Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Who wants to be a spinster!....Anyone?

Next post is my 200th! Definitely a call for a celebration. But what to do?

Well, I loved
Bob's 500th post where he got his avid fans to comment in the style of Bob and posted them all up.

But I'm not that brave...

...or maybe I am.

Fuck it; I'm off on holiday for the next week without internet access - so do your worst. BE ME! Or, be some sort of spinster-cliche-something. The crueller the better.

Back some time towards the end of next week. Have fun.


  • The Time I Met a Bloke

    I sort of thought I might fancy him, or perhaps not. I don't know. Twat.

    (Do I win a fiver?)

    By Blogger LC, at 9:13 PM  

  • Peter Stringfellow?

    By Blogger The Murphmeister, at 7:00 AM  

  • X was scruffy and skinny. We snogged at the end of the night. We exchanged numbers. We dated once. He had a strange sexual fetish. Then it turned out that he already had seven wives, one of whom was in the freezer.

    By Blogger Kellycat, at 7:34 AM  

  • Dave: not tall, slightly overweight, not really scruffy.
    *would not*

    Which is OK, because he's frightened of you.

    By Blogger Who is this Dave?, at 8:32 AM  

  • Hunchback Guy worked as the caretaker at a place I temped at.

    He was 57, incredibly pockmarked, had a hump, used to spit clumps of phlegm up into a hankie and had an obsession with Victorian agricultural machinery. However, there was definitely something foxy about him.

    He had steely blue eyes.


    Anyway, at the end of my six months working there they had a leaving do for me and we got stuck into the drinks.

    One thing led to another, and me and Hunchback Guy ended up snogging the face off each other. It was getting really steamy.

    I was so confident that he fancied me that I actually plucked up the courage and ASKED FOR HIS PHONE NUMBER for fuck's sake.

    "Sorry luv, you're twenty eight which is a bit old for me" he said, and turned on his heels.

    What the FUCK was that all about then?

    When I left to get a taxi later I saw him snogging the face off the sevnteen year old office junior.

    I mean ... sheesh.

    By Blogger Betty, at 9:09 AM  

  • 'Your ex looked like Brad Pitt' sighed a friend the other day.
    It's true.
    Which is why I give my number to every manky, crippled, diseased person in a fifty mile radius.
    And they never call.
    Does my life make sense? - Does it fuck.
    Am I happy being a spinster - truly. No, really. I am. I AM. I promise.

    By Blogger Changetta, at 11:30 AM  

  • I don't need to pretend to be you. I am you, just older and more depressed.

    But just to get in the spirit of things:

    He was bald, sweaty, with strangely staring eyes and had veins sticking out everywhere.

    *but a very long time ago*

    By Blogger GreatSheElephant, at 12:18 PM  

  • Curse you Betty - you stole my idea....


    Stephen: The Maudlin Mancunian Singer-songwriter.

    His name was Stephen and I used to queue for the dole with him back in the 1980s.* He was a skinny, scrawny, geeky type who wore outsized blouses from Evans, beads, NHS specs and a hearing aid. Occasionally gladioli or a small bush would hang from the back pocket of his baggy faded jeans.


    Anyway, after months of nervously squirming at one another as we were queuing up for our dole money (he'd never had a job because he never wanted one...) I finally plucked up courage to ask him out.

    We were in a darkened underpass -I thought, "my God, my chance has come at last...)

    "Would you like to come 'round to my house and I can read you my Jonathan Coe novels while you tuck into a really huge Norn Irish fry up - bacon, sausages, liver....the works...?)

    Before I could grab him by the gilded beams, he'd cycled off to a hillside desolate with a tattoed boy from Birkenhead who really, really opened his eyes...

    Please keep me in mind....*sigh*

    *Historical note for younger readers: the 1980s saw record levels of unemployment casued by.....well, Thatcher, basically..also, a certain amount of poetic license has been used to locate the 1 year old Spinny in the same historical timeframe as the lead singer of the Smiths....

    **Historical note for literary pedants: Whilst I realise that Jonathan Coe's first novel was not published until 1987......erm, sod off....it works...

    Here's to the next 200!

    Love on ya,


    By Blogger Robert A. Swipe, at 12:58 PM  

  • Did I tell you about that time a scruffy fella licked me out by the bins behind Woolies in Daventry and then I lost his number?

