The Chinchillas have had more babies, Jan’s hot-footed it back to Sweden and J is playing hard to get. I check out Facebook to see if he’s on a trip too. Come on, you all do it! Aggh, he’s got messages from women with all kinds of strange profile pics. There’s one from Angel whose bottom is sticking out of bubble bath. I see another from a vixen with a stiletto heel unhooking her G-string and a lady with a Catwoman mask licking latex. This guy is clearly some goddang Pornmeister on sabbatical to fantasy land.

You can tell a lot about a person’s facebook profile so beware what you put out in the ether boys and girls. My friend Angie once lost a contract after someone saw her being rude about them on the social networking site. She had foolishly forgotten she had added them as a friend a few months before. I know we all spy on people these days but I still get freaked out on dates when the person knows my CV better than I do. I think, “I never told you that.” Even my 58yr old singing teacher, who, I might add, I would NEVER date, told me he knew everything about me through the Internet, although he rather creepily pretended he could read me like a book first. I gave up the lessons after that. My favourite story of Internet outing was told to me by my mate Allen who found out a guy was pissing him around with the sale of his house by googling him. After being told the guy could not complete (he was too busy mourning the death of his aunty) Allen found him in some online chat-room saying he was having a great day and about to head off to the pub for a few pints. A few minutes later Allen sent out a rocket of a chat message and within minutes the house sale was back on track and the guy had been publicly humiliated online.

Talking of rockets. I had better make like one as I am off to my first live pole-dancing performance in a few hours. I got into the art of tease to get rid of my cellulite. I also wanted to make my lower half move again after years in the sexual Gobi. Little did I know it would take me to another dimension with all sense of space and time disappearing after 10 minutes on the pole. Music does it to some people, art to others, well pole-dancing does it for me. Of course, I daren’t mention my hobby at Sid and Nancy’s catholic school; most of the Mums and Dads there really are too good for this world. When Sid blurted out “Mummy’s going pole dancing” to one Mum in the park the other day I had to tell a porky (thankfully I am a Buddhist if anything so I won’t need to head for the confession booth). I told her I do folk dancing in Ealing following recommendations from my Polish mum in law.

It’s a full moon tonight and, being a bit of a lunar loony, I know this is not only going to affect me but the audience as well. There’s a reason why Full Moon festivals came into being. Hardcore festival-heads know too well that we all have an urge to to bang a drum and wave a glow stick when the moon is in full glow. But feeling in more of a party mood is not the only side effect. We have problems sleeping, the police have more trouble dealing with anti-social behaviour and psychiatric hospitals report patients get that little bit more crazy when the moon is a balloon. Even the most avid disbeliever can see the Science bit. If the moon changes the way the sea works it must have some kind of effect on our own bodies of water.

I have a diary which charts the phases for me. Moon diary tells me that the waxing phase, from new moon to full moon, is the time that we are at our most outgoing and positive but as the moon then wanes we should put our more quiet and reflective heads on. It was Lovely Liz who got me into moon phases. One morning when the St John’s Wort and meditation was having about as much effect as a smile on a traffic warden, I did what I normally do when I feel low and trotted off to her flat to dump my troubles at her door.

“It’s the double moon, she said. It’s been happening to everyone.” No hint of a “Come on in, sit down, have a cuppa and tell me about the bastard,” oh no, let’s just get straight to the heart of the matter and blame the moon. In myth the Moon is said to rule things like feelings, intuition, fertility and creativity and nowadays even those who come up in hives at the mere mention of crystals, can appreciate there’s truth in what my friend says. Many winemakers, fishermen and hunters go by the lunar calendar and women’s cycles are synchronised with madame moon. So why don’t we pay more attention to it?

“Listening to feelings and hunches requires quiet time, something we rarely give ourselves these days, Abi,” sighs Liz.

Quiet time is something I value more than anything since I had children. Anyone who knows me well will have heard that I meditate for half an hour every day. They might even say, as they do to me, that it has made me a more relaxed person and seems to have halted the ageing process. But heading off into an altered state is not on my to do list today as I sashay off to wow a small crowd of full moon crazed punters with my fireman, carousel and trapeze moves. Power to the moon and power to the pole! Wish me luck tonight…

I once had a friend called Sarah (Gemini) whose nom de plume at the Tottenham Ct Rd Spearmint Rhino was Sacha. She revealed all to me over a vanilla latte one day when I asked her how she got time to wash, dry and straighten her hair every morning. She said if it wasn’t her job remit she’d be slicking back wet hair into a ponytail and donning the loose Ts, tacky bums and flip flops worn by many of the tired looking parents on the school run. Sarah was thirty five and still working the pole. She’d split from a husband who used to drag her beautifully straightened hair across the kitchen floor before smashing her face with the fridge door and desperately needed to raise some cash for her and her little girl.

