Sunday, 16 May 2010
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
101 Things - Number 22
Kiss A Gorgeous Girl Under The Eiffel Tower
Her legs were actually shaking; I wish I could say it was due to the allure of her lips close to mine, or the threat of sweet romance in the city of love. But no. It was actually due to two factors; she had chosen to wear shorts on a day that can only be described as close to Baltic cold, and we had just been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and back down again, and our main mode of transport had been feet on steps. Hence the wobbling legs.
It had been a great day so far, we had walked and playfought along the Seine, waltzed through the entrance to the Louve and been refused admission to a holy church for being inappropriate. And to top it all off I was going to complete the first of many, well 101 tasks, on my list.
Finding the girl had been easy, but getting there had been harder, it’s not easy to find the Eiffel Tower you know. 315 metres of steel can be easily mistaken for a . . . telephone pole.
But I had gotten so carried away with the lifesize models of Thomas Edison and Mr Eiffel atop of the tower in a makeshift room, that I completely forgot that we had come here for another reason as well.
“So, are we going to take a picture at the bottom of us kissing for evidence?” asked Jess.
“Hmmm?” I answered elegantly as I struggled to look away from Mr Edison; do you really think he had a moustache that large?
“A photo, at the bottom, for your list”
“Ah, the list” I tried to cover up my tracks and complete lack of recollection of the task, “Yes”
“You’d forgotten hadn’t you?”
Better to admit failure and gain respect through humility I thought, “No”
So after the trip to the bottom of the Tower, upon which my companion admitted to having “jelly legs”, we were in position. But there is a slight problem when such a great pressure is placed upon you, and the first of one hundred items on a list is about to be ticked off – you find it very funny.
After what seemed like a hundred attempts to kiss, and fail, we looked one another in the eye and we knew the time for smiles and laughter we over; we were in the realm of ambition here, in the city of love and in the cradle of the most romantic steel structures in the world.
So as I swept Jess off her feet and leaned in to kiss her like she’d never been kissed before, only one thing entered my mind, the fact the Parisians call the Eiffel tower the ‘Steel Aubergine’.
The kiss doesn’t go to plan, because I drop her when laughing too loud. This is my written apology, sorry.
Her legs were actually shaking; I wish I could say it was due to the allure of her lips close to mine, or the threat of sweet romance in the city of love. But no. It was actually due to two factors; she had chosen to wear shorts on a day that can only be described as close to Baltic cold, and we had just been to the top of the Eiffel Tower and back down again, and our main mode of transport had been feet on steps. Hence the wobbling legs.
It had been a great day so far, we had walked and playfought along the Seine, waltzed through the entrance to the Louve and been refused admission to a holy church for being inappropriate. And to top it all off I was going to complete the first of many, well 101 tasks, on my list.
Finding the girl had been easy, but getting there had been harder, it’s not easy to find the Eiffel Tower you know. 315 metres of steel can be easily mistaken for a . . . telephone pole.
But I had gotten so carried away with the lifesize models of Thomas Edison and Mr Eiffel atop of the tower in a makeshift room, that I completely forgot that we had come here for another reason as well.
“So, are we going to take a picture at the bottom of us kissing for evidence?” asked Jess.
“Hmmm?” I answered elegantly as I struggled to look away from Mr Edison; do you really think he had a moustache that large?
“A photo, at the bottom, for your list”
“Ah, the list” I tried to cover up my tracks and complete lack of recollection of the task, “Yes”
“You’d forgotten hadn’t you?”
Better to admit failure and gain respect through humility I thought, “No”
So after the trip to the bottom of the Tower, upon which my companion admitted to having “jelly legs”, we were in position. But there is a slight problem when such a great pressure is placed upon you, and the first of one hundred items on a list is about to be ticked off – you find it very funny.
After what seemed like a hundred attempts to kiss, and fail, we looked one another in the eye and we knew the time for smiles and laughter we over; we were in the realm of ambition here, in the city of love and in the cradle of the most romantic steel structures in the world.
So as I swept Jess off her feet and leaned in to kiss her like she’d never been kissed before, only one thing entered my mind, the fact the Parisians call the Eiffel tower the ‘Steel Aubergine’.
The kiss doesn’t go to plan, because I drop her when laughing too loud. This is my written apology, sorry.
Thursday, 29 April 2010
Unfinished Sympathy
I lost my sense of empathy when I walked a mile in your shoes,
I won’t be there when you cry to Johnny singing the blues,
Turn out the lights and lie down in the bed that you made,
Always thinking how to destroy barriers with the games you played.
I won’t be there when you cry to Johnny singing the blues,
Turn out the lights and lie down in the bed that you made,
Always thinking how to destroy barriers with the games you played.
Natural Evocation
When I looked at her, she just smiled. No words, no movement below or above these pursed lips. There was no need, her eyes said it all. She was telling me how much she wanted me, how I wasn’t to issue a word as I tore off her clothes and threw her onto the bed, and how as her fingers clawed into my back, I would watch the perspiration from my head fall like a guiding beacon onto her writhing chest.
My eyes bore into hers, creating an electricity that ripped into all around us, bonding us for emotion untold and constricting the physical. The world stood still and nothing else existed or would be created. If this was it, even for a second, it was worth it all.
