Cold sweat at 3 a.m.

Do you have moments when you think it’s all been a mistake? When you gaze into the limpid eyes of your vibrant, voluptuous partner and yearn to be a reeking, unfulfilled derelict? When your lavish, Prince-Andrew-style, ranch-type, jacuzzi-in-every-orifice, hot-and-cold-running-half-naked-flunkeys mansion-a-rama sucks serious ass? Would it have been better to carry on with your doctoral project on asceticism among the Desert Fathers?

Or is it just me?

-- Rex (rex@waitrose.com), July 22, 2002

Answers

There's no short answer to this question Rex. We need to discuss this matter face-to-face, and at great length, in the comfort of your lavish, Prince-Andrew-style, ranch-type, (not sure about the jacuzzi-in-every-orifice bit), H + C running naked flunkeys, etc, mansion. Preferably over several bottles of the finest Chateau Lafite from your undoubtedly well-stocked cellars, following a modest snack of mediterranean langoustine, Angus steak-au-poivre with seasonal vegetables, a pudding of baked alaska, all finished off with a small turkish coffee and a large fine napolean brandy.
Only then do I feel I could begin to contemplate the slightest hint of a solution to your dilemma, which may even involve a lifestyle swap with someone leading the life of dereliction you seem so envious of.

PS. Would it be presumptuous of me to bring a small valise of clothing and some toiletries along with me, to our meeting?

-- Pete Andrews (p.l.andrews@bham.ac.uk), July 23, 2002.

Sounds good. But I'll have the steak plain, washed briefly in claret and soy to create a glaze. And I'll polish off with some exceedingly ripe cheeses and a good port. I trust you have room for my manservants in the East Wing. And room for my enormous pile of opium in your shed.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my catamites in your car port.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my hunting trophies in your Long Gallery.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my hovercraft in your Place For Hovercrafts.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my extensive collection of maps in your bunker.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my Uncle Alan, who enjoys catamites, anywhere other than your shed.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for me in your heart dear, dear Rex.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my mice in your big clock.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my efficient army of Mattanoids, the garden will do, as they are impervious to rain.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my collection of photographs, in your PornChamber TM.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And lebensraum for my mother, who is somewhat old-fashioned.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And 24-hour cock for my father, who is somewhat modern.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my Micro-Shipman in your Theatre of Recreation

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for my 1:1 scale model of Churchill on your Plinth for All Seasons.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for an amusingly fat man on your Guts o' Steel 4D motion dancefloor.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for the person that will ineivitably tag along, somewhere over there.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for Jimmy in your Computer Dungeon.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for lmy staff on your Staff Quarters.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for The Boo Radleys in your The Boo Radleys Quarters.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

And room for a little human decency, God damn it.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

This you could possibly keep in the utility room.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

Is Thursday good for you?

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

Because if it is, I could conceivably bring the entire cast of Shoestring round.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

For buns.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

In your Bun Room.

-- Matt (Matt@coastaltown.freeserve,co.uk), July 23, 2002.

Have you any blissium, and a proper place to pee?

-- Zen Clown (Martys@iland.net), July 23, 2002.

I'll just park my shopping trolley and collection of carrier bags discretely behind the tennis courts, if you don't mind, and settle my cardboard box on a quiet corner of the croquet lawn.

If you could also stop the Afghan hounds from eating the food scraps from the bins and pissing on my sleeping bag, I'd be most grateful.

-- Sue Denim (s.denim@aol.net), July 24, 2002.

Sue, if that is your real name, you need not suffer from the foibles of canine capriciousness. I have secured for myself, for the time being, a perfectly marvelous tree, a yum yum or baobob, I'm not sure, on the northwest corner of the southeast green, third from the left, with wonderfully horizontal branches. You can climb up my hand-made, home-grown hemp rope and make yourself at home. Of course you understand that until I have seen you naked in the daylight, you will have to keep to your own limb. I tend to be territorial about bark. To anyone else who reads this, I suggest that you don't wander around beneath "my tree". I consume mass quantities of beer and urinate copiously.

-- Zen Clown (martys@iland.net), July 26, 2002.

Zen, if that is also your real name: Thanks, but I think I'll stick to the croquet lawn and take my chances with the Afghans, and if you so much as try to catch a glimpse of me naked in the daylight, you will be missing a limb!

-- Sue Denim (s.denim@aol.net), July 26, 2002.

Sue! You capricious couquette! You are flirting with me! (Rex, would you be kind enough to send a servant over to brush my smoking jacket. Have them, of course, use the servant's rope, in the rear, thank you.) Regardless of your words, I can tell that you are attracted to strange moss...Did I say moss? I meant MEN. I am not moss! Just because I have an affinity for damp shaded places and an aversion to rolling stones (and croquet balls) do not jump to the conclusion that I am moss. They are all lying about me! They are jealous! They don't understand the sensuality of the aroma of Afghan urine and goose down. Oh, well, enough about me. I know you are interested, you little minx, I'll leave a rope down for you.

-- Zen Clown (martys@iland.net), July 26, 2002.

Now that we are friends, you can call me Z.

-- Zen Clown (martys@iland.net), July 26, 2002.

I’m afraid the only servant I can spare at such short notice is the Cheesemeister. He’ll do a good job on your jacket, I’m sure, but afterwards it may smell funny and show traces of Cambazola. No change there, then.

-- Rex (rex@waitrose.com), July 27, 2002.