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» Unexpected Nudity
Morning flash
The other day I was racking my brains for my own tale of unexpected nudity but alas, my search was fruitless. Little did I know I was just 24 hours from delivering the ultimate morning flash to the upstairs neighbour.
It all happened so (vaguely) innocently. Lying in bed basking in my studenty long-lie in I heard the front door slam. Wondering who could be leaving the house this late besides me, the unemployed student loafer amongst three long-suffering professionals, I leapt out of bed, sans clothes, and rushed to the window.
Carefully concealing my free floating breasts with a jaunty arm I carefully inched open the curtain of our main window and peered out. Nobody. 'Weird', I thought, 'I definitely heard something...'
Throwing caution to the wind as my womanly desire to spy on my housemates took over, I turned to the side window and flung open the curtain with both hands, freeing my breasts in the process to cheerily greet my upstairs neighbour, standing outside his door which looks directly into my room. Thinking fast, I dropped to the floor and assumed the fetal position. I really don't know why I did this, but it seemed to give him quite a laugh.
Cowering with my knees tucked up beneath my chin I heard the neighbour open his door and guffaw this classy epithet into the hallway, "I've just seen that bird downstairs with her tits out!"
Not my proudest moment. But it certainly lends an edge to our brief encounters, taking the bins out...
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 15:28, More)
Morning flash
The other day I was racking my brains for my own tale of unexpected nudity but alas, my search was fruitless. Little did I know I was just 24 hours from delivering the ultimate morning flash to the upstairs neighbour.
It all happened so (vaguely) innocently. Lying in bed basking in my studenty long-lie in I heard the front door slam. Wondering who could be leaving the house this late besides me, the unemployed student loafer amongst three long-suffering professionals, I leapt out of bed, sans clothes, and rushed to the window.
Carefully concealing my free floating breasts with a jaunty arm I carefully inched open the curtain of our main window and peered out. Nobody. 'Weird', I thought, 'I definitely heard something...'
Throwing caution to the wind as my womanly desire to spy on my housemates took over, I turned to the side window and flung open the curtain with both hands, freeing my breasts in the process to cheerily greet my upstairs neighbour, standing outside his door which looks directly into my room. Thinking fast, I dropped to the floor and assumed the fetal position. I really don't know why I did this, but it seemed to give him quite a laugh.
Cowering with my knees tucked up beneath my chin I heard the neighbour open his door and guffaw this classy epithet into the hallway, "I've just seen that bird downstairs with her tits out!"
Not my proudest moment. But it certainly lends an edge to our brief encounters, taking the bins out...
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 15:28, More)
» I'm your biggest Fan
Vince Noir
I'm almost ashamed to admit that Noel Fielding used to be in my top 3 blokes I'd go straight for, edging just below the scrummy Gael Garcia Bernal. Living and working in London however has lead me to meet he of the crazy hair and skinny pants on more than one occasion, first slovenly mooching about near Kentish town and then later sunbathing in a ridiculously tight shirt by my house on Ealing Common. That time I fancied him because I thought he was a girl...
In real life (and The London Paper) he always come across as a bit of a knob unfortunately, although I did get a friendly wave out of a sweaty Julian Barrat, his Mighty Boosh co-star after a game of tennis on Hampstead Heath.
These days I've finally come to accept that it wasn't the poseury Mr. Fielding I was after at all, but rather his boosh alter-ego the still quite scrummy Vince Noir. Ah if only reality really could imitate art.
(Mon 20th Apr 2009, 17:33, More)
Vince Noir
I'm almost ashamed to admit that Noel Fielding used to be in my top 3 blokes I'd go straight for, edging just below the scrummy Gael Garcia Bernal. Living and working in London however has lead me to meet he of the crazy hair and skinny pants on more than one occasion, first slovenly mooching about near Kentish town and then later sunbathing in a ridiculously tight shirt by my house on Ealing Common. That time I fancied him because I thought he was a girl...
In real life (and The London Paper) he always come across as a bit of a knob unfortunately, although I did get a friendly wave out of a sweaty Julian Barrat, his Mighty Boosh co-star after a game of tennis on Hampstead Heath.
These days I've finally come to accept that it wasn't the poseury Mr. Fielding I was after at all, but rather his boosh alter-ego the still quite scrummy Vince Noir. Ah if only reality really could imitate art.
(Mon 20th Apr 2009, 17:33, More)