Posts Tagged ‘Married Life’

“This train is taking its time,” he said.

The lights at the level crossing continued to flash. A knot of school kids leant on one of  the barriers, killing time.

“They’ll break that barrier if they are not careful.”

She didn’t reply.

“We always seem to wait a long time here. I should have gone down Durham Avenue instead.”

The car engine idled. He tapped the steering wheel with both index fingers. She found this intensely annoying. But didn’t say anything.

“Why did you buy all those tea towels?”

“We needed some.”

“Why so many though?”

She watched the school kids lean more precariously on the barrier. They jumped off as a train thundered past.

“12.05 to Bristol.” He said.

The barriers didn’t lift and the kids clambered back on.

“Waiting for the 12.11 to Derby.”

She didn’t reply. Her mind wandered back to the dry goods salesman who had called round that morning. She bought the tea towels and a pack of sponges from him because of his pretty face and sweet Geordie accent.

Then they had fucked. On the settee in the front room. The State Opening of Parliament  was on the television. His groans accompanied the tally of forthcoming legislation. He came as Her Majesty announced new laws to arbitrate in family disputes.

She smiled to herself as she recalled this sweaty memory.

“Penny for them.”

She didn’t reply. A train rumbled through the crossing.

“The Derby train.”

The barriers rose. The kids dashed across the tracks.

“Fancy fish fingers for tea?” she asked.

“Smashing. We haven’t had them for ages.”

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Riding the Madrid Metro


I didn’t see the band get on

The mum and dad

Both wearing Disney shirts and their kids tied to games machines

The old woman I stood for, after trying to read the metro poetry

Yes; I saw them

But I didn’t see the band get on

I heard and stood across from the giggling girls talking in Portugese

I saw them

But then the band put to play


The band of Indians

Peruvian?-They’d skipped the ponchos…

I hadn’t been prepared for the band getting on

Hadn’t seen them put to play

I had been thinking of you of course

Of our newly found love

Of how to change this

Make that work what I should do

The details and such

They put to sing in that dark hole of the heights


And the band got on and I knew of the depths

That she and I had fallen

Of the coffin nails driven deep into what was a marriage

Of my broken nails in my attempts to free us both

Of her despair

And they sang in that hole of the heights

Of joy and hardship

They knew of the yearning of the exiled

Of the long distance of a view


And I thought of you my new love

And I remembered

That the winds will blow And thought I don’t mind

For it is of you, not the details or such, that they sang

As now I’ll be ready for the winds to rage

And for the screaming distance of a view

I saw that the Portugese girls were laughing

As before me they’d noticed I’d put to cry

Sweet salt water tears

I could no longer hide when the band got on

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Hello Folks,

Oily George has proved very popular! His no nonsense advice and knowledge of erotica make him the ideal adviser on all things aesthetic, prosthetic or pneumatic.

He is between tanning sessions at the moment and so has the time to answer some more of your pressing beauty questions.

If You Want To Get Ahead Get A Hat


I have recently bought a nice new bobble hat. The bobble is a thing of rare beauty. But can you help me?

Do I wear the bobble atop me head or do I wear the bobble on the rear of my bonce. This bobble wobble is causing me angst.

Wilton, Braintree

Oily Replies;

Hi there Wilty,

I can’t believe there are those who actually wear bobble hats in public. In private it is understandable. On my fun nights in I often wear a nun’s outfit  (watch out for my upcoming docu/drama Wimper in a Wimple to find out more)  However I would never wear it in public. The shame in being seen in black here in the Plastic State would be too much to bear. Plus it ain’t conducive to topping up on the old tan. So really Wilton I’d leave the bobble at home. Go for the fedora. Classy. Smoooth.


Blood Simple

Dear Oily

Recently I went on holiday. Whilst on the Road to Nowhere I was queuing up at the security checkpoint when I noticed that the lady in front of me was suffering from a bad dose of extenuating circumstances. Have you any advice for the next time this happens to my wife?

Charley Husker-Du, Happysville

Oily Replies

Dear Charley,

In the Careful-There’s-A-Childs-Bike-Outside market that I cater for, this very problem is one that frequently causes us to run over budget as many of our actresses suffer from the same problem. Best bet? Go to the Chemist’s and buy some blood (or black pudding) – and spread liberally on the scalp of your dear wife.

No Charles not on her boobs – what do you take me for, some sort of low rent Winneresque pervert? Just her scalp. Leave for 10 minutes. Then lick it off. Slowly. It will work trust me. My actresses were eternally grateful that I did this for them but hey I take the employer/employee relationship to heart. Collapsing and getting my stomach pumped was a small price to pay for my girls health and well being.


Ever Giving


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