Journal Entries


'Now here's the thing', I love that expression, undoubtably grammatically incorrect but it paves the way for a multitude of openings, arguments, reasons, memories, choices, possibilities.

Thinking about the 'pay forward' challenge thrown down on Facebook yesterday which is such a lovely idea, but one perhaps we shouldn't need to be challenged to do, I started to think about my 'I'm ins' and what would make them smile and feel warm and cared for.

It took me back ten years to a moment when an unexpected surprise gave me that feeling of someone caring, somebody who hardly knew me but who took time, trouble and effort to remind me that I wasn't alone.

I'd joined a writing site h2g2 started by Douglas Adams which, by the time I joined, was populated with a wealth of free spirited and welcoming talent. You soon find a group that most suits you and before long I, now known as Useless Hound or Boots to my friends, was sharing prose, passions and opinions with the likes of A Girl called Ben, Pinniped, Dr Deckchair Fundlelink, Jodan and Montague Trout. This was well before social media and personal blogs. None of us knew who the other was or indeed much about our lives outside of the site. We were anonymous researchers each with a number, intent on exploring ideas and honing writing skills, mining the site for literary gems or 'lurking' to make sure our friends were alright. As with all writers much of what we wrote was taken from personal experience so to some extent we knew a little about each other.

In 2003 my life hit a black hole when my husband died. I posted to site that I would be away for perhaps some time and, in true h2g2 style, messages, well wishes and even poetry were proffered in sympathy.

In those days I had a flower shop and some of my writing had, without naming the shop, been focussed around its activities and the characters that lived in that world.

Six months of 'survival' later a postcard landed on the doormat in the shop. To be more precise a cut out piece of cardboard in the shape of a fish. On one side a black and white picture of a trout had been pasted onto the card. The post mark was Bahrain. On the other side was written “To Boots, you see we lurk well. Thinking of you, love Montague.

Discuss this Journal entry [5]

Latest reply: Jan 22, 2014

Still breathing

In and out. 5 months since my last post...hmmm 'last post' possibly not the best choice of certainly hopes it isn't.
All good in Boots land. College going surprisingly well...tough but holding my head above water as I learn how to 'work to live' in the day job...still there, surprisingly, but I think I am probably unemployable anywhere else and it does allow me to catch the 9.54 which is positively civilised on a commuter run.
Baby Boots and Ravager pup are meeting up tomorrow in Thailand and I fly out to join them on the 18th...Christmas in the sun sounds like heaven.
Took Ravager pup to airport at stupid hour, one piece of hand luggage and not even clean knickers...big smile of anticipation probably more useful.

Have a lodger, which is great fun but bad news for my waistline. He cooks, he cooks for both of us EVERY day. He also cleans and irons and is more than a tad in touch with his feminine side. Every girl should have one...waistline aside.
He also works for the press and there are huge pluses to that. We fly to Cornwall for a spa weekend on Friday. Car waiting and two nights in two different 5 star spa hotels all for the handsome price article.

At a dinner with day job last week and the Gods were, for some reason, interested in my college course.

"What do you want to write when you've finished" enquires a Knight of the realm.
'I thought I'd like to be a travel writer for Condenast' quoth I.

"Oh I'm sure you can do far better than that!"

Excuse me there is no better than that! Thought I'd best not mention that being a script writer for 'Enders was also high on my aspiration list...even my tutors frown on that goal.

Hope all is well with friends in Hootoo land and will try and post more often. Perhaps even put a college piece up for the post, but it all plays and film scripts and as I am challenged in any kind of html department it might look a bit odd on the page.
Take care all

Discuss this Journal entry [3]

Latest reply: Dec 6, 2010

Shocking but true and it almost caused a government to fall...but that's another story!

