Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Moonshine's LiveJournal:

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Tuesday, May 6th, 2008
11:29 am	This Weekend Was brought to You by: And, of course: AAAHHHHH. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 2nd, 2008
10:21 am	Two Terrific Thursdays “Emily and I used to be these awesome filthy rock chicks and here we are in 2008, eagerly anticipating a Chas and Dave Gig”  - The never bettered Samham, last Thursday. After the inhumanity of our previous gig at Chicago’s, ten of us braved slag central again to see the Rockney duo last Thursday. I had managed to procure a t-shirt and a flat cap for the occasion and was feeling pretty mighty. The boys were on impressive form- an hour and a half of utter musical joy, audience participation and sly winks at Sam and I in the front row, dancing ourselves stiff. It was ace and I hurt for days. Say what you like about the boys, for sheer enjoyment it was hard to beat. I mean, I’m unlikely to go and see them again (I’m not a rabid fan or owt) but the atmosphere and the performance were incredible. True fact. Some time ago, our Ed drew my attention to the availability of Have I Got News For You tickets- usual deal, you apply online and if you’re very, very lucky (they’re as rare as hen’s teeth), you might get a ticket. A few days later I was emailed to say I had tickets. Then last week, joy of joys, we were emailed the name of the guest host for the evening. Well fuck me sideways dear reader if it wasn’t none other than BRIAN BLESSED!!!! A name which warrants massive over-exclamation. The show was yesterday and Ed and I were the last people allowed into the audience after a pretty hectic amount of getting lost and meandering about on the wrong side of the river like twats. Jo Caulfield was our warm up and was fairly bland relying solely on the old “where are you from, what do you do, struggle to make something funny out of it” routine. She announced the panel; Hislop and Merton of course, Alan Duncan MP (the gay Tory) and Marcus Brigstocke. The latter sent Ed in to screams of ecstasy and as poor Marcus came on set (devoid of corduroy) he looked a little nervous at this blatant overreaction from the back of the room. Then Brian arrived, gesticulating wildly, jumping up and down, thrilled. It was, without doubt, the best thing I have ever been to for free. Blessed was utterly batshit and uncontrollable, telling fabulous stories about his exploring- never camp downhill from the French as they’ll shit on you, your cock will freeze off after 25 seconds’ exposure in the Artic Circle, be careful when taking a shit while hanging over a cliff face, as a gust of wind will send it back up onto your shoulder etc. He belched, he swore, he threw things, he made constant passes at the gay MP. In short, he was in his element and I think everybody fell in love with him. He messed around so much that the show took two and a half hours to record but still nobody really wanted him to leave. It was magical and an absolute joy to behold. And, of course, the Prime Minister being some bloke called Gordon made for the use of one or two catchphrases, believe it or not. Ahhh, life is good.  (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, April 28th, 2008
5:06 pm	Today I... Smell of pencil. (Comment on this)
2:07 pm	The Revenge of the Sewer (Part II) Most of you will remember THIS little fiasco quite, quite vividly, I know I do. I thought this was all behind us, but yesterday my lovely neighbour, Jolly Giles, rang to advise that there was a blockage their side and asked could he please have a look at the drain in my conservatory. At the time this was less then ideal as I was seconds away from serving a jolly good dinner to Boyd and Bird Junior. However, when your neighbours toilet is vomiting sewage all over their bathroom , it seems a little churlish to put them off until you’ve finished scoffing sausages. The mash got cold. Quelle domage. This morning I left my key with Jolly Giles so that he could let the drain men in. All this apparently was just in the nick of time, as the sewage was within millimetres of the top of the manhole cover and I was within hours of having to scrub other people’s effluence off my walls again. It’s all very disturbing and uncomfortable. I feel like I live over some sort of devil pit. Other than this, I’m pretty chipper for a woman who lives above an exploding shitpipe and has had to spend an entire day sharpening pencils. (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 23rd, 2008
10:26 am	ARRRGH! You see, while the advice “just relax” is very well meant, it’s impracticable. How does one relax in a thoroughly unnatural situation where you’re expected to be in control but you can’t be 100% in control due to all the possible external factors? I’m going to give it my best shot, but relaxed is not the state I will be doing it in. I was considering boosting my chances of passing by wearing a short skirt and a top which displays a considerable amount of sideboob. They might not necessarily be impressed but they’d certainly be distracted. I chickened out. Maybe a horse in a hat will calm me down... (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 22nd, 2008