    By Blogger Tim Footman, at 4:31 PM  

  • went to a hen-do last evening (yet another of my old school chums getting married)where I danced with a scrawny, veiny guy whom I met later in the porters vestibule for a bit of heavy petting amongst the lettuces (WOULD).
    exchanged numbers,he never called,
    can't remember his name anyway.
    *takes bong hit*
    I haven't been laid in two years, four months, three weeks, two hours ten minutes and thirty-one seconds......now. Still I have an exciting and fulfilling career doing something where I earn money, attending music fairs, scavenging for unattended wine, riding in limousines and rebuffing the advances of the interesting and well-spoken men who comment on my blog.
    *takes bong hit*
    it'll be eleven minutes.....now.
    since i was laid.

    (i love you, you know XOOfn)

    By Blogger First Nations, at 6:12 PM  

  • ooh! haven't all the men got a bit bitchy. Anyway -

    borderline psychotic drug addict whose brother I fancied


    Funny nice guy had rip-roaring passion session with thinking "this is it" - he never called.

    Not one, not two but three crap boyfriends all of whom ditched me and got engaged to other women within the month.

    met friend of a friend in a pub, he seemed nice, called when he said he would, got engaged after 3 months, now married 7 years. Still happy.

    Basically Spinny they're all shite until you meet the right one. Don't give up hope (although I have to confess it wasn't until I had given up hope and stopped looking that I met the One)

    By Anonymous Tedward's Missing Ear, at 6:26 PM  

  • He had two of those hulking great bulging veins that ran all the way from both temples, down both sides of his neck, meeting in a 'V' at his sternum, then one thick vein running down the middle of his flat muscular stomach, all the way down to the taut downy flesh at the top of his jeans.

    He was naked from the waist up and his whole torso was throbbing along to the beat.

    I forced my way to the front of the audience and saw he was barefoot. Both feet had 2 inch diameter veins which pulsed along to the bassline. The sweat flew off his floppy fringe and drenched me from head to toe as his long bony fingers expertly pressed the strings of his guitar.

    At the climax of the song his voice went up an octave. It was an octave too far as the vein in his right temple burst and he fell to the floor in a heap.

    I rushed onto the stage and took him in my arms. He looked me straight in the eye with faraway eyes.

    "*would*" he mouthed, as his lifeblood ebbed away.

    By Blogger Geoff, at 8:33 PM  

  • I'd say Geoff wins a fiver.
    Not my call though.

    By Blogger GreatSheElephant, at 9:00 PM  

  • So I was dancing away at the indie-folk festival somewhere in a field, bridesmaid's dress trailing in the mud and bottle of wine in hand.

    And there he was, in all his sweaty, veiny, mullet-y glory.



    *dated a couple of times until he thought we were getting too serious*

    *reminisced about online*

    *realised he was a bit creepy*

    By Blogger soph, at 1:00 AM  

  • I met this guy at the bus stop. He was perfect, slightly soiled, bespectacled, bit of a limp. *would*. Anyway during the bus journey we planned our future together, he was *the one*.

    Then he got off the bus, never saw him again.

    By Blogger realdoc, at 3:23 PM  

  • I fancy another shot

    *or did I?*
    *OK, actually I didn't*
    *would though*

    By Blogger GreatSheElephant, at 8:26 PM  

  • fuck me this is hilarious. sorry, i just can't top anything that's been said already.

    By Blogger Chaucer's Bitch, at 10:56 AM  

  • I'd like to join in, but I'd never be as good. I do have one question though, who invented *would*?

    By Blogger Billy, at 11:35 AM  

  • I think it's an expression from the porn industry billy.

    By Blogger The Murphmeister, at 10:32 AM  

  • went to the fair. i was wearing a vintage hi-de-hi uniform (original su pollard costume) that i found in the british heart foundation shop down the road. whilst being spun on the waltzers, i noticed that the grubby, skinny bloke in the filthy jeans who was spinning the car was flicking his tongue at me really suggestively.

    *would*, i thought, as i swigged from the bottle of white lightning i'd nicked off that tramp (well he was unconscious. twat).

    half an hour later, as the waltzers boy staggered off to his caravan, i adjusted my tabard and sighed. this was definitely it.

    did he ever call?

    did he fuck. stupid fucking pikey.

    still, once i'd apologised to the tramp for nicking his cider, we got on like a house on fire. he's the one! result!

    [love you spinny]

    By Blogger surly girl, at 8:27 AM  

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