Thursday, August 12, 2004

Will Smith naked

My boy called tonight "Can we go to the pictures?"
"What to see?"
"I, Robot."
"Get your shoes on I'll be there in 15 minutes."
What a good film. Lot's of action and a few surprises. Plus my own personal film critic sitting to my left. That's my daughter Gemma "trust me, I'm a media student" da Hat. Her only reason for seeing the film was to get a glimpse of Will Smith in the buff, which wasn't that exciting if you must know the truth. It was a little irrelevant to the story, a bit of a gratuitous skin shot,but hey, who am I to complain about damp seats?
Then there was the argument between Gemma and Jamie da Hat about Will Smith being in the nude, with Gemma saying "What about "Tomb Raider?" That's for the boys,why can't us girls get a flash ourselves."
Well Gemma da Hat is now 18 and I still remember changing her nappies and bouncing her in her bouncy chair while I played guitar. I even taught her, at the age of two, to clap and scream when I finished a song.
If you want to know what my Gemma is like, look at an advert on TV. There's a girl in a shower using a new shower gel or something, could be a shampoo and she shakes with delight. Well that's my girl. She is just like that. Not that I stand around watching her shower you understand. What do you take me for?

Well the jury is still out on whether I should publish any more of the Helene saga. I've had three E-mails so far. (No comments) One said "it was brilliant". One said "Very interesting I'm still reading it, I'll let you know" the last said "Self indulgent crap, not enough sex." I wrote back to the last person arguing that it wasn't a sex story, but a love story. He wrote back saying, "you're a slave to your mistress, just tell us about the sex. Tell us what really happened between the sheets and maybe we'll be interested." I'm not about to cheapen my time with Helene by describing the intimate details, bringing it down to the lowest common denominator. If sex was all it was about, then I'd be ashamed of myself. (oh Shit there's another fight in the street outside) Doesn't anyone appreciate love anymore? Is sex all there is left to us? I haven't seen Helene for nearly two years now. But I'm not about to make a mockery of our relationship by going into all the sweaty, squelchy details, that some would want me to. There's something called respect. (The police have arrived about five minutes too late, there's no one here to arrest). I may never see Helene again, but that doesn't mean our time together didn't mean something. She phones me occassionally when things are going bad. Like when her daughter was in hospital after being hit by a car. She's OK. More dented pride than dented body. Or when her father, who took a shotgun to me, was rushed into hospital with a heart attack. He survived. She calls me because she has no one else to talk to, not even her bastard husband. I am her best friend. She is mine. She is French, I am English. She lives in France. I live here. I was going to give everything up and move to France to be with her. But the french divorce laws are very different from ours. If she left the marital home then her bastard husband had a very good chance of getting custody of her children. Because if she left she was the unstable part of the relationship. It wasn't a done deal but she wasn't prepared to take the chance of losing her kids. I always knew her children were more important than I could ever be. So that's what happened. She stayed with her husband. They have separate beds. The wierd thing is I spent almost two years going to see her her with her husband knowing all about it. I even met him once. One day I was in my hotel and Helene came to me saying "My husband wants to meet you."
"Shit! Shit and double shit! Does he want to kill me?"
"no he just wants to meet you. We're going to dinner together."
Well that was really bizarre. So we went to this restaurant and had dinner. Helene and I on one side of the table and her bastard husband on the other. He told us we looked good together. He gave me a present. A book by Ernest hemingway, in french. I read it. "Le vielle homme et la mer". God! We even shook hands. Can you believe that? I was shagging his wife and he shook hands with me. He should have punched my lights out. But in the end he got what he wanted. He got his wife back albeit just a presence in the house. He never regained her love. And me? I lost my best friend ever. But on a positive note I'm having a great time. Life is good. I'm super smashing and marvellous. I have my freedom. I do as I like. But I'd give it all up tomorrow just to be with my best friend. Such is life. D'ya wanna know the story? Vote now.

May your God be with you



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