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Here is this week’s Movie Clip Wednesday whilst Anonymous Boxer continues on her break.
Search the video channels to find the best representation of the given theme – however lateral – and then post ‘Im Up’ in the comments box below my entry so that we can all come round to check for jinxes and great films that we have either never seen or not viewed in a long time.
It was BuzzKill who came up with the next two weeks’ themes but I was delighted to select Best Period Drama from his list. My first thought was for A Room With A View and the delightful Helena Bonham Carter or the Remains of the Day with Anthony Hopkins. But then I remembered a piece that stirred both my imagination and my loins.
John Malkovich’s Vicomte de Valmonte vs Glenn Close’s Marquise de Meurteille and the games that perpetuated their destructive relationship. Sexy, debonair and oh so dangerous. I loved the costumes and the atmosphere, the whispered intrigues and the sexual shenanigans.
Welcome to e[lust] – your source for sexual intelligence and inspirations of lust from the smartest & sexiest bloggers! Whether you’re looking for hot steamy smut, thought-provoking opinions or expert information, you’re going to find it here. Want to be included in e[lust] #6? Start with the rules, check out the schedule in the site’s sidebar and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!
♦ This Week’s Top Three Posts ♦
Late Arrival: An Airport Encounter - I saw a possible haven ahead: a pilot disappearing into the pilots’ lounge. I could think of nowhere else that would offer us even a modicum of privacy. Time to brazen it out. With her still walking obediently alongside, I pushed my way into the lounge.
The Condom Question. Confession #397 – Luckily, this time I had my wits about me enough to reply with a categorical, Yes a condom is absolutely necessary, darlin, but history has proven that, while I’m naked and horny, I can offer no more justification as to why such protection is paramount.
No more…- “I’m so sorry, I can’t…”. Words, words, so many words… reasons and reasoning and things and stuff and none of it made sense, and through all of it, disbelief, dread, a sickness of heart… I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.
◊ e[lust] Editress ◊
Sex as a Panacea- As I begged “faster” “harder” “more!” I felt my orgasm come on, a mere minute or two after we began with this combination. A thunderous orgasm overtook me as he kept up with the dildo and I with the Climax for the first big wave.
♦ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ♦
Bad Girl – I take off my coat and stand proudly before her in my black lace corset, suspenders, stockings and heels. She looks me up and down and smiles at me when she catches my stare. Desire is already zinging through my body.
See also: Pleasurists #59 and #60 for all your sex toy review needs
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!
The stadium’s first rugby match took place on October 2, 1909 between original tenants Harlequins, and Richmond.
January 15, 1910 saw Twickenham’s first international, England vs Wales.
To celebrate a century of English rugby at Twickenham, this afternoon, England strode out onto the famous turf to face Wales in the RBS 6 Nations Championship.
It was a fabulous day, with England arriving onto the pitch dressed in a new kit that was very similar to that worn by their predecessors all those years ago. Made in state-of-the-art modern fabrics but bearing no advertising logo. And they all got to change their shirts at half time because they had got so muddy.
Events were marked at the start by a commemoration of the sad passing of Bill McLaren on 19 January, and everyone was encouraged to make as much noise as possible to celebrate his memory.
As a commentator, he was known as ‘the Voice of Rugby’ and Bill defined everything that was good about Rugby Union, explaining the rules, identifying any bad behaviour or attempts at cheating and denouncing the ‘ill-mannered booing in the crowd’ whilst a penalty kick was being undertaken. He will be much missed.
His replacements, Brian Moore and Eddie Butler, are not always my cup of tea with their inane and highly partisan remarks, but they do their best and Brian Moore’s explanation in every game that the referees are not cracking down on one of the most basic rules of ‘binding’ in the front row means that even I know that the props are supposed to hold each other by the jersey, not entwine their arms which allows them to pull the scrum down far more easily. It does seem odd to me that this is continually overlooked, even when it is taking place right under the referee’s nose.
The first half was a rather dull affair, full of mistakes and, with only five minutes to go, it looked as if the teams would go in with England just three points to the good, after a penalty by Johnny Wilkinson. But then Alan Wynn Jones of Wales had a moment of madness and, from the ground, stuck out his foot to trip an English player who was about to start an exciting move. It was a very silly and pointless error, right in front of the referee. In his gentlemanly way, Bill would have had something to say about that, I am sure.