A Fetish Virgin Explores

I can’t say that my life is not at the very least diverse but am not sure that late 50’s is the right age to begin exploring fetish.
A colleague, Barbarella Bittom, an academic can you believe? With a name like that she should be porn star, has finally persuaded me to go along to a club called Pedestal. I have, after four months, run out of excuses. My hair being over washed, ironing not only done but hanging up or dispensed to draws, house so clean it would be classified as antiseptic (well possibly a gross exaggeration), there is nowhere else to hide.
Her daughter takes us. How modern are we? She (daughter) is writing a book on the subject and doing something on fetish for her PhD. Very clever, very beautiful and definitely not the ideal clubbing companion for ladies more suited to cocoa, but hey …what the heck!
Barbarella is wearing a red rubber shirt and footless tights with a matching red bra underneath and killer red shoes…Looking great...if I hadn’t seen for my own eyes the three academic books she’s written I would still say her career lies in porn.
Alice comes down stairs wearing bra and knickers and black rubber stockings with a pink seam up the back.
"What are you going to wear" asks Barbarella. "This" daughter replies. Barbarella pales visibly and I begin to suspect this is a ‘keep an eye on daughter’ mission
Having raided Alice’s dressing up box and, discovering she is at least two sizes smaller than I, I finally settle for a black combo of rubber mini skirt (skirt being a generous description – it barely covered my arse), footless tights, lace fingerless gloves, PVC bodice with red ribbon lacing and a leather corset belt...I have never felt more like an oven ready turkey in my life, but I have to say the breast looks good!
We arrive around midnight.
People are leaving their coats and bags in the cloakroom as if they are off to the theatre and, as they peel of the outer layers, I don’t know whether to stop my head from turning on a swivel stick or tape my jaw to my forehead.
The women are wearing every combination of trussed up turkey you can imagine, and some you may never have thought of. Nipple tassels, PVC thongs with ripped fishnet stockings, Basques of every description, rubber Gestapo outfits, riding hats and crops, lacy all in ones with leather accessories (most of which were wrapped around the bits they don’t want to expose, or tied to accentuate the same). Rubber, leather and PVC is the order of the day; the only common denominator being killer heels!
As for the men, well most are wearing very little. Dog collars and chains to be led around by appear to be a prerequisite, and bits of leather or (rubber) are tied around their anatomy. Some are wearing rubber shorts of varying length or all in ones like baby grow vests that have been through the wash too many times and some, no doubt the shyer ones, (though I have to say, generally the fitter ones) show a modicum of decorum by sporting rubber shirts. One gentleman (well I am assuming it was a gentleman) has an all in one pink psychedelic rubber suit on complete with matching face mask.
Alice has assured us we are quite safe as it is a Dom club ergo the males attending would be Subs…I don’t think she meant they would be on the bench at the footie or that we were going to be presented with a bottle of champagne. The downside of the men being Subs is that they are likely to be less attractive than Dom males, the plus side being we are less likely to be hit on as they always take ‘no’ for an answer and enjoy it even more if said in an authoritative tone… No problem thinks I, bossy comes naturally.
In we go!
The owners know Alice and agree to take us for a tour.
Room one. Dark but see able, lots of sofas and chairs on some kind of mini stage. Lots of trussed up (and some near naked) turkeys, enjoying having their feet massaged and toes sucked, or just grinding their stilettos into the bodies of the willing slaves beneath them.
OK not so bad…eyes left. Cage with four prone men on the floor, all amazingly with bottoms on, but no tops., being walked over by girl in some kind of loose fishing net (by loose I mean the weave not the way it stuck to the body) and the obligatory killer heels. Everyone seems to be having a good time.
Up comes…I can’t remember his name, being asked if I wanted to ride him and realising he actually had a saddle on his back was enough to make me spit out
“No! Mistress doesn’t want a ride!”
“Oh you are good” says Barbarella. “I wouldn’t dare say that”. Alice gives me the thumbs up…hey this is a breeze.
Two rather fetching Trannies are then introduced. Now being the queen of the fag hags, I am OK with Trannies and actually find them very sweet. We admire each other’s breasts (Trannies are very into breasts) and having decided that mine are by far the best, (they are also very good at compliments and, in fairness, mine were the only non additive variety) they join the tour and ask if they can have photos taken with us…that’ll be another NO! However conversation can begin. One is a teacher, the other has only just come back on ‘The Scene’ (so sweet ‘The Scene’, reminded me of the ‘Kingdom of Hippy’), having dipped out for a few years to have a child and discover his sexuality didn’t lie in the vanilla parlour after all. The Trannies are my new found friends and with them in tow, Barbarella having decamped to the bar and Alice busy talking to someone called ‘The Countess’, we move on.
I am approached by a surprisingly fit young man who asks if he can please play with my toes…Foot fetish is obviously high on the agenda. I decline but say I may be back if I find myself bored.