I sadly lost touch with her after 3 year old Violet (nicknamed Violence) was asked to leave on account of her hitting the other kids a few too many times. I was sad for Sarah because I knew the whole sorry story (her daughter had seen Dad hit Mum regularly) and gutted for me because she was fun and definitely the friend with the most interesting job. I later hooked up with one of Violence’s nursery teachers who said they wondered “about Mum’s career path” after Violet brought a marabou-trimmed g-string saying ‘hot mama’ on them for show and tell.

Back to tonight’s display. No I am not at the fireworks. I am sitting on a velvet sofa between the Swedes looking at Hot Mama pants and nurses outfits’ as Eastern European teenagers decorate the sofa around us, plying their trade for a £20 dance.
“Hi, how are you? Are you having a lovely time here tonight? Can I get you anything? Show you anything?” Bland, bland, bland. I can see why guys love coming here. These girls are the right side of twenty, scantily clad and don’t answer back when spoken to: so no threat to a man’s ego at all. Feeling like I should pick for a winner for my Swedish pals and hating to let the girls in front of me down I say, “What about her, she’s sweet?”. “How about the lady in latex, she’s lovely and you have to admit she’s put alot of effort in?”

“Wait, wayyyyyt,” says J in a soft sleazy tone that resembles the “T-rust in meeeee,” of the snake from the Jungle Book. “The besssst ones normally come lasssst.” Jan is looking clearly pissed off with his lack of date and not feeling a bit like having a dance with some girl who does it for money. I put my hand on his and tell him I’ll buy him a dance if he perks up. He cracks a half-hearted smile.

“Why don’t I dance for you and your lady friend,” says a blonde girl shaking her strawberry flavoured hair into J’s face? “She’s the one,” says J, leaping to his feet. Come on Abi, show me you are not typically English.” Well I clearly want to see every gory detail of the job my friend used to do and who knows, if Mr Was Right starts getting lax with the mortgage payments and freezes my housekeeping, I might just need a career. So I head behind a wooden screen to watch Misia, the Russian, yes J’s established her name, gyrate a very young bottom in front of us. She’s completely shaved, covered in baby powder and, unless she’s thirteen years old, has clearly had some surgery done to her undercarriage. It’s all very boring and I feel a bit nauseous so I put my hand on J’s muscular thigh to steady myself, which, he says later, is the best bit – fibber.

“You did really well,” says J when the whole excruciating experience is over. “No other girl I’ve brought here has ever been behind the screen with me.” God, he could have told me that before. Oh well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. It’ll be a great story to tell a few of my more enlightened friends.

So you want to know how the story ended with Mr Sweden? Come on I know you have been itching to hear all week, and what a week! Jan and Joachim have texted and emailed with fighting talk. In a nutshell, Jan has decided he is going to be in charge of the talking and J is in charge of the naughty stuff. What are these Scandos like? The email trail has become so hysterical I feel duty bound to share a few extracts thus far following on from a sharp retort I sent after they dubbed me their “mutual girlfriend”:

From J To Jan, Abitight

Abeeee..You’re just full of surprises .. A characteristic we both value!

Explanation .. Me, Scared? Hun, you can’t build a sentence with those words and include my name .. It just doesn’t work 😉 Well ok, seeing as you are such a fab chick, I’ll try to explain what was going on in my head (remember the marbles had still not come back home at the time). Jan’s nickname for you is now “our mutual girlfriend”. I believe he sees it along the lines of him taking care of the talking, which only leaves me with the naughty stuff, but I can live with that, since he’s my best mate and you are just awesome. OK back to the explanation …

Jan is, correction, WAS my stylist .. Haven’t told him yet but he’s fired! It’s now every man for himself 😉 This stuff about tripping each other on the way to our double date, which should have turned out differently if you had pulled a date for Janny as instructed. Focus baby!

OK, OK back to the explanation .. I was merely looking to stir up some fun by sending the text to both of you .. I gather now it was somewhat far-fetched or possibly just way too brilliant .. Jan replied “what?” You replied “I’m confused” .. So, it didn’t work .. You choose the reason, I am from a neutral country 🙂

J x

From Jan To J, Abitight
J, you are the most confusing person I know… Why the hell have you fired me???
You picked up Abi after being styled by me. After that, it´s been downhill. Me and Abi have a much deeper relationship than a cave man like you could ever understand. I will keep an eye on you two…Looking forward to Abi fixing me up with a hot date nearer the end of the week

jan the man xx

From AbiTight to J, Jan

Hey Jan…Looks like the hot date might just be you and me the way J is behaving, although I am not sure I really believe his hard man act! I think he’s bonkers about me.

This is all a bit Swedish. When I am not laughing, I am feeling a tiny bit scared!