10:38 am	From Gay to Wayhey and Back Again :-( I’ve got another driving test tomorrow and I’m just not sure I can actually do it. I’ve failed four now and having never previously failed at anything, it's gut wrenching. I mean, there are millions of things I’m no good at, such as painting, playing music, standing on my head, flying aeroplanes. I don’t do them. It doesn’t matter to my life. But facing up to being an utterly rubbish driver when it’s something that I have to be able to do and want so badly? Not good, not even a teeny bit good. I know I can pass a driving test but if I get the old shaky leg on the day I’m fucked. Five times in a row and not in the good way. I’ve spent thousands of English Pounds on this venture and it makes me want to crawl into a corner and sob. I missed the hand in date for my assignment by destroying myself with booze and hugely enjoyable debauchery over le weekend. A sobbing and apologetic call to my tutor may have gained me an extension but it’s got to be perfect after all that cunting about and I’m not sure I can hack it. It’s appraisal time at work and this always gives me The Fear. I have extreme peaks and troughs of motivation and productivity and I’m worried that my bosses will have noticed the troughs more than the peaks. It’s coming up to the time to make the big decisions about my future and I know the chat with my boss will be make or break time. A bit of me is excited at the prospect of change, the rest is quite fond of the equilibrium. Thus, inner turmoil ensues. :-) Whatever happens, I’m going to get totally cunted on Wednesday. Passing or failing will determine whether I do so on my squirreled away bottle of vintage champagne or on vodka watered down with my own salty tears. Work have been warned that I plan to spend Thursday groaning and eating bacon. Chas and Dave play Maidenhead on Thursday night. It was a mistake to underestimate the popularity of rockney among my well cultured friends. Ten tickets was never going to be enough. This occasion calls for much real ale and a good old cockney knees up. I’m tempted to wear a big jumper and grow a beard, but I doubt there’s time for both. :-( I’m generally quite confused about what’s going on now, in the future and exactly what I want to be going on now and in the future and that’s proper gay that is. (8 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, April 2nd, 2008
10:26 am	An Amusing Anecdote and an Acquired Addiction Yesterday as readers may be aware, was ace. When good things happen to you they come in a big wave of wonderful. It starts as one small good thing say, a nice breakfast*, which lifts your mood and allows you to get things done. Like a pebble thrown into a still lake, this one small good thing creates ripples, fanning out and getting bigger and better as they go. Everything came up Emily yesterday, culminating in the man down the corner shop giving me a penny extra in my change because “we like you and we’re too expensive anyway.” Anyway, all this good fortune and confidence is due in no small way to my new addiction which makes me both look and feel magnificent. I have discovered the joys of Estee Lauder and I’m hooked like a whore on crack.  But with better skin. *Of course, the obverse also holds true and when your toast is burnt and the milk is off, you might as well go back to bed and sob.  (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, April 1st, 2008
2:29 pm	Full of win, the whole way through, like a stick of rock... That’s what I am. Having received a nasty letter from the Open University this morning advising me that my very old direct debit was out of date and I was behind with my course fees, I rang them up to pay it. I get help with the fees for the other course I am doing, but had been told I’d have to pay in full for the big one- £995, which covers tuition, material and a week’s tuition, board and lodgings at Santiago University, all very reasonable. When I rang today a very nice lady told me that it was the last day of their accounting for the year, there was money left in the pot for financial assistance and I could have some of it to reduce my fees. So I held on the line for a while and when the lady came back she said I could have…… £970! So my whole course for the year cost £25. Honest. I hope that nice lady goes home to find her husband all happy and erect, a nice dinner on the table and a big cheque from the will of a long forgotten uncle. So, armed with that thoroughly pleasing result I trotted off to the sorting office via the pet shop (rat food on special offer!) and the garden centre (buy sage, get mint free!). At the sorting office I collected my nice little parcel only to be called back and handed a different parcel which had been lost four weeks ago. I got a birthday present for my friend, a nice lunch and then, just as things could get no better, I was given Surprise Cake. Everyday like this please, thank you. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, March 31st, 2008
