» Public Sex

Blow Job, Interrupted
Aged 14, first girlfriend (feisty little minx as it turned out), in a local park after dark, totally empty except for us.

After some snogging and general awkward teenage fumbling, she breathily says 'Do you want to get more comfortable?'
'Holy shit!' I'm thinking, 'This is it, this is it!'
'Er, yeah?' I manage to mumble feebly. Smooth.

As it was, 'getting more comfortable' meant sticking my coat on the ground and lying on the cold hard concrete, but whatever, there's a good chance I might actually go from virgin nerd to the king of all sex here and it could be on the top of a monkey puzzle tree for all I care.

So there we are on the ground, the fumbling progressing to hitherto uncharted territory, when she asks, quite coolly, if I'd like a blow job. That'll be a blow job. A. Blow. Job. And would I like one? Me? Blow job.

In the 2 nanoseconds it took me to answer in the affirmative, I'd already got my kecks off, my mind racing, my heart pounding. 'Just wait till the lads at school hear about this,' I think, 'I'll be a hero!'

She's edging agonisingly closer to my old chap and I'm just about beside myself with anticipation and excitement at this stage (to be fair though, my helmet might well have actually exploded had she managed to make gob-to-bell contact).

Then, just at the point where my little man was about to know his first tongue bath, there's a shout from out of the darkness. A loud, angry shout. And then another and another. And some barking. Loud, angry, police dog-type barking. Oh bollocks. Oh shitty bollocks, what's this?

Turns out there had been a spate of break-ins in the houses that backed on to the park, and as it hadn't been quite as dark when we got there as I'd previously imagined, someone had spotted some shadowy figures lurking about suspiciously and called the rozzers. The icing on the cake was the fucking police helicopter lighting the place up with its power-of-a-million-suns beam, searing my soul like a teenager mortification ray.

There was to be no blow job. We broke up shortly afterwards and I still remained a virgin nerd several years later. Rasclart.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 14:50, More)

» And that's the thanks I got

Arsehole farmer
Well, not a farmer of arseholes strictly speaking...

One summer's day about 15 years ago, I got a phone call first thing in the morning from a pretty hot girl I used to knock about with. She lived on a farm and asked if I wanted to come and help out for the day. Eager to make a few quid dossing about in fields and sensing a rematch with said hot girl, I got changed and got up to the farm sharpish.

Well, what an utter, utter bastard of a day that turned out to be.

Lifting half a million bales of hay onto a trailer, pissing about in a hay loft doing pretty much the same thing, dodging dangerous farmyard machinery wielded by boss-eyed inbreds, getting shouted at constantly by her arsehole father and basically doing all the shittiest jobs the proper farm labourers didn't want to do.

After a generous 15-minute lunch, we were off to another farm about 5 miles up the road. I thought things might improve a bit with a change of scene. Wrong. As everyone jumped in the tractors, I was shown the trailer behind one of them and invited to climb on.

It was a truly humiliating journey. Sat on the this rickety wooden trailer, clinging on to the bastard while it bounced around all over the place, I was dragged agonisingly slowly through all the villages between the two farms, people stopping and pointing, as I was continuously pelted with chunks of poo flying up from the shit-caked wheels of the tractor. Really good.

So 8 o'clock rolls around and I'm pretty knackered, what with working since 9 with 15 minutes' break, I tell the farmer I've got to get home. The miserly twat wasn't happy since he was expecting me to stay there working presumably all fucking night, and left me to walk the 5 miles back. Totally shagged out, covered in insect bites and scratches, and covered in cow shit.

And the magnificent reward for this day of labour? 5 quid. FIVE whole pounds.

I still hope all his cows get AIDS, the minge bag, Jasper Carrott-lookalike bastard.

And not a sniff off the hot daughter either, gah!
(Thu 24th May 2007, 16:46, More)

» How clean is your house?

Clean house? Honestly, living with my girlfriend is like living with Howard Hughes
Not that the house is particularly clean. She just poos in jars and never cuts her hair or nails. She also built the world's biggest plane out of wood once. The mad bastard that she is.
(Thu 25th Mar 2010, 15:05, More)

» The worst sex I ever had

Gran Canaria
A rough shitehole of a holiday destination with a higher Kev count than Southend on a Friday night.

Ended up having a brief holiday shag with some Scottish girl. Rough as arseholes, this Glasgow girl drank like Ollie Reed and had a mouth on her that would make a docker blush. She had what can only be described as a mysterious dry patch actually on her mimsy and for the entire duration of the woeful shag she paused every 30 seconds or so to swig from the bottle of Barcardi she was clutching. Class. I still feel dirty.
(Fri 15th Jun 2007, 11:21, More)

» The Dirty Secrets of Your Trade

Lost in Translation
I'm a professional translator and over the past few years I've seen all manner of dodgy practices.

I've often been asked to "check" and "proof" translations into and out of languages I have absolutely no knowledge of (and some of these are important documents with real consequences if they're wrong). I've seen translations done by people who describe themselves as professionals but who in reality have little or no command of English and sometimes only a passing acquaintance with the source language- and who get loads of work from non-too-discerning clients and agencies because they're cheap, and often clients are in no position to judge whether a translation is any good or not anyway.

My first foray into translation was to do quite a lot a freelance stuff for Eurotrash. The very first thing I did was a load of footage of Lolo Ferrari for a tribute show after she snuffed it. I grossly underestimated the amount of work involved in that one and didn't sleep for 72 hours getting it done. I may or may not have *made up* portions of said translation.
(Thu 27th Sep 2007, 11:25, More)