The Trannies adore me (it’s the fag hag thing) and, having circumnavigated the club, seen the room where the men can’t speak unless spoken to, the room with the rack, and other instruments of torture and, with my confidence riding high from all the male attention, I decide ‘what the heck’, so when surprisingly fit young man asks if he can play with my toes for the second time and, realising that if I was sitting on the stage I could better view the whole picture, decide to oblige. (Turns out he’s a builder from Essex)
By the end of the night my feet have been massaged and drooled over by three random strangers. Number one ‘Mr surprisingly fit' was obviously very excited by his toe sucking performance. I ‘walked on by’ when he started to get too excited and, bless him, he thanked me for a lovely evening…trust me sweetheart it did little for me, I was far more interested in watching the activities of others. Was the man on the rack really enjoying the verbal abuse being hurled at him as his bottom turned a brighter shade of pink from the whipping being administered?
Toe fetish number two was barrister in a pinny who wanted to come and be my home help.
He is gently massaging Barbarella’s feet in the bar when I arrive and they are deep in cerebral conversation.
"I like to clean and iron and look after my mistresses" says married barrister with three children.
“Oh “says Barbarella “I couldn’t take advantage of someone like that”
“I could!” I almost yelled “What to I have to do in return?” I ask as he turns his attention to bringing my killer shoe feet back into a pain free zone.

"Oh we can just have a cup of tea together"
WHAT? He comes and cleans my fleapit and doesn't even want a good spanking? I can so do staff! Alice was telling us that the Doms who have slaves, who like being spanked, usually have their credit card bills paid for too…show me the way!

Toe fetish number three was the cutest little black chef from Dagenham, who had arrived complete with massage oils and wipes and who could seriously take it up professionally. Kitted out in red rubber shirt and black rubber cycling shorts with gym honed muscles, he asks which clubs I usually frequent (He might not have used that actual vocabulary).
"I'm a fetish virgin" I reply.
"No way!" Says he… "You’re a born Dom!" I wonder if this is a compliment as I catch sight of a six foot (six six in his black stilettos) bruiser in a little Bo Peep outfit complete with white lacy hold ups and a white rubber face mask, being soundly spanked with a paddle.
“What do you think of it?” he asks
Bo Peep has rendered me speechless.
By this time we have been joined by the sweetest, but obviously shy, trannie in a dress that came straight out of a fifties thrift shop, a Julie Andrews wig and attempted decadence in the form of slightly ripped fishnets.
“It’s a bit like going to any party I suppose" finally finding my voice "Except the dress code is slightly more outrageous. I suppose it beats fishing”
Julie Andrews pipes up “I like fishing”
Dear God this is verging on suburbia.
And so the evening goes on
No wonder Alice is intrigued, it really is a bizarre wonderland.

The cling film wrapped gentleman on the rack, the straight out of the Gestapo size double zero military capped Dom in the cage, digging her stilettos into the six slaves lying on the cage floor (that was the second time around).
The slightly podgy masked marauder (only masked) pleasuring himself vigorously whilst lying on his back, and being completely ignored....the dragging round the rooms dog collared brigade, and the women in all shapes and sizes in costumes that were divine!
I meet a countess or two...well Tessa said they were countesses. No way! With vowels like that they have no ancestry out of 'Saff London'! The obviously coked up owner of a club called 'Decadence' or ‘Debauchery’ or ‘Depravity’, who invited me to a party or six and was at great pains to tell me that the next 'scene' would be the cross over between Swinging and Fetish because "Swingers had so much more fun"...not sure I could cope with six foot Bo Peep having any more fun and women in strap ons might be amusing to observe but to observe in action? Possibly not!

The owners of the Torture Garden are also there and as Alice knows everyone the obligatory introduction takes place...not so different from The House of Lords "How do you do?" "Nice to meet you" as I try not to let my eyes be drawn to the leather codpiece that has without doubt had a helping hand from somewhere!

Well after that, what next? For now cocoa beckons and, despite all the attention my feet have received, a foot spa is needed…
Foot Fetish Wanderers 3 Killer Heels 27
Then it’s off to the country for church services, lunches and dinners...I shall no doubt imagine them all in chains being whipped to death, and I'm sure the bishop will look absolutely charming in pink rubber stockings, nipple tassels and a PVC thong!