The referee decreed ten minutes in the Sin Bin – five minutes each side of half time. His absence took Wales down to 14 men, leaving their already-struggling line-out and scrum in disarray and, in that time, England ran riot and scored 17 points. As Colin Charvis remarked, ‘The Welsh team looked ‘battered’ as they went off at half-time’.
It looked to be all over but, upon their return to a full complement, Wales shifted up a gear. In an eventful and frenetic second half, they pulled the score back to 20-17 with only eight minutes left.
However, a fightback was not to be. England responded and eventually went back to the dressing rooms the clear winners by 30 points to 17.
As a Welsh supporter, it was very upsetting to see them lose the first game of their Six Nations campaign. There will now be no Grand Slam for Wales, but it was fitting that England should win on this very special day in their own stadium.
It was interesting afterwards to hear Warren Gatland denounce Wynn Jones’s actions and admit that his ‘binning’ had cost Wales the match. Being used to the obfuscation of most football managers in the face of such blatant cheating, it was refreshing to hear a sports team’s manager admit that words had been exchanged and the player was in no doubt about the consequences of his actions upon the rest of the team.
I very much doubt that Wynn Jones will need any further punishment or official reprisal as the knowledge that he let down both his team and his country will stay with him for some time… if the newspapers have anything to do with it.
As well as tinkering with her Blogbunnie web design to keep this site up to date with all the latest technological developments, Isabella has also tagged me to do the latest of her infamous sex memes.
Here are the rules to Isabella’s Naughty Meme of Firsts:
1. Please post them at the beginning of your meme. 2. Please include a link to Sex Talk For Men. 3. Also, please include as many sordid details in your answers as possible — if you haven’t got any, make them up! 4. Tag 3 people.
1. First French kiss? I’m not sure I really remember. We played Postman’s Knock when we were in junior school and I can remember snogging with tongues then but whether that constitutes a proper French kiss…? I do recall kissing someone in my front porch and there were definitely tongues involved because I was experimenting but the boy’s name escapes me and I’m still not sure it qualifies.
2. First boyfriend/girlfriend. The Blast from the Past (post to follow) from junior school. He disappeared suddenly when we went to senior school and then came to find me when I was 16. He and his brother had moved away with their parents and they decided to come back to visit the old area on their motorbikes. My family had moved away but he looked us up in the phone book and turned up on the doorstep. Great fun. We lost touch again until recently when he contacted me via Friends Re and reminded me that I had promised to marry him when we kissed in the woods at the age of ten.
3. First type. Not sure I’ve ever really had one. Guys appeal to me for different reasons, sometimes it’s a physical attraction, sometimes more cerebral.
4. First time you had sex. This is a very moot point. There was the time, at 15, where, as I lay on a bed at a party in a drunken stupor, a lad tried to force himself into me even though I had a supersize tampon in the way… but does that count? Was it the Cherry Picker who actually succeeded in penetrating me and came? Or was it another boy who also contacted me via Friends Re and is under the impression that he had sex with me. A post about this is also on its way.
5. First celebrity crush. Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. From a very early age
6. First sexual fantasy. Being captured by bad men, stripped, restrained and interfered with. Only to be rescued by Captain Kirk.
7. First person you fell in love with. The boy who, unwittingly, was responsible for my anorexia. I fell for him the first time I saw him on my first day at senior school and it was a crush that was to last for the duration of my life in fulltime education. I would say that I probably still carry a torch for him, even though he didn’t return the feelings. We did date for a couple of weeks when I was 17 and I was devastated when he finished it.
8. First proper sex toy. The Rampant Rabbit bought for me by Little Sis. Bright pink and terrifyingly large. I’m pretty sure mine was made of see-through pink jelly because I could see where the motor later became disconnected from the moving part. I should also confess that the first thing I actually used as a sex toy was my Oral B electric toothbrush.
9. First porn video. I used to watch Bravo to try to get inspiration for my wanking. So I’d watch stuff about porn stars. Once we got broadband, I clicked on some of the clips on the MILF site but I was terrified to download anything for fear I would get caught out. The first proper porn video I would have watched with Ruf at his place. There are a couple that stick out but I’m pretty sure this one was the first. A woman being fucked by her husband on a washing machine and then turning around and the camera focussing on his rather large cock disappearing into her little rosebud arse. She then turned back to face her audience, opened her mouth and received the gentle pulses of his semen in a little gooey puddle on her tongue.
