Jesus! Just read what I wrote.
That sounded like internet dating.
(it isn’t)
Charlotte, you are laughing now, right?
Tomorrow.
About the same time.
+
A couple of hours. More. Even.
Give or take.
I will meet you, Charlotte.
For the first time.
Give or take.
You know what makes it even worse?
(Apart from you being nervous about meeting me?)
(And me meeting you?)
You are such a pearl.
(You’ll be fine)
And I am but a
(I will be fine)
…
Thank you, stats, growing numbers, for reading me.
Feel very privileged.
This is the time I’m leaving the North of England to visit my mum. Whom does not have internet access.
Maybe read me in three weeks time?
I’ll be back. Promise.
Hope you will be too.
(years ago)
(a domestic)
(this is (For Milena) (For Myself))
And she cries.
And I do too.
And we are both sober.
And we both feel sorry for each other.
Feel sorry for ourselves.
Coz, that’s the way we are.
We were.
But.
And we knew.
And hoped.
It wouldn’t last.
And.
But.
How right were we?
.
Oysters.
Definition (Def.)
In a gourmet’s world:
texture; taste of the sea; taste (acquired); takes a bit of work; but be careful not to cut yourself.
In a famous TV Chef’s world:
don’t fucking Tempura them, you fucking philistines; if you really struggle to eat them raw, maybe a squeeze of lemon and/or Tabasco.
In V M Husten’s world:
crack ‘m open and find a pearl; took a bit of work; but no buts.
A pearl.
Yes, you Charlotte.
.
A: I know they didn’t say nice things about you, Husten. But you weren’t meant to hear them.
H: I did though.
A: (Sigh) Just ignore them next time.
H: I was trying to.
A: No you didn’t. They heard you, man.
H: J. was all right with it.
A: Don’t talk to me about what J. likes.
H: Fuck Laurel and Hardy and J. We need to talk about your sister. And you know it.
A: You two had a good night, so I was informed.
H: So sorry, luv.
A:
H: Well? What? That’s it? Us two had a good night?
A: I’ve heard you put on Mozart. Very classy, Husten.
H: It wasn’t Moza … fuck you, A.
For Ms Tr. St.
For Charlotte.
You deserve a nickname.
On Fall On Me.
In fact, I have already given you one.
Charlotte.
Sometimes.
(scroll down to a post called named thus, then it will make sense)
(no, it won’t)
(welcome to my world)
(or just keep on reading)
You’re gonna find my blog today.
So you said.
Though.
I doubt it.
You’ll be too busy.
With your kids.
But.
Hey!
Surprise me.
Next.
On MSN.
And I have never done this before.
This type of writing.
Coz I’m gonna meet you soon.
In person.
And my blog is supposed to be anonymous.
And.
In fact, have no idea what to write.
Again.
Now.
To say.
Maybe.
This.
Little Mol’s cough any better?
But.
I think.
I just did.
Sometimes.
I’m dreaming.
Charlotte.
Sometimes.
Welcome to my blog.
And.
Happy reading.
It’s just that.
People seem so close.
Charlotte.
Sometimes.
Don’t you think?
.
A Twitter entry.
But more than 140 characters.
Only to show that I am soooo up to date with the latest. Latest what? Good question.
For those of you who know what Twitter is this will make perfect sense. And not be mind-blowing. For those of you who don’t (and do), be amazed (still). I’ve got one follower on Twitter. Yup, only the one. Sad I know. But you know who? A fellow Wagner aficionado. Mr Stephen Fry himself.
And to show you my sooooo up-to-dateness: try blip.fm. Very cool site.
Anyway.
Vodka and Red Bull tossed and turned off. As you can see.
Sleepy. But awake.
Should be able to write now.
Should.
But.
Now what?
Still listening to Vaughan Williams.
Still no sign of A.
Being the incredibly complex psychological and contradictory world young women inhabit (in-fucking-habit? boy-oh-boy, Husten, let this be a lesson, another New Year resolution for Fall On Me: never, EVER, write when sober, the cliches, man), anyway, I was clicheing, being the incredibly complex psychological and contradictory world young women inhabit, A is doing it on purpose. Keeping silent. Making her feel wanted. I know she is. Why she is taking it out on Boy, I will never understand.
Coz.
G texted me yesterday that she felt she had to tell A and therefore did. Our night-out. Our snog. Our fumble. Our Vaughan Williams blow-job.
It shouldn’t worry me. But it does. And you know why?
Because I care.
And.
Because I am a moron.
And.
Because I am sober.
.
(then)
Fuck that violin solo.
Fuck you.
Just generally.
Coz I feel like saying so.
Flos campi.
I wanna hear.
Next.
(5 hours ago)
Boy: Sorry to wake you up.
H: What do you want?
Boy: Do you know where A is?
Fuck it.
Can’t sleep on Vodka and Red Bull.
Can’t write on it either.
(now)
Another day.
In the pointlessness that is.
The life of V M Husten.
So beautiful.
This.
Vaughan Williams piece.
Sitting in my comfy leather chair. Reading. With dimmed lights. Last weekend’s Guardian. The Grauniad.
Just.
Listen to it.
I mean.
…
So beautiful.
This.
Vaughan Williams piece.
Sitting in my comfy leather chair. Reading. With dimmed lights. Last weekend’s Guardian. The Grauniad.
I mean.
Listen to it.
Just do.
…
Sitting in my comfy leather chair. Reading. With dimmed lights.
With my trousers around my ankles.
While.
I was being given a blow-job.
And I was thinking.
I was contemplating.
With Ralph Vaughan Williams. His. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis. In the background.
I was thinking.
And.
Contemplating.
New Year resolutions.
No more.
I thought.
Contemplated.
Next year on Fall On Me.
No more:
- Swearing
- Sex
- Degrading women
…
G: Don’t know how A does this but phew (smiles a big smile) can’t do any more, Husten.
H: It’s ok.
G: But I want you to come.
H: I don’t.
G: You don’t?
H: Come here. You did fine, don’t worry. Just listen to this beautiful music for a while.
…
G: Can you book a taxi for me?
H: Sure. Hear this. This bit? So poignant.
G: (smiles) I wanna go home, Husten.
…
H: Taxi is here, luv. Give me a big kiss.
G: I’m sorry, Husten. Please don’t tell A.
H: Luv, nowt happened. Can’t even remember.
G: (kiss) Thanks.
H: You got enough money?
.
