Calloo callay, Maxie’s back in Londinium. After a long day of Christmas shopping (during which I found a gift so truly made for the woman that I have no doubt you will find out what it is in her own blog once she opens it) we met at the Tree and polished off several glasses of the red stuff, before heading to the theatre.
We had half a bottle left – so Maxie expertly hid this in her bag and managed to sneak it into the theatre. Epic fail Duchess staff! Wouldn’t have managed that in my day!
Love Story: Lovely songs and pretty people and whatnot, but essentially the story is, boy meets girl, they fall in love, she gives up her life long dream while he gets to keep his, and then she dies.
Anyhoo, if you’ve read Maxie’s blog today, you will know that we discussed the photographic exploits of the Jockey and his shortcomings in great detail.
I stumbled home at midnight – in the SNOW by the way, what an inconvenience – and sure enough, the snap happy one began his late night textathon again.
Jockey: ‘Did you get bored of our game the other night, or did you just not like my cock?’
I owe my witty response to Maxie in every way, and give credit here to her words of wisdom when examining the evidence earlier that evening.
Ritzi: ‘I believe I sent the last message, thank you very much. And that was not cock, that was pubic hair and half a ball. Come on.’
Jockey: ‘What! There was a full blown one!’ *insert dirty joke here*
Ritzi: ‘Must have slipped my mind…’
Jockey: ‘I hope I didn’t send it to the wrong person!’
Ritzi: ‘How close am I to ‘mum’ in your phone book?’
And then I received the latest photo in his long line of headshots. A photo which I may send to Maxie, should she want a giggle. A photo which I’m sure he thought made him look all manly and hairy and erect, but due to the unfortunate placing of his hand holding the phone so very close to the bathroom mirror, made his cock look pretty much in proportion to his pinky.
Poor foolish Jockey. So lacking in camera skills.
There is a shed load of snow in the world today. I am supposed to be going for a Christmas dinner at the Maestro’s house this evening. I’m supposed to get there at 7.30, maybe I should leave now…
Rest assured, the Jockey’s cock shot will be passed around post dinner, if the bottle of Rioja I’m taking along with me has anything to do with it. I’m sure he’d do the same.
Jolly good job I’m not stupid enough to send anyone a picture of my lady place, isn’t it?