3:10 pm	I have a problem. I like Doctor Who. Moo likes Doctor Who. David Tennant would get it. It’s all good and it fills in that Saturday dinner time slot very nicely indeed. But Catherine Tate? I'd rather watch ten hours of Captain Jack bumming Ianto in close up slow motion with extra sound effects than have to so much as glance at Tate's gurning mug. I’m torn. If that grating, repetitive, horrific ginger slag breaks into my Dr Who sex fantasies, I’m going to smash her skull in with a plaster cast tardis. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 11th, 2008
10:35 am	Life on Random Shuffle I was up until midnight writing a short history of the Aztec civilisation. In Spanish. I woke up at five this morning and, unable to get back to sleep, I lay there, playing the following problems over and over in my head. Shuffle was random but play was continuous and went as follows: Driving According to my new instructor I would be likely to pass my test next week. However, I am so shit scared of failing again that I have put it back until April and I won’t do it until I am less likely to pass and more certain to pass. I like Ken, he’s consistent, encouraging and calm, all attributes sadly lacking in Lanky Martin, my previous, and utterly rubbish instructor. I have spent literally thousands of English Pounds on this venture and I still can’t drive. I know a lot of it is due to my reluctance to sack Lanky Martin in favour of a decent teacher who probably would have got me through my test some time ago. I should be driving my car by now, instead I have to go home a put a new inner tube in my bike as some little cocksock broke a Stella bottle on the road which slashed my last one to pieces. Degree ARRRGH times one billion! Am I really clever enough to do this? On my projected results I could very well get First Class fecking Honours and am at least headed for 2:1. How, I know not. I was up until midnight doing a Spanish assignment last night and it still isn’t right. I really need to apply myself but there aren’t enough hours in the day. My social life is taking such a knocking, I fear people may forget who I am. I have three more years of this and then I want to add a Copywriting Diploma to the top of it. Is it really worth it? My Bloody Hair Until recently my hair was blonde, long, wavy and I was pretty darned happy with it. Then I decided to go a bit mad and dye it light brown with blonde highlights, for a more natural look. Six hours in the salon and I emerged with dark red hair which all washed out to leave me with a charming khaki green bob. I went back, whinged and moaned and lovely Nicky dyed it dark red again. However, as I sit here, gentle reader, it’s fucking ginger. I am, in every sense, livid. I now massively regret wanting to darken my hair, but to dye it blonde again would cause untold damage and there’s no guarantee that it’d turn out a decent colour. And it would be giving in, which is against my nature.I just have to wait out the green, the ginger, the whatever colour of the fucking rainbow it goes next. It makes me sad, I just want to look nice and I really don’t think I do. My Daughter By all appearances a happy, bright, beautiful, loving and perky little Moo. But how much of it is good parenting on my part, and how much is just her upbeat little demeanour. I do worry that I don’t spend enough time with her and I have to chase her away when I’m working or studying. I miss all the time we spent together on holiday- life gets in the way when we’re at home. She has an extraordinary way of making life fun at the worst moments. What will I do without her for two weeks when she goes to Corfu with her friend? (Apart from spend a week at the University of Santiago, of course). My Past At times vaguely embarrassing. No real nastiness, but it will occasionally pop up to haunt me with the things I really want to forget. Like my horrific, compulsively lying, junkie ex-boyfriend turning up to work for the same organisation. He once, while stoned, threw red wine up all over my living floor (it looked like an emptied tin of chopped tomatoes, if you wondered) and then fell asleep with his face in it. I bet he didn’t put that on his application form. What a cock. My future All this working all day and all night has to be worthwhile, right? One day I’ll be sitting at my desk, running my own company, with nice hair. I have to set up and run my website for the next few years, self-publicise, study, work hard. A little sacrifice in the short term will pay off. It’s just hard to think like that when you wake up after only a few hours sleep with bags you could fit a month’s shopping in under your eyes and have to start all over again. The Single Life While all the above activities very clearly leave me very little time for anything much relationship wise, I can’t help but notice that I’ve been single (give or take a few short term, occasionally fun, go-nowhere flings) for three sodding years. I do, of course, have appallingly high standards, and intelligent, beautiful, funny, motivated, emotionally mature men are thin on the ground at the best of times, but that’s a long time isn’t it? I suspect that one of the following factors may be responsible: 1) I am cursed, 2) I am hideously ugly or 3) I’m a complete cunt and haven’t noticed. I’d have a drink, but I don’t have time and am forced to climb onto the wagon for the foreseeable future. Still, chin up, eh? (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, February 15th, 2008
