South West France, March 2012: The driver of the car we are travelling in says, “Do you realize you are now over a mile above sea level?”  ‘Crikey’ I think to myself, ‘that’s rather high.’  You see generally I don’t do high – at least not since the debacle of many years previous when I had the misfortune to take a trip in a 1930’s de Havilland Dragon Rapide ‘Gentleman’s Flying Machine’ whose handle bar moustached, aging and rather portly pilot was the worse for whisky. I have not flown since and have no intention of doing so again.

Anyway, we are in the Pyrenees. At ground level this early spring morn the temperature a not unpleasant 15 degrees. Atop the mountains – well at least as high as the winding road with its perilous sheer drops will take us – it is minus 8 degrees and the winter snow is far from melt down. We park up to take in the glorious vista. Shirley is fumbling in her bag seeking out gloves as we progress toward a suitable vantage point to take photographs. It is then that a thought strikes me!

“Here Shirley, do you realise I – with your compliance of course – could fulfill my life time’s ambition of joining the ‘Mile High Club’ right here; right now? It’s the only thing left on my ‘things to do before I die list’ you know. Please Shirley please – I’ll beg if you want me to?”

She has found her gloves, leather at that so they sting severely as she playfully slaps me about the face with them, calls me an “Idiot” and walks on laughing.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then?”

“If you think I’m taking my clothes off in minus 8 and snow you’ve got another think coming!”

“Oh well it was worth a try.”

Summertime, a few years earlier; somewhere in Surrey: The old fool sits outside tonight.  He is unusually relaxed in his patio chair.  It is a summer’s evening, cooling slightly, but still uncomfortably hot.  The sun will shortly set.  At his side, a glass of good ordinary claret; in his mind, barely an anxious thought.  The sunset is magnificent.  An orchestra of grasshoppers play only percussion.   In the sky above he cannot help but notice a noisy flock of emerald parakeets homeward bound.

Indoors, in the house where they are staying, the one he calls his child bride steps out of the shower and straight into a wedding dress she has found hanging on the back of the bedroom door.  Standing in front of a full-length mirror she smiles at herself.  “It fits”, she says out loud, not that anyone can hear her.  She has never worn wedding apparel before.  Having decided that they match the dress, she dons her white-framed sunglasses.  She makes her way, barefoot, onto the patio. She twirls before him, smiling the mischievous smile he knows so well.  “What do you think?” 

“You look lovely,” the old fool says.  “If you’re not careful I will have to ravish you.” 

Leaning beguilingly toward him, aware that her cleavage in this low cut gown both teases and inflames, she whispers in his ear and says, “You’ll have to catch me first”. 

Then she steps back inside, pausing for an instant at the patio doors to glance back at him, he the object of this premeditated bedevilment.  She flutters her eyelashes and takes flight.  The chase is not a long one.  It never is.  The old fool, even with his gammy leg catches his child bride at the foot of the stairs.  They are careful not to tear the wedding dress.

Later that night they lie in bed together.  Her head is nestled in his shoulder.  He likes it this way.  She sleeps soundly.  He gently kisses her forehead.  She doesn’t stir. A woman of free spirit when animate, she reminds him of a hibernating dormouse when she sleeps – all tucked up, safe and warm.   Like all enduring insomniacs he lets his mind wander to whatever place it wishes.  Earlier that day they had spread his parents’ ashes.  The old fool is now an old orphan and a perplexed one at that.  He thinks back to his teenage years.  Back then an only child who had no knowledge of the ways of the world.  Now he has the love of his life and all the wisdom he requires.  The pair have been together a very long time now and their love persists.  In these days of negligence, expedience and wastage he wonders how this can be?  He and his lover must be telepathic, he thinks.  They do not need words, or even eye contact.  Together they always know the right moment for romance, for fighting, for forgiveness, for sharing, for lust, for understanding – indeed for all of the aspects of pure love.  Whatever the future may hold the souls of this man and his lover are entwined forevermore.  Eventually he drifts into a restless sleep.

In the morning he determines that he shall write her a poem – one she can treasure; keep in her purse to share with others should the fancy take her.  The masterpiece he pens reads thus;

I love your eyes,

And all your bits,

But most of all,

I love your………

Upon reading said poem she arms herself with oven gloves and slaps him about the face with them, calls him an “Idiot” and walks off laughing.  I did attempt to point out that I simply could not think of a word that rhymed with ‘bits’.

A re-run of a blog from when I had just started out a year ago!



