While reading Stephen Fry’s latest book yesterday I found myself looking at the pictures and thinking that he’s actually sort of sexy in an odd way. Is this a sign of desperation or of impeccably good taste? What a pity he’s gay, eh? Anyway, the point is: He’s tall enough, he’s funny, witty (not the same thing as funny) and intelligent. And British. Mmmm. He also smokes, apparently, which is a bit of a drawback, but it seems it might be possible to convert him to smoking a pipe, which I could live with. Or maybe the point really is that he’s gay?
Oh, sod it! Why am I having this highly irrelevant – eh… fantasy hardly seems like the appropriate word, but it’ll have to do – fantasy, anyway? Better go back to oogling Tommy – though not tonight, as the photography course interferes with my Ground Force viewing.
Giving blood today. There’s a shortage at the moment, so they’ve called me in a little earlier than they would otherwise have. I don’t mind. Earlier it’s been too close to coinciding with that time of the month, which is hardly a good idea since my body’s seemingly barely up to replenishing the iron reserves at the best of times.
Voice in my head: Whitesnake, I believe, singing Here I go Again