Training Camp a la Spinster

Shit, it sure is tiresome this. I am almost sweating. Today I´ve spent the WHOLE day with eye-workout. A workout to make my eyes see different things, focus on different angles and concentrate on the right stuff.

Nope, I am not trying to get rid of my glasses, I am only trying to open my eyes too the good men. Since my divorce my eyes have constantly been drawn to -- bohemians, eccentrics, extremely beautiful, dandys, too young or otherwise slightly complicated men. My mission for this summer is to explore another segment -- the Good, Normal and Decent men.

So today when I spent half of the day on the always-delayed-British-trains in the midst of the office-infected West, I made an effort. When the train stopped and a tall, dark, arty farty man in a peculiar hat entered I forced my eyes away. Instead I concentrated on the colour-less, suit-dressed guys in pink shirts. Firmly decisive to not judge the hound by its hairs.

And yes, I think I did rather well. Now, it might be that the creme-de-la-creme of the the Good, Normal and Decent men don´t spend their day-time on trains to Slough, but still. One has to start somewhere.

Who knows, I might even go to bars in the City to flirt with BankersWankers, or even worse, South Kensington! Quel horreur, phew, maybe not yet, one step at a time.

Adios amigos, going for a drink in my dear hoods of the Notting Hill-billies. Bohemic, scrubby, difficult and decadent: Plainly a relaxing treat after a hard day´s work.