10:16 am	Get Internet Karma Here   Cat Le-Huy was arrested in Dubai on 26 January on suspicion of possessing illegal drugs after customs officers found melatonin, a health supplement used for jet lag available over the counter both in Dubai and in the US. Customs officers also claimed to have found dirt suspected to be hash at the bottom of his bag. Cat was arrested and forced to sign documents in Arabic. On February 10th, Cat was moved to Al Wathba Central Prison. Al Wathba Prison is notorious for its human rights abuses including executions, lashings, overcrowding, with lice infested inmates competing for space on the concrete floor. Please read just one story for an idea of what he is going through.   More about Cat More about Al Wathba Prison   Cat needs money for his legal representation. If you can help, even a little, please donate here. And please post the links where you can on your live journal, MySpace, nun porn site, whatever- the more people who sign the petition, the better. If over 45,000 people can sign a petition to make Jeremy Clarkson Prime Minister , then they can sodding well sign this one.   The bigger the support, the greater the pressure on the government to act. You can make a difference just by putting your name to the petition and donating as much or as little as you can spare to his legal fund. Make the internet work in a positive way. This could, and does, happen to anyone. If it was you, you’d pray for a big response. Please help- it’s easy as pie and a jolly nice thing to do. (Comment on this)
Monday, February 11th, 2008
7:45 pm	The Day of FAIL Hilarious, now it's over. (Comment on this)
Saturday, February 9th, 2008
11:25 pm	It's his eyebrows, they drive me wild... The Archbish, my favourite little fuzzy eyebrowed gnome, is the head of an ineffective and fairly powerless religion in a country where religious authority is by and large ignored. I love him equally for his intelligence and his beard but, like most, I was swayed by the "Williams Wants Sharia Law!" hysteria. His argument (1) with thanks to deathboy for the heads up, now that it's not being screamed at me from the redtops (the shame of it) is both coherent and open-minded. He's not arguing for Sharia law as it is conceived by the West (Muslims all bomb us you know, and when they're not bombing us, they're thinking about it AND they cut people's lips off for thinking about sandwiches!) he's arguing for an understanding of a faith which is woefully misrepresented and misunderstood on all levels.  Accomodation need not be divisive- if the Catholics can choose not to allow The Gays to adopt their children why can't Muslims divorce in a Muslim court... in reality it's not to going to lead to stonings on the street is it? So why the automatic assumption that allowing aspects of Islam into Britain is necessarily detrimental to our precious way of life? Faith should not be war between rival factions, or constant childish one-upmanship but a deeply personal and spiritual experience. Sometimes I am jealous of those credulous fools who think their lives are ruled by a chap with a beard and the power to press the smite button at any moment, my life revolving as it does around faith in myself and nature rather than one of several badly translated documents written for debatable reasons thousands of years ago. There may very well exist Muslims who wish to destroy western society, but the vast majority get on with normal and productive lives, simply hunkering down every few hours to mutter at Mecca. There inarguably exist Jews, Christians, Buddhists and the rest who kill and urge killing for faith's sake so why the big fuss over Islam? I can't resist pointing out that Hitler (2),who believed in the Christian God, commandments and lightning bolts and all, killed more people for their beliefs than over 2,000 World Trade Centres. Poor old furry Rowan is simply the latest tool in the last decade's scapegoat making of the whole Muslim faith. The media are only pandering to the public's and, without doubt, the government's requirement for fear (Arrrgh! Black Death! ... Arrrgh! The Spanish Armada! ... Arrrgh! Communists! ... Arrrgh! hooks and veils and bombs!) As I work in PR, court the media on a pretty much hourly basis and get misquoted enough to probably know better than to believe it all, I'm going to go bath in some bleach now. (1) Excellent and important, but clearly typed by a punctuationally challenged cretin. (2) My understanding is that as an internet debate proceeds, the probability of somebody mentioning the Nazis approaches zero...  (Comment on this)
