Art of Blogging

It's a grim Saturday in August. It's windy and wet. It's the 4th time I've been rained on in 12 hours. I refuse to go out anymore. I now have tickets to Liverpool, I'm off to paint that city purple-with-pink-polka dots with Hottie next weekend. I now also have my vital supplies of Coffeemate, ran out yesterday, complete disaster especially given the milk is 5 days over and I could cut it with a knife.

Apart from that, I have hoovered. Tomorrow, the dishes. Unfortunately, that will entail me actually walking into the kitchen for more than 5 mins. But once the dishes are done, I might be tempted to stay a bit longer in there. Those of you more domestically minded than I will no doubt be shuddering with horror. Maybe I should just have more visitors, that way I'm forced to tidy up regularly. I'm just not big on spending time on dusting thing. Hey, the only people I share my space with are a 12 year old boy and a cat. Both are only bothered that they get fed regularly, and neither pay rent.

On a slightly different note. I was ordering my groceries on-line from Mr Tesco and thought I'd just have a quick look in the book section. I found an academic section, eager to find out what they might have and always up for a good bargain I clicked. Well. Their definition of academic and my definition of academic clearly do not match. No way is Jade Goodey's (auto)biography academic. Not in my middle-class, quasi-intellectual universe. But there it is. I've included the link, so you can see I'm not lying, but you may not be able to get in because it may be registered users only. But give it a go, have a laugh.

I also found a really interesting article in The Guardian today. Just to goes to show how bland I really must be, it never occurred to me that there were sex blogs out there. But there are. Ranging from Belle du Jour to Spank Me Now. Yes, I clicked around. For the most part, they were actually quite ordinary, as in they were about ordinary women keeping an on-line diary about their normal day, with a bit of erotica thrown in for good measure.

I must admit, I am fascinated by it all. It's the nosey person in me. It amazes me what people get up to. Makes me realise how dull and boring I must be. What it does show is that women are still exploring their sexuality in the so-called era of post-feminism, and sexuality has become commoditised and commercialised in the print press. Has the sexual revolution and feminism really improved women's relationship with their bodies and their significant others? Given the reaction of the British Tabloids to Girl With a One-Track Mind, I don't think so.