X Abi

Since you are wondering, I never went to bed with either of them following that Mansion night. While they were waiting for a taxi I slunk off in my heels and walked home without even a kiss goodbye, which got me top points for adding to mystique from Virginia and J and Jan, who had slipped his business card into my pocket an hour or so earlier. I texted the next day, Jan passed on J’s number, J was clearly text-cited and fixed up a date for three TO-NIGHT. The RSVP that I am not into threesomes had clearly not put him off. I figured that was probably what they were angling for in the first place.

“What!” yells Virginia, on our regular roller-skating jaunt around the park. “You turned down two gorgeous Swedish men for what could have been the most amazing experience of your life? Abi, Abi, Abi…my cousin Tarka swears by threesomes. She’s had two guys on a leash for the past year. They visit her once a month, everyone knows where they stand, no-one gets hurt and Tarka says it is the best sex she has ever had.”

“I’d just be too busy laughing to concentrate on the job in hand,” I say. “Plus they’d be discussing the old Venus fly trap the next day. It would make me paranoid. Besides I got a real date instead. Who knows where it may lead?”

J says as Janni is only in town for the weekend he is coming and asks if I can bring someone else. I had Janey ready to go up until five mnutes ago but she’s called to say her baby is sick and her blokie won’t let her go as he’s too nervous to be left with the baby alone so here I am Abi-no-mates, sitting in a restaurant between two drop dead gorgeous guys. Fantaseeeeee Isssssllllllllannnnnd.
“You really let Janny down, Abigail,” says J half-joking while squeezing my knee.

I try to make up for my lack of attractive girlfriend by paying Jan lots of attention. Turns out he works as a location scout internationally for a famous fast food company although it clearly grates on the guy as he tells me it is his job “to make people fat”. No wonder he jumped at the chance to eat sushi tonight. J, meanwhile, is unemployed having recently been made redundant by a company who staffs hotels and fancy apartment blocks. I give them the whole Abi Tight sob story over a sushi platter before J pipes up.

“Spearmint Rhino??”

Well of course I couldn’t say no. Remember Mr Was Right’s receipts? I had to witness first-hand what he saw in the place.

Mr Was Right is around this morning looking super-grumpy and super-tired which explains why the kids are trying desperately to get his attention. “Dad, Dad, can you do this?” says Sid. “Hold your willy in one hand, point your gun in the air and go ‘whooooo, whooooo’.” Mr Was Right attempts a smile, “Sid. That is just what every man would like to do when he wakes up. I’ll definitely try it tomorrow morning.”

He gets our two dressed before chucking a man’s idea of kids’ breakfast down them. 2 Kit Kats, 2 Fruit Shoots and a shared pack of Twiglets later they head off into the misty morning waved off by Mama Tight, who, dressed rather decadently in silk pjs, quietly thanks the God of Separation she won’t have to deal with the additive and sugar-fuelled fireworks going off in the Audi in approximately 1 minute. Screeeeeeeeech…..I shut the door knowing Sid is getting the fourth degree for calling his Dad a “buttcrack” or such like.  

This morning was a toughie. Mr Was Right dropped the bombshell I’ve been dreading for the last 2 months. He told me to – GET A BLOODY JOB. And, well, I kind of had to agree with him. The blog is hardly paying for itself, the kids are at school most of the day and I am starting to feel RSI nerve twinges – thanks to my social media addiction. I need to get out more. Text goes out.

Work is fast becoming a necessity. Any inspired suggestions?

Brrrrr Forget anything child-related, seeing how you lost Jamie the last time I asked you to watch him for 5 minutes in Ikea;)) x Vag

Brrr Given up on the dating site idea then? Xx Janey

Brrrrr With your heels and Dominatrix disposition, you’d make a great door bitch, Ms Tight. Oh and what happened to the pole-dancing? x G

I knew I shouldn’t have told G about the lessons I have been doing on and off for the past 6 months and I know what you are thinking. You need a job. You can poledance. Go figure? Believe me, I’ve tossed that idea around but, while I’ve got nothing against poledancers, doing it for a living would jar with my Goddess principles. Dancing provocatively in front of leery blokes can’t do much for your self-esteem and I haven’t got much of that left these days. It would also probably put me off the male of the species which isn’t really the best position to be in when you are signing up with dating agencies. Besides, who wants a 30 something when there are all those beautiful teenage Croatians, Latvians and Hungarians doing their do in the clubs?

I had better add a few normal jobs to my CV. Not sure former model, kiss n tell blogger, tarot reader, twitterer, jolly good friend, reiki practitioner, pole dancing practitioner and rambunctious raconteur will go down too well in the current job marketplace. Or would it? Can you think of a career that embraces all my finer qualities? Please be kind.