Happy burfday to meeeeee, happy burfday to meeeee

45 today - thanks - no, really, thanks - awwww (blush).

I'm going to celebrate by making out my will. Those of you who wish to know what I plan to leave you should go to my webby and press the link marked "people who are getting f**k all".

Lee Croft? Not sure I've ever seen him, but ta for the prezzy, I'm sure he'll be great if we get him.

It occurs to me that, being as I'm so old and venerable (vulnerable?) I ought to look down from the cloud-wrapped heights of my wisdom and impart some valuable piece of advice to young-uns who are doubtless in awe of how well I've managed my life to date (skint, working in a factory, bald fat and largely useless), so I shall. This is for free: any requests for further gems may be blah blah bored with that now.

So I've just returned from visiting my daughter in Weymouth. Had a nice little hol, generally taking in the sunshine and sea air and gawping at the lovelies with the aggressive chests (god, I'm glad I'm not a teenager, I'd be really intimidated by those upper shelves if I were). And also, to my surprise and delight, I became aware that I was catching a few glances from the ladeez: bear in mind that I'm fat, old and seriously ugly, so at first I thought I might be imagining it. But no, it was true enough, glances they were, and the odd spot of flirtatious chatting too. Now, there was a time when all of this attention wasn't all that unusual - but not for a long time, and I wasn't about to kid myself.

This is going somewhere, by the way.........

Driving from my daughter's place across the south to my buddy in Basingstoke I had time to muse upon this unusual state of play. Perhaps I just look good in shorts? No, Alan, no you don't, particularly. Ahh - maybe it was just that my accent indicated that I wasn't local, and therefore I wasn't related to any of them so I'd be acceptable breeding stock? No, because it had happened in Poole, too. Maybe I'm just a love machine? Steady on.

And then it became obvious: I'd just bought a new wallet. Rather than the folding type that pickpockets can see a mile off when you put them (the wallets, that is, not the pickpockets) in your back pocket, I'd bought a chequebook-sized one: and to save carrying it about I'd been tucking it into my hip pocket.

When I got to my mate's place I conducted an experiment: I put the wallet in my pocket and stood in front of a mirror. Sure enough, it did give the impression that I have an enormous cock.

So there it is, young 'uns: bearing in mind that girls are employing modern technology to make a couple of fried eggs look like a slap-up banquet (see 'aggressive chests', above) I think it'd only be fair if all of you joined in the Lying Game. Bring back the rolled-up sock as part of Essential Clubwear - that way, when you stumble back to your/her place at 3am, you can each be equally disappoined when the truths are revealed.

Glad to have been of service.

Posted By: Suggy on July 26th 2006 at 12:13:11

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