Silent Times

Juicelog Thurs 310108: January has been tranquil for me as my outer human crust loathes venturing out into the current cold climate we’re experiencing in Londres. During my hibernation cycle I have slowly been catching up on some much needed rest and taken some time to consider how I might make this year a bit more eventful and fulfilling. One of the thoughts that I have been considering is the possibility of taking a one year sabbatical from my job to go and work abroad. The idea of 12 months in Asia whilst working in the kitchen of a fine classy eatery really appeals to me. Temping, bar work or giving 'L' lessons (i.e. teaching English) would not be my first choice as I am really eager and determined to learn the basics of cooking.

Testing myself in another area of my life, I am trying to see how long I can actually persist with my current bout of disco dormancy. Not possessing any recent thrilling tales to excite you with, here is an extract from my last trip to Trade which I have not had a chance to post. Last time I was at Turnmills I was queuing up (by myself) to use one of the cubicles inside the Ladies Restroom. For those unfamiliar with the layout of the female toilets, here is a basic outline:

With the queue progressing along in a turtle like fashion, I got talking to a charming young man standing behind me in the line. His name was Tom and he was a 24yo psychology student from Tel Aviv. Complimenting me on my physique and youthful facial features, I politely out of common courtesy praised him on his perfect Adonis-like body. Changing the conversation to a more neutral topic, I started quizzing him about the finer points of his psychology course. As we were nearing cubicle number eight, which happens to be one of my favourite cubicles (given it’s more spacious than the others and has better feng shui), Tom invited me into the cubicle with him. Not sure about how honourable his intentions were, I hesitated and paused at the doorway. Assuring me that he only wanted to continue our discussion I reluctantly hopped inside with him.

As soon as we were inside the hot and humid compartment, he started to unzip his trousers and reached inside his undies to get his “booty baton” out. I panicked slightly as I didn’t want to engage in unacquainted jousting given that I had already committed myself to Pudz’s power pistol fencing for professionals. Rummaging through my mind at the speed of light whilst struggling with the effects of the dummy dust (i.e. pony tranquilizer), I tried to think about how I could kindly excuse myself.

Mercifully, I didn’t have to say anything as Tom was having a number one inside the confines of number eight. When he finished tinkling, he tucked himself back in and turned around. Face-to-face, he looked at me like he was waiting for something to happen. What followed was a slightly awkward moment of silence. Sensing that we weren’t going to be discussing Jung anymore, I opened the door leading him out and informed him I would locate him on the dancefloor.