It 's raining again.I know I really shouldn’t be complaining as rain is something we’re terribly short on these days, but I find it hard not to have Supertramp choruses lodged between my ears whenever the skies grey over.
On days like these I tend to hibernate and spend far too much time on my rump, either staring at the raindrops as they hit and run along the glass, or spending equal amounts of time on my caboose mulling over what my pornstar name should be. (Note sure exactly why; perhaps it's something to do with wet T-Shirts and freezing nipples?)
I never had a pet (because mum wasn’t a fan of anything furry), but I did occasionally meow to a cat who lived next door back when we were at Dickens Street; meaning that my pornstar name could be Smokey Dickens. And although this did have a certain je ne sais quoi, it really didn’t have the wow factor that ‘Biggus Tittus’ or ‘Ivana Humpalot’ had.
Perhaps I could be Kitty Spankalicious, or even better still, Kitty-Kitty Bang-Bang.
I can hear the chorus of singers now:
‘Bang-Bang Kitty-Kitty Bang-Bang, our fine formed female friend.’
Ms planning-her-starring-role-in-the-next-great-bonkbuster M.
