No party to remember
Happy New Year, hope you all had fun last night? Despite the rain, gale force winds and lightning strikes that is?
The Bloke Indoors picked me up last night armed with a heeuuuge golf umbrella, despite the fact it wasn’t raining anymore, and informed me that the party we were going to had been cancelled – it was a garden type thing complete with fireworks and bonfire, which (of course) were now ruined. The new plan was to meet up in Covent Garden with a couple of others then walk to Embankment and attempt to find a place to watch the fireworks there (we were determined to see fireworks!!).
Cue change of costume (woohoo no need to worry about the dress + underwear issue!) Half an hour later, with a hat to cover the mess I had made of my hair in the kafuffle, we were walking down the road, one hand warm from holding his, the other going red with cold, because I (as usual) forgot my gloves.
Later in the evening we were (quite a way!) up the river from the Eye waiting for the countdown, we could see it and even in my sober state (compared to my companions) I joined in the 10!…9!…8!… until the fireworks blew.
Blinkin’ hell! They were some fireworks. I don’t know about oohs and ahhs I was expecting screams and fitting! Ten minutes of seriously big, bright and colourful bangers, with boats that looked like they were on fire whizzing up and down The Thames like they had rockets shoved up their arse. Wait, they did. OK, fair play. It was great really!
As we flinched and clapped and shivered and shielded our eyes and puked against the wall (not me or The Bloke I assure you), I leant back against The Bloke’s body and his arms enveloped me to him. His lips brushed my cheek with a kiss and in a deep, breathy voice he said in my ear,
“Happy 2007 Kit, this year your body’s mine and I’m going to use it however and whenever I want to.”
When I looked up at him, he had that evil glint in his eye, the evil glint that I love so much. You can’t get more romantic than kissing in front of the New Year’s fireworks on the Thames after your boyfriend tells you he’s going to fuck you like mad all year long. He has such a way with words does The Bloke Indoors.
The Bloke Indoors picked me up last night armed with a heeuuuge golf umbrella, despite the fact it wasn’t raining anymore, and informed me that the party we were going to had been cancelled – it was a garden type thing complete with fireworks and bonfire, which (of course) were now ruined. The new plan was to meet up in Covent Garden with a couple of others then walk to Embankment and attempt to find a place to watch the fireworks there (we were determined to see fireworks!!).
Cue change of costume (woohoo no need to worry about the dress + underwear issue!) Half an hour later, with a hat to cover the mess I had made of my hair in the kafuffle, we were walking down the road, one hand warm from holding his, the other going red with cold, because I (as usual) forgot my gloves.
Later in the evening we were (quite a way!) up the river from the Eye waiting for the countdown, we could see it and even in my sober state (compared to my companions) I joined in the 10!…9!…8!… until the fireworks blew.
Blinkin’ hell! They were some fireworks. I don’t know about oohs and ahhs I was expecting screams and fitting! Ten minutes of seriously big, bright and colourful bangers, with boats that looked like they were on fire whizzing up and down The Thames like they had rockets shoved up their arse. Wait, they did. OK, fair play. It was great really!
As we flinched and clapped and shivered and shielded our eyes and puked against the wall (not me or The Bloke I assure you), I leant back against The Bloke’s body and his arms enveloped me to him. His lips brushed my cheek with a kiss and in a deep, breathy voice he said in my ear,
“Happy 2007 Kit, this year your body’s mine and I’m going to use it however and whenever I want to.”
When I looked up at him, he had that evil glint in his eye, the evil glint that I love so much. You can’t get more romantic than kissing in front of the New Year’s fireworks on the Thames after your boyfriend tells you he’s going to fuck you like mad all year long. He has such a way with words does The Bloke Indoors.
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