Preoccupations

I find I’m getting hooked in to things.

I have been fascinated by the now-finished book ‘Unmastered’.

The content is, frankly, bland (especially if one is used to, ahem, more direct fayre), but the style in which the content is delivered is very readable.

As a piece of writing, Unmastered puts Fifty Shades well and truly in the shade.

Hahahahaha!

In the shade!

See what I did there?

Oh, you did?

Ahem.

But Unmastered as a piece of erotica?

Nah.

Delta of Venus did it much better.

Anyway, Unmastered has been well and truly mastered.

I have other preoccupations.

I am preoccupied by a girl (woman?).

I think of her and I smile.

I feel excited.

I am, obviously, a teenager trapped in someone else’s body.

It might come to nothing, but still I smile.

Still I think of her.

Still I get excited.

I am also very toey.

At work there is a touch of mild flirting with a doe-eyed girl.

And the leggy redhead from HR is back.

Preoccupations.

And work, despite the completion of the last two weekends, continues to occupy.

Oh yes, and some daft bugger keeps calling my mobile – from a ‘not disclosed’ number – but rings off and doesn’t leave a message.

What’s that about?

Either leave a message or leave a number or email me, for crying out loud.

It’s like some people are just out to play games. I don’t play games.

So that’s another preoccupation. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

I rode Vin this evening; he makes me laugh so much.

In many ways he is like a big excitable puppy.

Daughter made me laugh this evening too.

She is, though, still no nearer to being out of the teen-girl/goth/emo phase that she has so recently assumed.

The week – and the weekend – stretch ahead.

Dinner in London tomorrow.

No social activities planned for the weekend.

Ride Vin?

Ride the Bandit?

Have a mini adventure?

Maybe go to a six-band gig that is on in Oxford on Saturday?

All of these?

Some of these?

Something else?

Who knows.

Dressing Up and Getting Down

Language is a code, and if we have the key, we have perfect understanding.

But when someone says to you that the dress code for a party is ‘smart casual’, what does that mean?

No, seriously, what does ‘smart casual’ mean to you?

Here’s some supplementary information:

  • It is the hostesses birthday party
  • The venue is in a smart room
  • In a palace
  • The hostess has picked out a LBD

Even taking the ‘smart room’ and ‘palace’ out of the equation, for a moment, if the hostess has picked out a LBD, what the hell is ‘smart casual’?

I have spent the last few hours looking at my dinner suit/dress shirt.

I know it isn’t ‘casual’, but it is ‘smart’.

Jesus, why is this so difficult?

I bought a new pair of ‘smart casual’ trousers on Saturday, and wore them out to dinner last night.

I looked like someone who worked in Carphone Warehouse.

Smart casual?

Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi, you are my only hope.

Balls

I’m going to a ‘do’ next week; it’s the Annual Event-Riders Association Ball.

Yesterday afternoon I started to dig around, to make sure that I could put my hands on everything that I needed to.

The ‘fairy-that-comes-along-and-steals-your-cufflinks-when-you-think-you-know-where-they-are’ has paid a visit.

So I’ve had to buy a new pair of cufflinks. I went for these funky little black-faced babies (not a great photo; I went for black-faced cuff-links, because the studs on the front of my dress-shirt are also black-faced):

Then I tried on my Dinner Suit because, you know, it’s important to check these things still fit.

It does.

And that’s it, really.

Shiny dress shoes? Check.

Dinner suit? Check.

Dress shirt? Check.

Bow-tie? Check.

Cuff-links? Check.

I guess I’m sorted.