  1. You reminded me that I always, or often at least, wonder how the eskimo go about their “Intimates.” Is there money, do you think, in writing a book called “Sex Tips For An Arctic Holiday,” written, obviously after copious amounts of research involving thick fur costumes, goggles and a desperate imagination

    1. What a truly splendid idea – although as a prospective researcher I’m guessing here that armpit (and other areas) hair plus the rancid smell of seal skin would likely dampen my ardour somewhat. This would make a bloody good skit though.

      1. It will be cold on the Pyrenees already methinks. Went for an Indian meal last night quite forgetting my latter day garlic allergy! Still gives me something to moan about today!

      2. Well, perhaps a ski lift or a tall mountain. But I think you’d have better luck if you’d just suck it up and fly. I’ve got a story in the works about a man who won’t fly, but you don’t want to know what happens to him. 🙂

      3. LOL! No, not you? Well, you can definitely drive me onto the train through the tunnel, because my eyes will be shut the whole time! Being in something enclosed under water is about the only thing that scares the bejeebers out of me.

      4. Tunnel is fine – takes just 35 minutes of which only 25 in the tunnel itself. Ships are fine save for when the sea is big. Flying, indeed going up a ladder is something alien to me.

      5. And if the tunnel collapses… there’s no way out! I’m fine in open water, but enclosed under water, no way! Good think I don’t drive a submarine! So your fear is more of heights than planes? My sister was afraid of heights….wouldn’t even step on a step stool… until I got her to go skydiving with me. (Which feels nothing like falling by the way.) It instantly cured her.

      6. Wouldn’t cure me; wouldn’t do it! Tell you what though I was ‘researching’ about skydiving for a skit a while back and noted that in Germany they seem to do a lot of naked sky diving. Whole families (kids and all) turn up with a picnic and make a day of watching people skydive with no kit on – the crowds are like a music festival! Unbelievable yet true – ’tis on YouTube!

      7. Oh, well that’s…different. If I had any complaints about skydiving it was 1) louder than I expected until the ripcord was pulled. and 2) hurt the boobs a bit when the cord was pulled. So because of #2, I can’t imagine doing it with no extra padding. LOL!

      8. I think – vertigo aside – I cannot fathom the ‘why’ when it comes to extreme things. Can’t see its purpose – I mean I have been in a cricket net and have faced some seriously quick bowlers but I had a purpose in being there. Sky diving not so…..then again I’m odd!

      9. Okay, you’re talking in a foreign language again. LOL! What is a cricket net and bowlers? Skydiving is done simply because it is FUN! 😀 It’s better than any high you can ever get from a drug and at least as good as sex. 🙂 MUCH more fun than a roller coaster.

      10. That photo looks like baseball but with a giant spoon! LOL! No roller coasters either? How about other rides? Or a merry-go-round or Ferris wheel? You obviously can’t see how it’s as good as sex if you won’t take your feet off the ground. Maybe I’ll have to help Shirley knock you out and put you on a plane so she can have her way with you. 🙂

      11. As Chris Martin of Coldplay wrote, ‘If you never try you’ll never know’ – problem with that is that it doesn’t take account of abject fear of heights! Having said that I’d rather drive to the South of France than fly there!

      12. WHAT? Are you serious? Maybe you want to jump to get down from the height. Are you just scared of heights when your feet are off the ground like in a plane or ride? Or could you go on a high mountain and be okay? I told you my sister cured her fear of heights when I bullied her into skydiving with me. I look at fear like this: If I’ve got to die (and we all do), I’d rather die doing something cool like falling out of a plane than having a heart attack in my bed or something equally as boring. At least the other way, people might talk about me after I go. When I read the newspaper the day after 9/11, it made me so sad to see all those people’s career by their name, i.e., “Judy Jones, secretary.” Because if she really didn’t like her job, how sad that her job was all she was remembered for. Not “Judy Jones, great wife and mom, awesome karaoke singer, amateur poet, and seasoned cook and dog lover who also worked as a secretary.”

      13. Funny thing was 9/11 – I shed tears that day and I agree with the essence of what you say. My fear of heights is not a morbid fear – think it comes from a day as a kid on a footbridge over the Thames when my dad said if someone was drowning down there he’d jump in to save them notwithstanding the wild currents near the lock below – my mum went mad with him saying he would die in those waters. I was peering over the side at the time – not depressed or anything like that – and just felt a strong desire to let go and fall. The feeling has never left me – can’t even go up a ladder! In terms of dying and being remembered I know exactly how I’d like to go…..bit to rude to write down though!

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