ALLAN MORRIS
sexual needs. Come to think of it (now there's an interesting
and relevant expression for you), it's been so long since I had a sexual
relationship with anyone other than my right hand and a length of videotape,
that I can barely remember what it's like. What's all the fuss about?
Like Dennis Potter's 'Blue Remembered Hills', it's a distant, foggy, but
well-loved memory.
So what can I do about this parlous state of affairs? Perhaps I could
abuse this position of enormous power and privilege, and publish my name
and phone number here? Unfortunately, and quite rightly of course, the
editor won't allow this (at least, not on the basis of a free, full-page
ad). I tried several times taking out an ad in the back of this very mag,
and answering ads from ladies on the lookout for friends and partners
and, presumably, some hot lovin' along the way. It can be exciting making
contact in this way, but so far, other than a string of fruitless (and
sexless) one-night stands, only one of these approaches led to anything
- an utterly disastrous relationship, in which the sex wasn't that good
anyway.
Maybe I should take up crochet, or flower arranging. The problem is, I
would then have to avoid ever watching the telly, reading the newspapers
and listening to the radio - pastimes that I enjoy immensely, but which
taunt me hourly with tales of lust and lurve. As a hardworking and hard-playing
guy, I'm obviously not going to go down that road... which leaves me with
but one option for the time being: now, where did I leave my 'Soho Pirate
Video Shop' season ticket?
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