A Bevy of Brit Writers
Fennie and I went from London to Birmingham on the train yesterday (about two hours) to meet Fiona. We went to a book reading in a gay sex-shop and afterwards had dinner. And didn't stop talking all evening. (The sex-shop manager had a dear little black pug called Pootle, who barked every time we applauded and did the rounds of the audience, licking their hands.) It was a great outing...

It sounds wonderful. :D

"dear little pug" - excuse me! It dug its claws into my leg, and all I could think was 'the *trousers*, darling, the *trousers*' - my favourite stretchy slinky pair. Yes, a good night. Now they have met me, they keep accusing me of pretending to be taller than I actually am. And we've been to two of these gay sex shops now, and I want to know why they are absolutely full of pants (the knickers type of pants). What is it with all the pants?

Eh? Pants in a gay sex shop? Now that's just weird. Did they at list have nipple clips?