Friday, February 8th, 2008
11:25 am	I went to see East 17 last night. I’ve been suffering from quite serious writer’s block of late (hence the dearth of entries here), due to happiness. I don’t write well when I’m happy, I just sit around grinning a lot. Words alone cannot describe in mere words the sheer awfulness of yesterday evening but I will try and if you, dearest reader, take the sum of the horror of what I narrate and multiply it by about, oh, let’s say a million, then you might just come close. I passed a fairly mediocre day on Thursday 7 February, not very much happened. By 5.30, the high point of the day was the purchase of a new mascara. I got home, got ready and Jill came and picked me up shortly after eight, the idea being that the band would probably be on at around nine. From this point, things descended into chaos. On arrival we ask after the band. “Yeah they’re here. Well, two of them are here and Brian Harvey is on his way.” Everything is on track, we get drinkies and gape in shock at the level of scum who attend an East 17 gig (we were also attending an East 17 gig, but ironically, thankyouverymuch). Chicago Rock Café is a unique venue. Beer is £3.40 a bottle, the clientele is approximately 90% slag, the carpets are so sticky that Jill’s shoes keep getting stuck to them and coming off her feet, the stairwells smell inexplicably of wet dog, the pool table appears to have been weed on, the cues have no tips and there is a random selection of balls, some stripy, some spotty, two whites, a pink and no black. We play a game of something approaching pool, we go for a fag, we stake out a spot near to the front but in a protected little corner. By this stage it’s around half past nine and still no Brian Harvey (known hereafter as The Cunt). We have a few more drinks and start to get barged around by two very fat and very drunk lesbians who, it transpires, are E17 followers, going from town to town to see “their boys”. We are aghast. The fat lesbians are sinking vodka at a rate of knots, snogging each other and attempting to dance, which involves knocking Jill and I around considerably since they are so huge that bits of their bodies seem to be in orbit around other bits. They continually push us, accuse us of pushing them and threaten violence when we argue our case in a reasonable, polite and eloquent manner so we bugger off from our prime position and go for a fag and a wander. It is now after eleven. The Cunt has yet to appear, and I’m a little tipsy. Not drunk enough to be enjoying myself but drunk enough that Jessica, Jillian and I repeatedly ring Chicago Rock Café’s answering machine and leave abusive messages. At a quarter-to-fucking-midnight The Cunt arrives to rapturous applause (from the scum) and booing (from those attending ironically). East 17 are on stage just before midnight. There are no words, dearest reader, for the level of appalling they reached. New depths have been plumbed, new heights of terrible scaled. The two normal fellas, Hendy the Roofer and Terry the Occasional Club DJ, bounce around a bit in a half-hearted manner, no doubt tired after their day jobs and sitting around for four hours waiting for The Cunt, and The Cunt shambles round being all cunty and mumbling incomprehensively over the backing track. They render six (already poor) songs unrecognisable, The Cunt occasionally shouting “Yeah! Maidenhead!” and generally being a stoned, drunk, lazy, imbecilic, egomaniacal, useless, inexcusable cunt. Twenty minutes later and we’re back on the street, ashen faced and feeling violated. In the carpark we meet Hendy the Roofer, who legs it pronto, and Terry the Occasional Club DJ who hangs around for a chat, signs autographs and genuinely enjoys the attention of what can only be described as a bunch of drunk women in a carpark. He’s a lovely chap and my heart bleeds mightily when this member of a band who once had number ones all over the place has to scrounge a pound for his carpark ticket. Still, however queasy it makes me to think about it too much, I should be grateful to East 17 for filling me with enough vitriolic rage to write again. Without the shambolic offerings of The Cunt, Hendy the Roofer and Terry the Occasional Club DJ, I’d still be sitting around smiling. And that’s just not how things should be. (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, January 25th, 2008
10:39 am	Mine! (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, January 10th, 2008
4:56 pm	TEE HEE! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 9th, 2008
