Friday, August 14, 2009

Special relationships

I’ll level with you here, back home my Lincolnshire accent has never really opened many doors in the ladies department. But over here in the Land of the Free, not only has my accent opened a few doors, it’s taken me by the hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom. Now I know what the Beach Boys were singing about when they said “I wish they all could be Californian”.

You could say I’ve been doing my own bit for Anglo-American relations this week . ;-)

After the Secret Seed Society binned my mung bean story I was pretty miffed, even though, as my very excellent follower Mr ee Hemingway pointed out, rejection is part and parcel of the life of the struggling writer. There’s an awful lot of romance around the notion of the struggling writer, but sometimes I think I’d rather be a Ken Follet or Jilly Cooper, rather than a Franz Kafka. (Jeesh, readers, I had a crack at The Trial after I went to Prague on Steve's stag do a few years back. Never mind struggling writer, I was a struggling reader!!!).

Anyway, In an effort to cheer myself up, I decided to do what many great writers have done in the past. I sought solace at the end of a bottle. Americans don't have the same great drinking culture as us Brtis, but one of the great things about America is the fact that you can nip out to bars and just get chatting with the locals. Honestly, you can just pop yourself on a bar stool and strike up conversation. It really is just like in the movies!

(WARNING: Dear American readers, if you find yourself in Chelsea looking for a boozer, you can't go far wrong with the Imperial. But if you try and start up a conversation at the bar, don't be surprised if you're verbally or possibly physically abused. Keep yourself to yourself and DO NOT make eye contact with the regulars.)

One of the other great things about America (and significantly better than the Imperial) is the fact that the birds go absolutely crackers over the English accent. Dave had told me about this after his recent trip to Edmonton Alberta (which is in Canada and not America, although it is in the Americas - Canadians get pissy (that's American for pissed off) when you call them Americans, but Americans don't really care if you call them Canadians - it's not unlike the relationship we English have with the Scotch).

With Dave's observations about the old accent I did kind of ham it up a bit. And it paid dividends in spades. I got chatting to a slightly mature woman. But mature in a very sexy American Woman sort of way. One of the dangerous things about American bar culture though, is the fact that the bartender (that's American for barman) keeps an eye on your glass and when you've got a few mouthfuls left comes over and offers up the opportunity of a refill. So even though the local beer tastes like cold piss you can still get drunk quite quickly.

The more I drunk the more my lady friend seemed to grow in sexiness. She had a great figure and I think that's because she was some sort of local athlete, when she went to the restroom (that's American for toilet) one of the locals and the bartender told me that she was one of the best Cougars they'd ever seen! I think they're probably the local soccer team. Women's soccer is a much bigger business in America than England.

I must confess I did tell a few porkies to impress Samantha. And if you ever find yourself reading this blog, Sam, I don't really know Prince William, I don't live in a castle, I am not related to Oliver Cromwell (although you don't know who Cromwell was, so that lie was a bit of a waste of time), I am not (yet) a highly acclaimed author, and I'm a little bit older than I told you I was (although, I strongly suspect you might have been lying that one right back at me).

Still, all's fair in love and war. I won't go into too much detail readers, what goes on tour, stays on tour, but I like to think the Newsdesk magic went down well. Although, one thing that differs greatly between American woman and the English roses that I have bedded in the past. They know what they want and they aren't afraid to be up front and demand. I found it a little bit intimidating in all honesty and I have never seen such a wide variety of sexual aids, most of which were utilized at one stage or another throughout the night. And not necessarily with my direct involvement. I didn't sleep a bloody wink actually, and I'm totally shattered. And quite sore.

I'm off home on the red eye later today, so might not get another chance to blog before next week. But as the governor of California so famously said.....I'll be back.

Word out



  1. Hahahahaha!

    You're right, actually. An English accent is an American panty dropper. Australian sometimes too.

    The cougar line was priceless.

  2. Yes, when an American lady meets you she will furnish you with a bourbon (sort of inferior whisky) and a map to the Clitoris. (it's the 51st state you know)

    Happy to hear you're holding your own. And she might have been holding it too. Well done!

  3. Well, well, well, who's the lucky stiff then?