Wednesday, 2 September 2009

dinner with le Agent Provocateur

So – just got home from dinner with le agent provocateur. AKA the agent to yous.
She’s lovely. Really nice. I like her. She’s open (she needs to be working with me!), interesting and friendly, yet sharp. I like that.
We went to a gorgeous restaurant where we ate Kangaroo, frogs legs, and Lovebug salad - salad with delicious crispy lightly fried bugs, which were once alive, but no longer, sprinkled on top.
I kid you not amigos – that’s what we ate and it was damn fine fare too.Kangaroo is like steak. Have you had it? Yummy! I was a virgin until tonight. But I’ll definitely be going back for not-so-sloppy-seconds.
Have you noticed how everyone says that most unusual food tastes like chicken?

Chickens must be insulted to be considered so generic. But this, this wasn’t, it was rich and dense just like sirloin beef. Scrummy yum yum! ( or is that scrummy bum bum?? I'm not obsessed, really Im not. I'm just teasing...)

I managed to talk with her and leave Blue’s anus out of it. It didn’t pop into my head until around 10pm when I got a text from him saying some very naughty things. I rushed to the loo. For a piddle not a wank, and I text him back telling him how turned on his text had made me feel. He’s a naughty, naughty one is that Blue.

So, after we ate I walked to the train station with the signed contract from the publishing house,. I did my signing bit a few days ago and got that witnessed – they then had to do their bit, making the whole thing legally binding and very real. My Hooked, the baby I have nurtured over the past 20 months now officially belongs to the publishers and my ass is theirs too.; as long as Blue can watch – I don’t see that there will be a problem.
Blummin’ eck! Things are happening... I just don’t want to start feeling lost now I don’t have the book to work on. I can barely bring myself to read through it incase I see any errors. Altho I may just have a little read. I find it difficult to read it in the same way as you may do though. I’m too close to it. I’m too critical. Of what I hear you ask? Exactly. It’s perfect. Critical of what indeed. I’m joking. There is no such thing as perfection is there? Actually maybe there is. Maybe something can be perfect even for a moment at the right time...

Anyway, too late for philosophy and the great questions of life, it's bed time.

It’s squealing again... I can hear it. Listen. That sound... it’s my bed calling my name.
Night night.