And then she disappeared, I heard the traffic and the swell of conversation. Gone without a trace, but leaving a memory that will always be as fresh as a footstep in the snow. Never tarnished, never removed.
My eyes bore into hers, creating an electricity that ripped into all around us, bonding us for emotion untold and constricting the physical. The world stood still and nothing else existed or would be created. If this was it, even for a second, it was worth it all.
And then she disappeared, I heard the traffic and the swell of conversation. Gone without a trace, but leaving a memory that will always be as fresh as a footstep in the snow. Never tarnished, never removed.
Airport Treadmills
A very wise, but clinically obese man once told me ‘never accept your first offer’. He was talking about lapdances, but it stills rings true. As I gladly sipped my first pint of German beer at Amsterdam airport, I was glad I had met the weighty fool.
I had strolled past an enormous crowd at the first bar, all clambering and wailing for an alcoholic drink to numb the fear of falling out of the sky whilst on their homebound connection. While the temptation to stand in line like a good Brit, I gambled on there being another refreshment centre farther down the concourse, and I hit the jackpot.
I guess the motive of the story is, don’t drink and fly.
I had strolled past an enormous crowd at the first bar, all clambering and wailing for an alcoholic drink to numb the fear of falling out of the sky whilst on their homebound connection. While the temptation to stand in line like a good Brit, I gambled on there being another refreshment centre farther down the concourse, and I hit the jackpot.
I guess the motive of the story is, don’t drink and fly.
Love In An Elevator
I’m trapped in an elevator.
No, this isn’t some kind of colourful metaphorical description to the state of my life or my fear of developing claustrophobia. I’m actually in a lift.
It’s a little embarrassing. I’m in Luxembourg airport, which sounds quite exotic and exciting, but this isn’t a skyscraper lift breakdown like you’re expecting. I’m not stuck between the 52nd and 53rd floors with a beautiful Swede and a bottle of champagne conveniently placed for emergencies such as this; if it was, my name would be James and i’d have a knack of flirting hideously with the bosses secretary. I’m actually stuck between the ground and 1st floor, in an elevator that only moves between the floors and is completely transparent. Epic fail you ask? I concur.
The only reason i’m stuck in this ridiculous lift, with the constant threat of the cable snapping and my receiving a twisted ankle, is that I wanted to go in a foreign elevator to see if they were different from the UK. Maybe a voice would announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, be prepared for the ultimate transportation between floors!”, but in French. My childlike search for excitement within modern technology in a distant airport proved to be my downfall.
Whilst a team of mechanics gathered at the bottom of the lift shaft and a lady with a megaphone tells me, and half the airport, to remain calm in broken English. It’s about now that I start to ponder something eloquent and more pertinent than ever; something my father once said to me, ”Get off my shoulders you lazy bastard!”
No, this isn’t some kind of colourful metaphorical description to the state of my life or my fear of developing claustrophobia. I’m actually in a lift.
It’s a little embarrassing. I’m in Luxembourg airport, which sounds quite exotic and exciting, but this isn’t a skyscraper lift breakdown like you’re expecting. I’m not stuck between the 52nd and 53rd floors with a beautiful Swede and a bottle of champagne conveniently placed for emergencies such as this; if it was, my name would be James and i’d have a knack of flirting hideously with the bosses secretary. I’m actually stuck between the ground and 1st floor, in an elevator that only moves between the floors and is completely transparent. Epic fail you ask? I concur.
The only reason i’m stuck in this ridiculous lift, with the constant threat of the cable snapping and my receiving a twisted ankle, is that I wanted to go in a foreign elevator to see if they were different from the UK. Maybe a voice would announce, “Ladies and gentlemen, be prepared for the ultimate transportation between floors!”, but in French. My childlike search for excitement within modern technology in a distant airport proved to be my downfall.
Whilst a team of mechanics gathered at the bottom of the lift shaft and a lady with a megaphone tells me, and half the airport, to remain calm in broken English. It’s about now that I start to ponder something eloquent and more pertinent than ever; something my father once said to me, ”Get off my shoulders you lazy bastard!”
Sunday, 25 April 2010
Double Lined
“Jack?”
Sweat poured from his face, mingling with the dead pool of blood beneath his hands.
“Are you alright?”
His entire body trembled and shook. The horror in his eyes told the story his lips never would. Every muscle was tense and stiff, like an electric current had been charged continuously through his body.
“Jack, can you hear me?”
His fingernails were splintered and torn, testament to his trying to claw through the crimson lake to the floor underneath. Tears swelled in his eyes and his heart wept.
“Jack? Jack! Can you hear me?” A voice rang nearby.
“I’m not Jack” he told, “And I just killed a man”
Sweat poured from his face, mingling with the dead pool of blood beneath his hands.
“Are you alright?”
His entire body trembled and shook. The horror in his eyes told the story his lips never would. Every muscle was tense and stiff, like an electric current had been charged continuously through his body.
“Jack, can you hear me?”
His fingernails were splintered and torn, testament to his trying to claw through the crimson lake to the floor underneath. Tears swelled in his eyes and his heart wept.
“Jack? Jack! Can you hear me?” A voice rang nearby.
“I’m not Jack” he told, “And I just killed a man”
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