Good, good.
rubs hands together gleefully. scritches parrot under chin. makes somebody swab the deck.
Um, in that case, would you mind awfully if I made an icon out of the Gothic Charm School Jilli portrait? ...or rather, to be strictly accurate, if I have already made such an icon? (Not changed anything, just made it wee enough to use and added the acronym OTP) The other one I've made is based on a photo of you taken by Tom, iirc, but I've fiddled with it until it's black and white and quite stylised, and added 'Jeeves' and 'OTP'. Um. So - not immediately obviously you, unless one is familiar with you. Not that you would brook such familiarity.
(Oh my God, I just remembered that I inadvertently grabbed your bollocks in the Whole Food Store. Still very sorry about that.)
There may be more iconage on the way, because It Is Fun.
Aaaaarrrr!
t /Dread Pirate Clovis
The icons are fine. Feel free. No big deal.
(Oh my God, I just remembered that I inadvertently grabbed your bollocks in the Whole Food Store. Still very sorry about that.)
You know what's bizarre about this; neither Jilli nor myself remember this so either you a) grabbed a strangers' bollocks or b) you were so tired that you have managed to mix up reality with your pervy dreams.
Cos, y'know, never happened. Weird.
Pete, maybe you just didn't feel it - maybe you were sitting funny beforehand, and your bollocks fell asleep....
Excuse me Sir, but my bollocks remain on constant alert for collisions and chance feel-ups.
You're sure your bollocks aren't just... paranoid?
Bollocks can never be
too
paranoid. And alert.
My dreams are perfectly innocent, I'll have you know! Although occasionally disconcerting, as in one where Margaret Thatcher gatecrashed my trip to the Alexandrian Catacombs and yelled at us a lot, and then she snogged Mr Mubarak, with whom I was visiting said Catacombs. That was a
very
scary dream. More of a nightmare, really.
...I may have exaggerated my accidental forwardness a trifle, inasmuch as it was more a case of 'Here is your red wrap thing, which you left on the back of the chair, you silly tart', and in my sheepish haste to don the lovely wrap thing, I accidentally poked some unspecified part of your nether Petedom, for which you chastised me. I do hope it was just a bit of manly thigh, but at the time I was entirely mortified by the combination of feckless beloved-clothing-abandomnment AND inadvertent gropage of host.
Er. And recounting this is actually
more
embarrassing than the incident itself. Who knew that was possible?
Er. And recounting this is actually more embarrassing than the incident itself. Who knew that was possible?
Well, the incident (which I remember now) was more fleeting than your description, so the description is bound to win the embarrassment factor. Go you.
As for which part of my anatomy... a gentleman never tells. Ooh-er.
