When I woke up this morning and looked out of the window, there was a burnt-out scooter (moped, whatever) on the grass outside my flat. It's gone now, but I got photos. When C and I came home last night we saw it standing on the grass, but I don't know if it was burnt or not. There were two fuzz-boys in flak jackets hanging around it, though. It probably was burnt at that point, because we didn't see any flames during the night.

Ghetto!!

So, I'm waiting for C to get his (scrumptious) ass out of the shower so we can go round to his and pack up all his stuff, ready for the man&van tomorrow morning. We're not "doing" Easter - I'm not seeing my folks this weekend. My mum sent me an Easter card, though, which has left me feeling guilty becase I haven't sent her one :-/

I'm not looking forward to telling my parents that C & I are shacked up. I'm going to have to field a lot of assumptions. She's back to ending each email with some sort of hat-related question. Ho hum.

I seem to have lot a lot of enthusiasm for stuff at the moment. Work is you know, writing this diary is yeah well, even viewing my stats and seeing that people hae found my diary by searching on such things as "my wife's tits", "playmates 2003", "bi-boys curious" and "a picture of me naked" doesn't thrill me like it once did. Ah me!

C and I bought a set of bathroom scales. This is probably going to spell disaster. I'm feeling bad about my bod right now, since I'm no longer gymming (although I'm trying to walk as much as I can, which is a lot), and in June I'll be staying in a beautiful villa in Portugal with a selection of really really bitchy, really really skinny, Hugarian porn acresses (trust me, some of them are not nice people). I have visions of them poking fun at me because I'm a lardass. I've seen footage from other similar shoots, and they spend a lot of the time whispering bitchy things about the film crew in Hungarian.

Anyhow, scales. I'm now weighing myself most mornings, and so far it's not too bad - I'm still hovering around 144-147lbs, which is OKish considering I'm not "dieting" or exercising hard. But still.

At some point next week one of the guys from work & I are going to Sh! to buy toys for the Sylvia Saint shoot. They need some new ones, and were going to go to Harmony to buy them. I told them that Harmony's toys are shit (which they are, and most of the toys we already have at work are from Harmony and therefore ropey) and that they should go to Sh! instead. And since men need a chaperone to go to Sh!, I get to go too.

I'm sure all the guys at work think I'm either a lesbian, bi or a part-time escort girl. Not that I really care. But since I'm working in a hyper-hyper-hetero place (where gay porn vids are video non grata, remember) I'm not going to tell them the truth. I've already said that I find girl/girl scenes mind-numbingly boring (and I'm not the only one there who thinks that).

So yeah. I get to choose sex toys for Sylvia Saint herself. But I don't get ot meet her, boo! It's a great honour though, don't you think? ;-)