Dogging, fields and time travel.

My dear Readers, I have two very important things to announce.

One is that I'm very, very sorry that, once again, I've had to resort to the magic of retroactive scheduling in order to get this post out "on time". You see, Blogger was being very unpleasant, then I gave up and went for a long walk, then when I got home it had... gone through absolutely changes whatsoever, and remained steadfastly intransigent.

I am not a man of the 21st Century. It's a miracle I haven't burnt a programmer at the stake for witchcraft yet.

Now, with Blogger back on my side, I move on the the second point, which is WOO, THE TOPIC I WANTED IS THE TOPIC WE'RE WRITING ON! As such, I'm proud to present the topic for the week, "Dogging/Cottaging/Cruising, etc."

Please read nothing into the fact that I desperately wanted this topic. Nothing at all.

Oh dear, I've dug myself a hole here, one which isn't exactly being filled in by the fact that me and Eli live quite near a dogging site. A few, actually. I walked past/through several on my walk while Blogger fumed over whatever unknowable offence I'd committed against it. You see, we live in an amicably suburban area, which just so happens to be surrounded on 3 sides by grass and trees and bushes and nature in general, so it's perfect for surreptitious sexytimes. The pub which acts as a meeting point is only 10 minutes from the bush which acts as a bed. The isolated car-park only 5 minutes from the local condom vendor. It's really quite perfect. 

I Googled the name of my local area + "dogging". I don't recommend this.
Unless, y'know, it would aid you somehow.

I apologise for the rambling and uninformative nature of this post, but I've had 10.2 units of alcohol, and it's 05:21. Don't worry though, I'll schedule it for 09:00 yesterday, and it should reach you then. Right?

I'm glad we're friends again, Blogger.

Yours tiredly,

James.

I may or may not have engaged in some variety of sexual activity outside myself... I just don't wish to write about it.