Discuss this Journal entry [2]

Latest reply: Jul 6, 2010

A new life

Won't even go there now but have missed you all loads. new beginnings, lots of stuff bforenthe new beginnings will post again soon

Discuss this Journal entry [18]

Latest reply: Jul 6, 2010

Another day in the same life

No pressure to catch the 7.24.
Catch the 9.06

Office looks pristine. Coffee machine might be working but so delighted with office looking pristine didn’t feel the necessity to avail myself of any noxious liquids and early morning nicotine break.

Office is currently being refurbished by HR so not looking great as HR has little artistic talent and is seriously challenged in the project management department. We have had three fire alarms in a week; normally we have one a year.

God is in the shires, assistant has crisis with something to do with 'run on the banks' ...he doesn't need to work and the pittance he is afforded means I can't shriek and demand his presence.

Hmmm strange space.

Luxury space. Feel like I am at a spa hotel in the country - without a man...what happened to pressure?

Check voice mail. God in the country thanks me for something I have suggested as an 'innovative idea'. Fine, no idea what the innovative idea was but praise is always welcome.

Check emails... all porn is relegated to 'look at later' bin, nothing else really demanding.

Rummage through yesterday's ideas and send emails off to people that could make them happen...not sure that a reception for 'Pricilla Queen of the Desert’ will wing it past the higher Gods but know the members would appreciate...send it to 'pending' and half heartedly look up contacts for Cameron; it's not till March after all.

Re-organise files on computer, well shuffle them around so they could possibly be understood by my replacement should I fall under a train and make tomorrows headlines in the not too distant future: 'mother of two throws herself under the 6.06 from Waterloo, class a drugs not ruled out'; at least they look neat.

Check invitations.

Mansion House, White tie dinner next Wednesday. OK haven't been there before, Angela might have a frock I could borrow, fine let's tick the box.

Lords Cricket ground October. Black tie dinner with Graham Gooch as guest speaker? Isn't he a rugby payer? Best Google. Oh no he played cricket, that'll be why it's at Lords. Why have I been invited? It's a charity fund raiser, can't be for my money, perhaps they think I have connections?

Stop it that's mean, they are truly altruistic souls.

Several Art gallery preview invitations...all impossible to get to on the district and circle line and next week I have highly promiscuous gay lawyer friend arriving on Saturday and his idea of a good night out is closer to Soho than surreal...actually possibly not but in an entirely different understanding of the context.

Read. Oh how glorious, the luxury of actually reading, as opposed to skimming, perhaps finally, after four years of fire fighting, I can begin to do what I have a tiny talent for. No questions please, I'm sure I'm good at what I should be doing.

PM: assistant arrives, intent on filing. No chance there is a trade show at Billingsgate, I am bored with filing and assistants should have some fun

'Exhibition in Billingsgate lets go'.

He is intent on filing.

'Free booze and food and we can file on Monday!' (Friday is my 'work from home day')

The food wins

Next to shopping, exhibitions are my most hated excursions.

It is packed. Young people, keen enthusiastic and intent on 'making a sale'.

Bored to death.

Assistant is suffused with admiration.

'How do you do it? They are trying to sell you something and you get them to buy?'

'Blonde and tits honey, oh and I'm quite good at my day job.'

Evening: Cook dinner for two of my best girlfriends. Bearing in mind I don't do cooking was appalled at the price of food in the supermarket, how come dinner for 3 costs £50?

Delightful evening

Having asked about my love life...null points (how sad that I have become the focus of vicarious sexual activity, and even sadder that I have nothing to report), we meander down holiday memory lane and they decide I have to document the skinny dipping episode, the mad sister who is 'so not having an affair' week, and the 'I'm never going to Morocco with her again unless you come too' holiday.

Tomorrow is 'work from home day' and Saturday gay lawyer arrives.

Snot factory is receding, I visit the Duchess in the morning, Kathy Lette has agreed to an interview and all is reasonably well with the offsprung...well actually there is a bit of drama there but that will have to wait until the Chardonnay has left the system.

Hopefully by then wit will have returned.

Discuss this Journal entry [1]

Latest reply: Sep 18, 2008

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