Last of the Summer Whine
They’re bagging up the leaves in my road. Hurrah! I cry. Bring on the autumn: a light chill in the air, the soil moist from the day’s downpour, nights drawing in, curtains closed by 7.30, fire crackling in the grate, a hearty casserole simmering on the hob… candles glowing, easygoing, toe-to-toe-ing as we cuddle on the couch.
Never mind the Silly Season – winter is the Sexy Season as far as I’m concerned.
You see, ladies of a certain age struggle sartorially during those lazy, hazy, crazy days of summer. All that exfoliating, depilating, fake tanning, face fanning and Brazilian planning… natural beauty can be such high maintenance!
And as for the annual:
Mirror, Mirror on the wall,
Does this bikini fit at all?
Let’s not even go there!
Guys must have body insecurity issues too. What happens when last summer’s hard-earned six-pack turns to flab from too many warming pints and pies… it’s back to the gym, boys! Your bods are going on show again!
If the last few years are anything to go by, we might be in for an Indian summer. (Mine certainly was, with a certain website wooer flattering me from afar. I shan’t elaborate just now. Played that game before and lost.)
It’s made me wonder though if long-distance relationships are sustainable, and if someone can hold your interest when contact is only by text, email and phone. Even if it’s constant, it still leaves you wondering: is he everything he’s cracked up to be?
Is the ‘international entrepreneur currently engaged in land development on the uninhabited islands of the Lesser Antilles’ really some nerd from Doncaster emailing me from his mum’s back bedroom?
I’ve been in cyber lust before and decided not to ruin it by meeting up. I knew it could only lead to disappointment…!
Living in London as I do, I tend to go for chaps within a ten mile radius.
Being GU (geographically unsuitable) is a killer of spontaneity: it’s a bit difficult to instigate a booty call if one’s in Maida Vale and the other’s in Montreal.
Why I never tire of playing the dating game, though, is the evolving wealth of possibility: lovers who become friends, boys who become men when you act as their ‘men’tor, sex-mates who, although ex-mates, can still ignite a spark.
Anticipation is a great orchestra and if you deploy the subtle seduction of your own thoughts, you can hear the music anywhere if you imagine hard enough.
Poshbird aka Wendy Salisbury is the author of The Toyboy Diaries Volumes 1 & 2, and the novels La Inglesa y el Torero and Too Late to Go Home due out soon.
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