10. First sexy lingerie item/sexy briefs owned. I was never really much of a one for flimsies. I hated my body for so many years. However, if I was going out, I did still try to wear matching bras and pants and there were some pretty lacy sets from M&S. There was a pale pink corset that I bought to wear under my outfit for a party about five years ago, when I had made the decision to try to make the most of my life, rather than hiding behind baggy tshirts and leggings. I have been searching unsuccessfully for pictures. The first outfit I bought specifically to be naughty was a black basque from Ann Summers which will appear as an HNT shortly.
11. First time giving oral. Very bad. We were at a party and very drunk. He wasn’t my boyfriend, just a guy I liked. I seem to recall he made some remark about more effort, so I bit it.
12. First time getting oral. I don’t really recall. I do have the memory of the guy who gave me thrush and tried to fist me. He may well have put his face in there but it’s something I’ve always tried to block out. I do however remember more recent times and the pleasure that Ruf has given me.
13. First orgasm given by someone else. The Cherry Picker with his fingers. OH… MY… GOD!!!
14. First one night stand. I’m not sure about this one. The guy with the tampon happened at a party when I was very drunk but I’m not sure it constitutes a one-night stand. Perhaps my encounter with Bear would fit the bill but it still stopped short of full intercourse. As an adult female, I don’t think I have ever met a guy for the first time and then gone off and had sex with them.
15. First dirty book/dirty mag read. Men Only. We found it in an alley and it was a bit sticky and dogeared. We didn’t make the link at the time but now I am disgusted. We didn’t think much of the naked women, but we loved the problems page. Closely followed by the Pirate by Harold Robbins.
The people running Blog Action Day’s Water campaign sent me these five salient facts.
1. Unsafe drinking water and lack of sanitation kills more people every year than all forms of violence, including war. Unclean drinking water can incubate some pretty scary diseases, like E. coli, salmonella, cholera and hepatitis A. Given that bouquet of bacteria, it’s no surprise that water, or rather lack thereof, causes 42,000 deaths each week.
2. It takes 6.3 gallons of water to produce just one hamburger. That 6.3 gallons covers everything from watering the wheat for the bun and providing water for the cow to cooking the patty and baking the bun. And that’s just one meal! It would take over 184 billion gallons of water to make just one hamburger for every person in the United States.
3. The average American uses 159 gallons of water every day – more than 15 times the average person in the developing world. From showering and washing our hands to watering our lawns and washing our cars, Americans use a lot of water. To put things into perspective, the average five-minute shower will use about 10 gallons of water. Now imagine using that same amount to bathe, wash your clothes, cook your meals and quench your thirst.
I think many of us in Western Europe view water as some kind of poor person’s drink. Most very rarely consume the stuff, preferring alcohol or squash or fizzy pop/soda – all of which contain sugar. This is probably why we have such a problem with obesity. We should be drinking eight glasses of water per day to flush out all the toxins in our body and we have access to pure, clean drinking water at the turn of a tap but we do not use the facility, preferring to feed our plants and lawns or wash our cars in it and then buying expensive bottled water to quench our own thirst. It’s quite a conundrum.
When we go abroad, we worry about the quality of the water only in terms of brushing our teeth, having ice in our drinks and washing our salads; many of us falling victim to Delhi Belly or Spanish Tummy or whatever colloquialism relates to the country in question. We very rarely spare a thought for people in the third world who regularly have to consume bacteria-laced cocktails just to stave off dehydration.
4. More people have access to a cell phone than to a toilet. Today, 2.5 billion people lack access to toilets. This means that sewage spills into rivers and streams, contaminating drinking water and causing disease.
Having spent the weekend in a house with five other adults trying to share one toilet, I appreciate my home’s en suite even more. The idea of having to try to poop without a toilet at all is only brought home when we go to outdoor concerts and complain about splash-back when we have to visit a latrine or in France where, often, the only option is to use a hole in the ground as a public convenience. That’s still better than what’s on offer to millions of people around the world.
5. Every day, women and children in Africa walk a combined total of 109 million hours to get water. They do this while carrying cisterns weighing around 40 pounds when filled in order to gather water that, in many cases, is still polluted. Aside from putting a great deal of strain on their bodies, walking such long distances keeps children out of school and women away from other endeavors that can help improve the quality of life in their communities.
