There is definitely something sexy about going swimming with your partner – being in such close proximity in such near nakedness with strangers around. It’s a mystical sexiness, yet is feels so ordinary. And there’s nothing actually sexual about it. It’s just sexy. Scantily-clad fun with no immediate sexual presumptions …
… Bah! Humbug! the negativity surrounding the passionate wonderousness of swimming stuns me. The gentle gliding of the human form through water, the hand on the thigh, the subtle flirtatiousness of the smile, the beads of water that frame the face, the wispiness of the damp hair … and yet nobody sees it but me. Ignore the verruca’s, ignore the children’s pee [easier to do if you go when it’s only adults, which we do], ignore the laughter of the lifeguards as they watch in amazement at the way you lose your balance in the water … I must be unique. Or quirky. Or simply mad. Oh well. I shall love the sexiness of it in the privacy of my own odd mind … apologies …
Last week one nameless Building Society told us we could only have a mortgage of <insert minimalistic minimum amount here> which totally threw me because it meant that I really had to stop looking in the quaintly historic market town in which we currently rent and look further afield.
Today another nameless Building Society informed us that we could have a mortgage for <insert maximalistic maximum amount here> which, again, totally threw me because I know that if we have a mortgage for that amount we would struggle to eat and pay bills.
So, we’re opting for a mortgage of about <insert sensible amount here> which we know will get us a three bedroom semi in another [not so quaintly historic] market town about ten miles away. The town we’ve chosen to do our searches in is full of inbred [if you knew where precisely in the Eastern Angles area of England it is you would understand] families – chav families with souped up cars, tacky jewellery and no jobs. However, currently lots of new estates are popping up, nice estates that are aimed at young professional couples and families. This suggests to us [and we could be wrong] that the area will gradually become nicer than pockets of it already are.And gradually us nice folk can squeeze the inbred chav’s out … *grin*.
So, that’s my weekend in a nutshell. We viewed a house. It was nice. We view another on Monday evening. It will be nice. Will I know instantly when I find the house I like? And how will I know? Will it jump up and bite me on the bottom? And what if we disagree about which house we like and see ourselves living in? Do we compromise? Start again? Scream at each other? Do I act like the submissive woman I know I am? Can I, at the very least, choose the colour of the bedroom? If we get a kitten do we need a scratching stick thingy? Who do I phone when there are no letting agents and I need someone to look at the plumbing? And who will get up to change the nappies in the middle of the night when we finally have babies?
This is going to be stressful, no?
I used to listen to The Cranberries a lot many moons ago when I was still a sprightly teenager. Thank you Susannah for reminding me how good they are …
Surely if my belly hurts it must be nearly tea-time?
please God bless the house that I will eventually buy xxx Elsabeth