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Shagging Pigeons and Dirty Swimming Pools
Mar. 22nd, 2006 05:30 pmTwo pigeons were shagging beside me while I ate my lunch. Eventhough there was a thick glass window between us, I could almost hear all the cooing as they moved through their tantric positions.
Spring must be around the corner. A new wave of people have descended upon my local pool, interested in getting fit for the Summer. On Monday, I spotted a young guy in the locker room. I'm so used to seeing the usual 90 year olds that I almost embarrassed myself by gaping at his body for far too long as he bent down to slip on his swimming trunks. I must have been half asleep.
I hadn't been back to the pool since my fall in the bathtub. But after only two sessions, I've already been hit by bad luck again: my throat is experiencing that most annoying "hrm hrm" symptom of germ infestation. I won't let those little bastards keep me down: I've bought some powerful Blackcurrant Halls and I'm drinking enough cups of tea to generate a piece of art installation called "My Niagara Falls Penis".
When I get to Brasil, I want to return to that swimming pool in Londrina I discovered last year. I could do with a personal trainer telling me to do 500 laps holding a board and alternating my breathing. It's that kind of pain that gets you in shape. One of my co-workers will be travelling through Brasil around the same time as me. I'm planning on meeting up with her in Sao Paulo, or at least arranging for her to stay at my mom's farm. My flight leaves a month from today. As the date approaches, expect the usual paranoid post where I fret about who will get my possessions when my plane sinks in the Atlantic ocean.
Spring must be around the corner. A new wave of people have descended upon my local pool, interested in getting fit for the Summer. On Monday, I spotted a young guy in the locker room. I'm so used to seeing the usual 90 year olds that I almost embarrassed myself by gaping at his body for far too long as he bent down to slip on his swimming trunks. I must have been half asleep.
I hadn't been back to the pool since my fall in the bathtub. But after only two sessions, I've already been hit by bad luck again: my throat is experiencing that most annoying "hrm hrm" symptom of germ infestation. I won't let those little bastards keep me down: I've bought some powerful Blackcurrant Halls and I'm drinking enough cups of tea to generate a piece of art installation called "My Niagara Falls Penis".
When I get to Brasil, I want to return to that swimming pool in Londrina I discovered last year. I could do with a personal trainer telling me to do 500 laps holding a board and alternating my breathing. It's that kind of pain that gets you in shape. One of my co-workers will be travelling through Brasil around the same time as me. I'm planning on meeting up with her in Sao Paulo, or at least arranging for her to stay at my mom's farm. My flight leaves a month from today. As the date approaches, expect the usual paranoid post where I fret about who will get my possessions when my plane sinks in the Atlantic ocean.
