Posts by Tom Beard
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One thing tho', I'm poly but not into threesomes/group sex. What is up with that?
I'm not complaining or anything, but it does seem easier for some people to call themselves "poly" and be received with polite, tolerant nods from us open-minded liberals. Whereas there is already a term for middle-aged, heterosexual male polyamorists: sleazebag.
Or perhaps "golfer".
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having an indecent act performed on me as I lay in a bed of petunias
You see, I've never quite understood why that is referred to as "an indecent act". It seems rather a decent thing to do for a chap.
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Now now, Jolisa, I have no idea what you could possibly be talking about. Let's just say that a cravat was involved, and possibly some blue caterpillars.
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So. naked women are a public danger now? They might breastfeed or something?. And lower family values or something. Hmmm.
Though the headlines tend to invite that sort of "WTF?" reading, I imagine that nakedness per se would not be the issue. Not even nudists would tend to wander the streets of Papakura naked, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume that something is wrong. The woman is likely to be in distress, perhaps as the result of an assault, so some action by the police (who are likely to have more information than we do) seems prudent.
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Wow, Sofie! I've had my adventures, but never a tryst with a criminal. Unless you count a little bit of plagiarism...
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But there must be some aspect of debauchery involved. Tom's is excellent.
Oh, there's more where that came from, believe me.
Smooth move.
Well, it would have been rude not to.
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Well, this should be safe, since it happened over 15 years ago, and no names will be mentioned.
I once flatted with a workmate, a nice enough guy but with a few quirks. I forgave him the patched leather trousers, the Marvel comic collection that took up half the living room, and even his tendency to stand on one leg and play the flute along to Jethro Tull. But his competitiveness could get on my nerves.
One evening we were preparing for a flat party, cooking up snacks in the kitchen before the guests arrived, drinking cask wine out of Arcoroc mugs (I told you it was sordid). Every time he finished a mug, which was often, he pointed at my half-full mug and said "Oi! We're going glass-for-glass! Down in one!". After a while I thought, "Right, if he's going to play silly buggers with drink, I'll up the ante." So, I started surreptitiously adding slugs of brandy into his wine.
As the guests started to arrive, he was getting very merry. At one stage he said "This wine is tasting better and better! I never knew cask wine could taste so good." With the party yet to really take off, he decided that it would be a great idea to climb onto his life-sized cutout of Wolverine and slide on it. Down the stairs. Head first.
That was never going to work out well, and the fact that there was a dog-leg halfway down the stairs meant that the end was even sooner, louder, messier and more painful. He retired to bed well before midnight, and he had more than one reason for a sore head the next day. It was 24 hours before he regained the power of speech, and about a week before he talked to me again once he found out what I'd done.
Oh, and it probably didn't help that I snogged his girlfriend while he was out cold.
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How much time must elapse before an event becomes part of one's sordid past, rather than one's sordid present?
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Oh, and here are some photos from the formal part of the evening, thanks to the wonderful Mike Roseingrave.
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When he introduced himself to me and Robyn by saying "Hello, I'm Don Abel, I'm from the Reserve Bank", I believe I blurted out "Whatever, you are not." And then when he said he was an assistant governor, I may have done it again.
When he introduced himself to us before the launch, my first thought was the opposite: "Oh, how interesting that someone from the Reserve Bank turned up. He might be in for a bit of a shock!" Then when he was about to leave he said "Oh, and Bollard has a message for you: he knows where you live".