The very idea of having to walk miles just to reach clean drinking water… and then having to carry it back without resorting to a motorised vehicle…? Groups like charity: water and Water.org work tirelessly to bring water access to the developing world and earlier this year, the UN declared access to clean water a human right. I seem to recall that my local water authority runs a program where you can pay just a few pounds every month to help in this endeavour.
As I research a piece about the effects of drinking sufficient water every day to prevent cellulite, it seems somehow crass to associate such a basic right with a very Western complaint, bearing in mind that the majority of the world’s population still cannot consume enough to retain their health.
He rolled over and opened his eyes and looked up at me.
“Are you cross with me?”
After hours of pushing the dilemma around in my head, I wasn’t angry – just very very sad.
The tears of disappointment and uncertainty were still wet on my cheeks. Part of me had wanted to pack my things and wake him to say goodbye. But the better part had decamped to the kitchen to make a cup of tea and then returned to the warmth of the bed to mull things over.
The white lines of cocaine sat large in my memory, the first one an initial betrayal, the second to compound the decision… the third and fourth it became apparent that he did not even remember. But they all joined together to form one very large barrier to our future happiness.
The previous evening, he had introduced me to all his friends as his Missus with obvious pride and affection. I had felt so secure, so loved. Fast forward just a few hours to the depths of despair at his behaviour.
The idea that every time we went out with those friends who indulged, I would find myself having to justify my decision not to partake – and I don’t decry them for their own enjoyment – but I don’t want to be known as the party pooper.
Having said that, I cannot just change the stance of fifteen or more years when I told my own children not to get involved in drugs. And I don’t want to be with someone who feels the need to use narcotics – even if it’s only to prolong a night of partying. If I’m tired, it’s time for bed because things rarely get more fun once a party reaches a certain point. People just start getting silly.
So, instead of staying quiet and letting it fester, I told him about my unhappiness, my insecurity and my uncertainty about our future.
“So are you going to pack me in then?”
The little boy voice and the tears in his eyes at the prospect of a life without me rather took me aback. And the thought of that future filled me with alarm and sorrow. A world that didn’t include his soft voice making much of me, his warm arms around me, his penis inside me rejuvenating and making me whole. The confidence that his calm, grounded presence has given to my whole personality. It was too horrible to contemplate.
But I fear that I am not exciting enough for him. Too staid. That one day he will look at me and be bored.
Part of me wanted to extract promises that he would never indulge again but the better part sounded the alarm bells. To pressure someone into not doing something they enjoy is to try to change them in a way that will only ever come back and bite you on the bum in the bad times. I considered adding the proviso that my absence would provide such an opportunity but I did not want to give him tacit ‘permission’. It is not mine to give.
As I sat there pondering the best way forward, he reached out and pulled me down to him.
Looking into my eyes and with his nose touching mine, he whispered:
“You are so special and you mean the world to me. In the past I have promised to do things with no intention of keeping them, just to calm the waters. But with you, I mean it I love you.
“Last night I was more drunk than I have been in years and it was Tom’s birthday. I didn’t want to let him down. But I should have thought more about how you would feel about it.
“I used to say that you weren’t rock and roll enough for me when I was fighting my feelings for you because you couldn’t be my proper girlfriend. But I was wrong. Sexually we have shared more excitement than I have ever known and when you left your husband, it was like all the barriers between us had been removed and the floodgates of love that I had held back opened.
“We’re building a business, a life and a future together and that’s exciting and exactly what I want – what I want with you.
“You give me stimulation in ways nobody else has – history, cosy films, laughing, discussion and working on our relationship – these cannot be forgotten
“But most of all our loving and the thought of not having your head poking out of my duvet next to me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I would give anything, do anything to achieve that”
I have a mole on my chest. It’s been there all my life. When I was a child it was so tiny, small and flat that it doesn’t notice on any of those naked in the paddling pool shots that are a staple of every child’s photo album. But as I grew older and developed my boobs, it ran out of room. Sort of scrunching up and becoming more knobbly.
Naturally, I have always been quite self-conscious about it, particularly as it is sited just under my left breast and is, I feel, rather unsightly. Things were not improved when Jo Whiley, the Radio One DJ had a ‘large mole removed from near her boob which doctors later told her was a third nipple’. Someone else told me it was actually a wart and not a mole. I’m not sure that made me feel any better at all.
Recently, I watched a programme on C4OD about triple nipples. The maker, Dan Louw, has four of them and had been led to believe he had inherited the extra two from his twin who died in the womb, although this later proved to be unfounded.
