Category Archives: Touring

Sing me a lullaby

It is 2:56am and I am awake. I do not want to be awake, but that seems to be irrelevant. I’m having one of those “This is not my bed” moments. I’m sure that any minute now, I will be overwhelmed by the urge to sleep, I am also sure that when that happens, the currently silent Inverness seagulls will start their morning kebab hunt, probably armed with loudhailers.

This is another flying visit, I must be mad working on April fools day. Having spent most of yesterday ignoring withheld numbers, I await the morning with trepidation. However, you boys have a treat in store, I happen to know that Amy of Scarborough and Ellie Lloyd are both planning visits to Inverness in the near future. Make sure you look them up. Don’t miss out.

I am off to sunny Bristol for a few days to visit and torment the lovely Claire, so if you fancy an outcall while I’m there, please send me an email or call me as soon as possible.

Anyway, I’m off to count sheep.



We’re Off To See The Wizard

Well, I’m off down to Inverness again. Despite the snow and gale force winds. Honestly, don’t be surprised if my next blog post is co-written by the cowardly lion, it’s ‘orrible out there.

I’m posting this on my iPhone as I managed to knock my laptop off the table the other day. There was that moment of “I can’t look”, just like when you stub your toe and think there’s going to be a mangled lump where said toe was five minutes ago (or is that just me?), but as it turned out, the only casualty was the charger. Cue me rationing the remaining power in the battery like the last bottle of water on a desert trek. I’ve been a bit lost for the last couple of days. 90% of my friends live in Internetland. I’ve actually had to phone people and speak to them properly. How quaint!


In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m now offering domination and humiliation. I know I said it wasn’t my thing, but I surprised myself. I started off spanking a few naughty boys’ bottoms and it’s led to all kinds of shenanigans. I’ve even (almost) shaken off the voice of the woman in Personal Services saying “winky poos and bot-bots”… Almost.

As I’m in Inverness weekly now, I really need to get a little apartment in the city centre, so if you happen to have/know of something suitable, please let me know. We floozies really do make the best tenants (believe it or not).

What’s another year?

You’ll need to ask Johnny Logan that one.

I don’t do all that resolution malarkey, unless you count the fact that I tell myself that if I get to the end of *insert current year* and still haven’t *insert thing that needs doing*, then there’s going to be trouble. So I’ve no great news for you on that front.

I have spent the festive period drinking too much alcohol, watching repeated dross on tv and generally lazing about, making the place look untidy.

However, it’s time to get back to normal, so the floozy phone is switched on and I’m back in Inverness at the end of this week.

Anyway, I’ve been checking my blog stats again and the search terms used to find me are getting better by the day, so I’ll share today’s (Monday)

Search Terms

PVC Prostitute Punternet?


Gallivanting Again

Yes, it’s a hard life. Two visits to Inverness and a jolly to York to meet friends since last I blogged. Oh woe is me. *Grins*

It was my first visit to York and it’s a beautiful place, full of Tudor buildings and fabulous, winding, cobbled lanes. Unfortunately it was also full of people with cameras who feel it is their right in life to stop suddenly in front of you and while you are still on tiptoes, arms pin-wheeling helplessly,  trying to regain your balance without knocking them off their feet, they then step backwards (to get a better photo) and crush your poor abused toes. I say poor and abused because, just for once, I was wearing cheap shoes[1]. My Gran used to say that you should always wear good shoes and sleep in a decent bed. How right she was.

The bed that Claire and I shared in York (stop it, you smutty minded so’n’so) was perfectly adequate, but some genius or other had decided that not only was a mattress protector required, but that it should have a plastic backing. Add to that the fact that somebody had turned the electric heater up to “blast furnace” and the result is Claire and I waking up at 6:30am and looking accusingly at one another because the bed is soaking. Don’t worry, it was just sweat. If you’ve ever had rude thoughts about Claire and I sliding around on a bed, then there you go. Although I feel it only fair to let you know that we were both clad in rather fetching jim jams.

Going back to the shoes, I was seduced by the call of pretty, cheap shoes. They’ll do thought I. Pah! Bloody awful uncomfortable things! I ended up limping into M&S in York, grabbing a passing member of staff and begging her for comfy insoles. I was rather perturbed when she returned with a pair of the most phallic looking, gel based creations I have ever witnessed. Phallic or not, they were paid for and inserted into my boots rather sharpish, which involved Claire and I sharing a disabled toilet and making rather interesting sighing noises as we introduced our soles to the joy of gel.

There was a rather interesting array of market stalls in York. I (in my usual manner) would probably describe it as a “Hippie market”, although we overheard one woman refer to it (in finest BBC English accent) as “Ethnic”. In probably the same tone that she would command Jeeves to “Move those nasty Ethnics from the lawn”. Still, whether it was Ethnic or Hippie, the fact remains that odour emanating from the Pot-Pourri/Incense stall was exactly the pong I remember from 1970s bus shelters. Someone suggested that it was the mixture of whiffs which achieved this effect and whilst I’m sure there is at least the tiniest ring of veracity to that, I’m still shocked that A. Nobody outside our raiding shopping party seemed to notice and B. The stall owner hadn’t searched out the offending items and binned them.

Anyway, there was of course more to our weekend than pongy stalls and crippled feet, but I feel it has been covered by Laura and Claire, so if you really want to read about the river with ideas above it’s station, the fabulous food and company or that thing with the two girls and a sheep[2], then off you pop over to their respective blogs.

[1] To add insult to injury, on the soles of my feet destroying shoes, it says “Your feet feel wonderful”. I can tell you that this is absolutely not true.

[2] Ok, I made that one up… Sorry. Smile

It’s all going Pete Tong!

Well, not all, but enough to make me pace up and down the living room like a caged Tiger.

First of all, I have had a week of phone calls which I cannot answer. batphoneSod’s law is in full force on my phone, which means that it only rings when I am doing something or in the kind of company which precludes answering a floozy-phone (think Bat-phone, but in pink, with sequins and possibly fur). I mean, can you imagine the Vicar’s face? I’m fairly sure that any conversation I might have on there would run the risk of putting him off his tea and scones. Unfortunately, 99% of the callers declined the nice robot’s offer of taking aunbranded-pink-fluffy-retro-style-phone message, so I can’t call back either. One chap who did leave a message was so drunk that I could only translate one word in five and although he did leave a number for me to call him back, I have no idea what it was.

Secondly, my visit to Inverness will have to be postponed. Something’s come up (no, not like that, you with the one track mind), but I will be there on the 3rd and 4th of November and if I get a chance, I will pop by for a flying visit before then.

I Read The News Today…

…Oh Boy!

Maybe I should put a tagline on my site, “As seen in the Highland News”. 🙂

Ok, the Highland News have a history of negativity toward escorts. Today they have gone quite a way towards redressing the balance.

When I was informed that today’s headline read:

Sex For Sale Tour Dates

I have to say, I was prepared for the worst. However, it is a positive piece which highlights the fact that not all escorts are coerced or exploited. Well done Laurence Ford.

So it’s official. I’m high class. It must be true, it says so in the Highland News. 😉

I await the slew of phone calls from religious zealots and narrow minded bigots…