in certain Singapore stock offices, they apparently pump testosterone into the air to whip all the functionaries into a buying-and-selling frenzy from the get go, rather like a blue-tag sale in Debenhams on pension day.

It turns out there are two women that work in this office.

Well, they may not be women any more... they may be having to shave three times a day or something. I remember when I accidentally took some estrogen after mistaking it for soluble aspirin some time ago; my nipples were delightfully tender for a week and I had this uncontrollable urge to watch a 'Brothers & Sisters' marathon while crying into my blouson. Perhaps these girls go the other way and start wearing turned-up jeans, no bra and favour ginseng teas. Start ordering chunky collars for their cats, if you get my drift.

Or perhaps they spend the day foaming at the gash like a faulty fire extinguisher, and dragging their asses across the office floor, yowling like a cat in heat. I have to say this is exactly how I feel at the moment. Its the heat, I tell you. We're having a heatwave over here at the minute and I'm horny as hell. I feel like I'm in a film noir - meaning that I'm either a toothy drifter in a leather jacket or a sexually frustrated waitress, and we're about to have some great sex next to some knackered blinds while a ceiling fan lazily whirs overhead. Usually after killing someone's husband. It's a very vivid but distracting fantasy; I don't think I'd like to be here permanently, though - the fridge in my vision may be a glorious white monolith of 50s Americana, but it looks like a right death trap to me. Reach in the back for some humus, and the next thing you know the slab of a door has swung shut and you're going to suffocate to death betwixt two cottage pies and a Star Bar.

Still, at least I'd have more dignity than Sarah Jessica Parker, if you ask me.

3 comments:

Anon Dirty said...

I sent invites to a half-dozen friends for the SATC premiere. We're all big fans. They put it in their Outlook calendars.

Unfortunately, I thought it was today so we missed it.

I think there may be hand bags at dawn.

Stuart said...

PMSL! Although the heat does tend to encourage all brands of men put a bit more effort into their appearance and make the world a prettier place driving my horn level up to 11, it also makes me far to hot and lazy to do anything about it.

Christopher said...

I was just visiting London last week, and I'm already having withdrawals.

Why wasn't I born there??!!..I know exactly what you mean about the Ku Bar...haha!!

Oh, and good luck with the "heat" problem.