He had done a lot of research on the subject and had actually found a woman who had one under her armpit which physically lactated when squeezed!
Not long ago, Lily Allen revealed hers on The Sunday Night Project. Although I have to say that it looks more like a birthmark from this distance. Mark Wahlberg apparently also has an extra one.
I hasten to add that my mole has no areola. It doesn’t stiffen when I get aroused or cold. It hurts like hell if I knock it or catch it in the wire of my bra when I’m being sporty, so the concept of piercing it (as some people have) definitely does not appeal.
As I’ve become more attuned and observant, I have noticed that a lot of other people have a very similar type of mole. One friend had the protuberance on her neck, another on the top of her boob. The explanation seems to be that they all fall in the ‘line’ where the milk ducts would be if we were still quadrupeds (imagine the two lines down the body of cats and pigs) so, naturally, people assume that they are additional nipples.
However, that is inconsistent with the one on the side of Lily’s boob? The lactating one under the woman’s armpit? Others which I have seen on backs and also for mine which is positioned in the middle of my chest?
I have talked vaguely about having it removed a la Jo Whiley but it’s been there so long, nestled to one side of my ever-widening cleavage, that it hardly merits the effort. As Ruf said, when I’m naked, anyone else in the room tends not to be fixated by my mole when there are so many other distractions. The only time I’m really aware of it is when it gets knocked or I’m having my boobs checked for lumps.
If Scaramanga hadn’t made the concept synonymous with evil, perhaps I wouldn’t even give it a second thought.
Once again, we have to have a campaign to Save Our Supplements from European legislation.
The EU Food Supplements Directive is threatening to remove considerable numbers of safe and popular higher potency food supplements, particularly vitamins and minerals, from the UK market.
British industry estimates that this will lead to the closure of large numbers of health food stores and the potential loss of several thousand jobs across the UK.
Those who wish to protest against this Directive are urged to write to their MP requesting that they:
1. Ask for a commitment from the Minister that the maximum permitted dose levels for vitamins and minerals in food supplements, which are about to be proposed by the EU Commission, are not set at unnecessarily low levels.
2. Ask the new European Health Commissioner, John Dalli, to make sure that his officials do not bring forward proposals that will deny millions of consumers across Europe continued access to safe and popular high potency vitamin and mineral supplements of their choice.
We need to act now to save our supplements before it is too late and vitamins and minerals will be forced off the shelves.
If you cannot write to your MP, then this petition aims to positively influence the approach the European Commission is taking in its efforts to limit the maximum available dosages of vitamin and mineral food supplements across the 27 Member States of Europe.
I started to write this piece in January of last year.
I had asked Ruf how he felt about it being the second anniversary of the day we first made love and his reply certainly brought me up short:
‘But we didn’t make love, we fucked!’
And he’s right. For the first few months, that is absolutely what it was. Even though when he texted me he would sign off with ‘Love you’, he didn’t, not really. Not in the true sense of the word. We fucked, pure and simple. Rough, animal, primal sex in ever changing positions and scenarios, pounding each other to satisfy an immediate urge.
I can remember the first time that things changed. He announced that he was going to make love to me and the sex was slow and gentle. It felt as if he made me a part of him. He kept whispering how much he loved me in my ear, against my neck, his lips moving the words on mine. Our bodies were so tightly melded together, belly to belly, thigh to thigh as my legs wrapped around his and drew him ever closer. My orgasm was quiet and soft, but so fulfilling.
The reason I remember it so clearly is that, an hour later, he took me by the hand and led me to the sofa. There was something he needed to tell me. It was a confession that resulted in big fat tears rolling down my cheeks and the sudden realisation that I could lose this.
It was a few months in… and we had hit a blip.
After a distressing exchange, we retired back to bed. Not for sex, but to try to begin working through the difficulty in that naked haven where there was nowhere to hide and we both felt totally at ease.
Three years on, we seem to copulate in a variety of ways. Sometimes we fuck furiously, sometimes we experiment and sometimes we gently make love to each other and there is a definite difference. The fucking is wild and abandoned, rough and rampant, as opposed to the communicative camaraderie of experimentation or the lovemaking, gentle and controlled as we surround ourselves with each other’s flesh and extract one another’s orgasm with the intensity of our feelings.
But at the foundation of each is a mutual celebration of this amazing connection that grew between us.
A few weeks ago, I found this over at Z’s The Naked Truth. I think it explains rather better what I was trying to say.