4:06 pm	On New Years Resolutions No, of course I chuffing haven’t! If I want to stop smoking, I’ll stop because I want to, not because it’s the time of year for traditionally giving up/starting things. I can’t even look ahead to the end of the week, let alone a whole year. Making plans for every aspect of your life is a nightmare waiting to happen- you’re only going to feel really low if you fail on even one tiny bit of it. I don’t have plans to stop swearing, lose a stone or be in my dream job by 30. I don’t even know what I’m going to do with the weekend. I may be a tad haphazard, but I find things much simpler and less daunting when I’m not living my life to a bloody to-do list. Oh and another thing- is EVERYBODY either in possession of a new born child or pregnant? The fucking oestrogen levels round here must be sky high. Stop it you filthy lot! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, January 8th, 2008
2:08 pm	We're Baaack! We arrived back in grey old England on Saturday morning (I will eventually type up my travel journal, if only for my own benefit), and despite my utter knackeredness, I haven’t had much me-time since. I spent the remainder of Saturday finding out about occurrences in my absence; the gender of the little joybag on the way to dirtysanchezand minormiracle, the utter horror of what befell woodygrimble, the end and beginning of several relationships. I washed two suitcases full of clothes and struggled to stay awake until bedtime. I finally woke up at 11am on Sunday morning, body clock all over the place, lounged in a hot bath for several hours and prepared for the joy of Stephen Fry’s Cinderella at the Old Vic to celebrate (again) the 6th Birthday of the Moo with Guppy, Toby and Moo’s best pal Daisy. The show was superb- funny, clever and astoundingly smutty. Thankfully, most of it went over the girls’ heads- even my jaw dropped a few times (“my goodness Prince Charming, what an insistent cock!”). Buttons was gay, the mice were spiffy little show stealing puppets, the ugly sisters were hilariously vulgar and Sandi Toksvig was a joy to watch. The last two days have contained interesting career related news, which may very well work in my favour and a decision on my next step if they don’t. Despite the weather, the looming driving test, the ever growing workload, the being back from a wonderful holiday, I feel remarkably positive and perky and can only hope it lasts. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Wednesday, December 12th, 2007
10:05 am	Recent Occurrences, Occurrences Yet to Come I’m usually fairly competent when it comes to walking around. Last week, however, I tapped into my clumsy mare abilities. It all started when I closed myself in a toilet door (it was heavy and fast moving, ok?) and did a mischief to my left hip. Partially nobbled, I had to walk like a little old lady, although it was a darned good excuse for wearing Converse to work. Then, while performing the exciting task of putting the bins out on Thursday, I got my feet wet and slipped in the kitchen, comedy stylee. Except it wasn’t very funny, as I completely battered my elbow, bruised a rib, and hurt my poor bottom rather badly. Nobody in the house was awake, so I was forced to ring Ed to obtain a little sympathy. On Friday, with various bits of my body out of order, or complaining bitterly when used, I got off my chair, fell over and hurt my shin. The weekend was mercifully disaster free. And I almost bought a car. I would have bought it on the basis that I liked the colour myself, but thankfully I had the foresight to bring some Men with me, who did the man thing, kicking tyres, poking around under bonnets etc. We took it for a test drive and the power steering was icky (or something) so it was a no-go. It was a bloody lovely colour though. I spent Sunday packing and unpacking suitcases, and went to see The Golden Compass which was pretty darned good IMO. Even if the story left you cold, you could switch your brain off and just look at the stunning scenery. There are hints that the Magisterium represents the Catholic church if you look for them- the offices for example, are church shaped and covered in iconography, and the outfits are somewhere between Cardinal and SA Officer. The CGI made my head spin a bit, but that’s the only complaint. Moo was awestruck, which to me always spells money well spent. This week started bitterly cold, and with an accident involving my wrist, a heavy wooden hairbrush and a hairdryer. I am approximately 25% bruise. At the time of writing, it is precisely zero degrees outside and I still have no feeling in my middle toes. However, in 83 hours’ time I will be in Havana, at the house of the lovely Mercedes and her mahoosive dog, where it is 29 degrees outside. A tropical storm is predicted to arrive at the same time as our plane, what fun! (Comment on this)
Tuesday, December 4th, 2007
8:14 pm	Thank Fuck for AC/DC "Let me cut your cake with my knife" That is either the best euphimism for bonking EVAH, or Brian Johnson is a helpful chap at a party. Either way, the lady's on to a winner. Current Music: AC/DC- Let Me Put My Love Into You (Comment on this)