Sorry to have been away for so long. I had hoped to have made a couple of worthwhile full-sized postings from the Isle of Wight (IOW) (where, as you may have gathered I lingered somewhat longer than originally intended). But free WiFi access proved as rare as hen's teeth, and to cap it all the netbook developed a fault whereby the screen turned purple, making critical appraisal of images impossible even if it was still possible to write to some degree (a bit of a strain on the old 'peepers' though!). I have just this minute arrived back in 'The Smoke' (London) via an eclectic mix of transportation. Eclectic? you may ask – well, for example, how many out there have ever seen one of these things in the flesh? (see photo). Yes it is a hovercraft and I doubt there are many hovercraft routes still active in the world – this one runs between Ryde on the northeast end of the IOW and Southsea on the UK mainland south coast (just outside Portsmouth, where HMS Victory lives).
Quite a few have emailed me while I have been away to say how much they 
have enjoyed the Blushes letters posts sent in by Allan. I find them great for triggering off new ideas when things are getting stale on the writing front. And at times such as these – during which I have had little free time available, due to a mixture of traveling, writing and assorted domestic conflicts (the majority of which revolve around the time I spend writing – the rest around the time spent pubbing) – they provide a good source of content, taking the strain off yours truly. So here are a couple more to be getting on with (click to enlarge / view). See you'all later... Garth.
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4 comments:
"How many out there have ever seen one of these things in the flesh? (see photo). Yes it is a hovercraft and I doubt there are many hovercraft routes still active in the world"
Well, I have, not only seen but often taken one between Gibraltar and Tangiers. So there! ;-)
This time, despite the zoom I couldn't read the Letters easily.
So for the benefit of those who are short-sighted too, here is a simple solution:
You press Ctrl and move upwards the little wheel on your mouse.
Interesting to read how various correspondents would treat a 16 year old girl if they were fortunate enough to be in charge of one! One poor girl was going to have her scooter taken away, what a swine! The first thing I would do would be to show the girl she was still a child, pigtails, no bra, sensible shoes, brief cotton dresses, no make-up, in by 7pm every night and bed by 9pm. Of course a smacked bottom would play a big part of her life, and most nights she would go to bed hot, sore and tearful. I would have a cane for special occassions...!
A policeman called on me yesterday to confirm my enrolment in the Teenage Trollops Mentoring Programme under which I have selflessly agreed to take an immoral young lady into my home.
He first examined my punishment instruments and seemed fairly happy with the canes, but did remark that my tawse could have been heavier.
He also seemed more than satisfied with the cell which my spare bedroom has been transformed into. The bars on the window and in the door-frame (the door has been removed) being firmly embedded. I showed him how the glass window behind the bars could be locked full open, and assured him that it would be in that state at all times, except during our very occasional heat-waves, when it would be locked closed. This would also be the only time when the radiator would be on at all – and then full.
He disapproved of the thin mattress on the bed, but that was a small point. I readily agreed to dispense with it. A blanket over the hard board is indeed enough comfort for a hardened trollop.
He did purse his lips when he noticed that I had installed an en-suite toilet, muttering something about needless luxury. However he thawed when I pointed out some features. First it is positioned so as to be in full view of the open doorway, and has a recording security camera (one of three in the cell) trained on it a t all times. I have no wish for her to feel comfortable in using it. The pedestal has been specially designed to be just a little too low for comfort, and the seat is fixed firmly in place and embedded all round with sharp tacks and broken glass.
I explained further that the large regular doses of castor oil I had planned – a gallon jar already sits in my kitchen just for starters – really necessitated this feature.
Finally he examined the tissue provided and agreed that, while it was not quite sandpaper, it was the next best thing.
Later, he talked me through some aspects of the programme over a coffee. He was very firm on one aspect. The trollop was not to enjoy her mentoring. In particular, although she must provide some sexual favour as a partial recompense for my trouble with her, she should not be deriving any pleasure. Her disgusting lack of self-control is what had got her into trouble in the first place. Among the booklets he left me was one that he said I would find particularly useful. It was a reprint of a Victorian manual and was entitled “The Prevention and Punishment of Self-Abuse in Young Ladies.”
(Anyone want to continue with this?)
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