You can say it’s making love, because it’s silent and intense and trailed with kisses. You can say it’s making love because it’s focused and intent and imbued with tenderness. But you can’t say it’s not fucking when my hips rise to meet his, and you can’t say that the fuck of before or the savage selfishness of the one next morning are more loveless or less loveful or that any of them outpace the others in an animal slaking of lust and desire. You can’t quantify it by the frenzy or lack of it, but only by the connection, and that is as likely to be found in the white heat of desperate fucking as it is in the sensuous warmth of the slow dark. It’s just a different dance to a different tune, but the band is still the same.
“When I was with William, I thought ‘This isn’t perfect, it’s a compromise… but it is my choice’. I even thought I was in control. And for 20 years I let that idea and that man dictate who I was. When I finally realised that I was just filling in a gap in someone else’s relationship, it was too late and I could not leave. It is better if you figure this out now. Use this opportunity to find someone that is yours.” Holly Harper, Season 2 ‘Brothers and Sisters’
Being a singleton shoring up another couple’s marriage cannot be easy.
Mostly, we always consider the ‘bit on the side’ to be a female, waiting out her life at the beck and call of a lover who is running two women and forever hoping that he will choose to be with her full-time.
However, in some cases, it’s actually a man.
Ruf will tell you that he does not enjoy being the Other Man in my life. He hates not being able to tell people about the true nature of our relationship because he will have to admit that the woman he cares about is married to someone else. And he will never ask me to come and be with him full-time because he has always insisted that he doesn’t want to be a homewrecker.
I suppose, in some small way, it is at least easier for him in that he knows that we are in a monogamous sexual relationship. I have not had physical relations with the father of my children since well before Ruf came on the scene. So, he doesn’t have to deal with any jealousy on that score. That thought did make me start wondering if such a decision was a peculiarly feminine trait or were there also men out there who lived the double life but only had sex with their mistress?
Ruf still has to share my time, has to fit in with the slots that are allotted to him in my busy schedule. He feels restricted that he is precluded from telephoning me whenever he wants to – although I have never enforced such an embargo. I know he is troubled that he cannot just come and visit me on a whim. For him, our life together is a flimsy structure comprising a few days of intense physical pleasure interrupted by gaping weeks of painful absence.
If I were the woman in this situation, would I remain? I’m sure that, just like Ruf’s friends, I would be encouraging anyone else to move on and find someone of their own.
But oh! the blessing it is to have a friend to whom one can speak fearlessly on any subject; with whom one’s deepest as well as one’s most foolish thoughts come out simply and safely. Oh, the comfort – the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person – having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together; certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping, and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away. ~Dinah Craik, A Life for a Life, 1859
Dealing with friends can be such a tricky thing – treading on eggshells and trying to judge the effect of your words before you let them venture forth across your tongue.
I am so lucky to have two men in my life with whom I can be as relaxed as in the quote above.
Ruf and I have spent the day in our dressing gowns, sitting comfortably next to each other on the sofa as we type frantically into our laptops. Suddenly I realise the joy of being so relaxed in a man’s company that we can occasionally exchange a belch in appreciation of a good dinner. Continue reading Dealing With Friends
I’ve been asked to take part in a study which addresses the issues of the long-term effects of mobile phone use.
Are mobile phones safe? That’s a question I know a lot of us have been asking, particularly when we see our children clamping them to their ears every day for long periods of time.
There is certainly some evidence that living close to mobile phone masts can be detrimental to health and I do worry about the brain frying possibilities of having microwaves so close to a young person’s developing cerebrum every day.
For myself, I invariably use an ear phone attachment because, if it’s a long telephone call, I multi-task and wash up whilst I’m chatting… a job which is not conducive to mobile phone safety if it’s tucked between your shoulder and your ear… or to good postural health if such a posture is maintained for any length of time on a regular basis.
What can I say…? A big big thank you to everyone who voted for me x
And kudos to Juno who, I believe, has had 25 picks out of the 100 Sugasms and three in a row that I do know of! Well Done Mrs!
The best of this week’s blogs by the bloggers who blog them. Highlighting the top 3 posts as chosen by Sugasm participants. Want in Sugasm #101? Submit a link to your best post of the week using this form. Participants, repost the link list within a week and you’re all set. Note: Usually I only post the top chunk of the Sugasm to save on space. Since this is the 100th issue I’m posting the whole thing.