Accidents Will Happen andmore about The Hot Subject of Transexuals and a Male Conspiracy.

Yes there is a connection …… the accident of birth which decides your sexuality. It must be awful to be born with an ambivalence about this, but as a friend of mine who has the driest sense of humour I know, and I still laugh about things she said thirty years ago, said yesterday, “ I have an issue with transsexuals, they chop off their dicks, stuff themselves with hormones and call themselves a woman , give us a break”. Well actually I see what she means but this brings me to the male conspiracy. Why is it that such a large proportion of the women who get into Parliament are completely feckless as instanced by the stupid waste of Parliamentary time, at a moment of dire national crisis, devoted to remarks made in a “free press” alluding to Brazilian Transsexuals , in what I thought was a rather flattering light? Can you imagine the sea of grey suits lifting their eyebrows and sniggering behind their order papers? Well of course you can, believe me these women do democracy a disservice by being so trivially idiotic. I wonder if the answer might be for us to have more transsexual people in Parliament, I say more because these days one can never be sure can one? There is definitely a male conspiracy at work, it serves them well you see to have silly women in Parliament, the more they blab on the fewer there will be. Personally I think I have come up with a great idea, but then I would think that wouldn’t I?…. Now she who first said that or something like it, would have been great in Parliament because she was clever … very clever.

I may have mentioned before that I am rather accident prone, I did one of my best the other night. I was at a very smart occasion actually and would love to say who was there , but I do so hate name dropping, so I won’t, but believe me it was very A list! Well the star of the show was cordially embracing me, (as people do you know) at the end of this delightful soiree when her earring caught in my casually draped silk scarf. At first I didn’t notice, but her shrieks of pain as her ears were lacerated whilst I drew away to talk to other guests alerted me, as did the expression of horror on the hostesses’ face. To be thus attached to so smart a clever a person, even by a silken thread from Florence ( I hope you all got that) was terribly awkward and embarrassing, but she handled it beautifully and removed the earring before blood was drawn.

Once at Covent Garden, I was with a man who got the long hair of the girl in front, as she flicked it back over the seat ( in a rather ostentatious way I thought ) caught in his fly. The opening bars of Don Giovanni have never been the same for me. It took a full five minutes of fiddling with her head bent back as if in magnificent climactic appreciation of the music to extricate the poor man. Actually I behaved terribly badly and made the fiddling ( down there) much worse by pretending to help. That is one reason I don’t want to see Don Giovanni. People know this I think.

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