Today an old thought reappeared.
I would also love tae buck Jacqui Abbott.
Not a bad choice, I'll grant you; but there's an enormous caveat. How would you avoid letting your mind wander, thinking about Paul Heaton for a fraction of a second, and going instantaneously, irreversibly and firmly (or rather,
not so firmly, depending how you look at it)
off the boil? (
I have an amusing tale regarding such rapid loss of libido, which I might
be persuaded to tell .....)
I mean, you're almost getting to the Vinegar Strokes*, you can see the Co-Op Cow**, and all of a sudden this comes into your mind:
And suddenly, *flop* *drain* *droop* all becomes lifeless downstairs.
This is a potentially very serious problem.
* The final moments of sex or masturbation; named for the participants' facial expressions, which are said to resemble someone who has just taken a mouthful of vinegar.
** Figuratively speaking. The Co-Op Cow is a landmark in Derby, a red and green neon sign spelling out
CO-OP MILK -- THE GATEWAY TO HEALTH, which used to be, once upon a time, the highest thing on the skyline. If you lived in Derby, then from the moment you first caught sight of the Co-Op Cow, you could be sure that you were nearly home. Every settlement has something fulfilling the same ecological niche (of providing a reassurance to the weary traveller, that is; not providing a cheap, childish sexual innuendo).