| Thursday, December 05, 2002 |
 | Cocking hell. There was meant to be an enormous post here about going back to my old college town on Saturday, and how strange it is no longer to be a student there - how you seem to have no real function anymore. You don't know the doorcodes, your key doesn't open the gate, and the sandwiches no longer seem like a decadent luxury. Then again, after living in London being immersed up to the nose in cocaine by houris probably wouldn't seem that decadent, as long as you did it in Doncaster.
So, there we go. Instead, I must leave you to ponder what a young man might get up to in his old city, and why in God's name, nearly a decade on, friends of mine are still running for Union positions. all very peculiar.
What I will say, or more precisely repeat, is that there was an article in the college newspaper about Oxford Romance. This is about the saddest thing I have ever seen, with the single exception, of course, of the saddest CV ever written. Let's take a moment here to indulge an infrequent desire for honesty. If you are a heterosexual surrounded by about 15,000 people of about the same age as you, with discounted beer and a variety of ready-made opportunities to meet, and you find yourself at the age of 19 advertising on a lonely hearts website for love, then God does not want you to use your genitalia as anything other than storage space. Sorry. I can see an argument for gay and lesbian dating services - if you are not into the scene or society it can be hard to meet people with designs on your pants (or indeed their pants), but, sweet God, why here?
P.S. I don't have a problem with threesomes as a concept, but they're really not my cup-of-tea. So, could you (guys especially) please stop asking? No offence taken and none intended of course.
In a "female seeks female" ad pretty much says it all.
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