The Further Adventures of a London Call Girl by Belle de Jour

Author:Belle de Jour [Jour, Belle de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780297861034
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group Ltd
Published: 2006-01-01T08:00:00+00:00

Dear Belle,

I am plagued by desire for a lover to write Shakespeare’s sonnets all over my body during foreplay. The trouble is I always go for hard guys who wouldn’t be caught dead reading poetry and get a bit snippy when I bring out my Arden edition. Can you suggest some poetry that would not compromise my lovers’ masculinity?

Dear Sei Shônagon,

Have you considered Philip Larkin? Even the densest knuckle-dragger can probably spell ‘fuck’.

Février

mardi, le 1 février

Oh, for fuck’s sake! So that’s what the Boy was on about last night? That’s what had me so worried?

Apparently Susie’s chucked him. He must be worried she’ll contact me or something, and then his world will truly come crashing down. Well, let it come if that’s what happens. I’m ready for it.

mercredi, le 2 février

Tomás is clearly working on expanding his English vocabulary, just as I am trying to get to grips with a Spanish one. So maybe he’s just trying out different words to see how they sound – even if the results aren’t entirely accurate.

Today he called me ‘wholesome’.

I know, I’m just as surprised.

jeudi, le 3 février

Belle’s Guide to Your Holidays, part 1: Shopping

From this point on, you must resolve to never spend money on holiday again. Apart from the essentials, of course – room, board and condoms. This is for the simple reason that all products for sale in the coastal regions of the world have no use.

Take, for instance, the attractive bottle stopper tastefully emblazoned with the name of your holiday destination. So perfect as a memento of your trip. So useful for saving the remains of a bottle of wine. Sorry to burst your bubble, but national binge drinking trends show we haven’t had leftover wine since rationing ended. Plus, used wine always smells of bread and tastes of dishwater the next day. The wisest move you could make would be to leave that silly thing gathering dust on a shop shelf rather than your own.

Other typical holiday purchases are so ludicrous in their intentions that I think we deserve a collective MBE for services to optimism. But be honest – you’ll never wear that sarong back in Huddersfield, straw bags only go with swimming costumes, and the local aperitif tastes of petrol. Also, the real currency exchange rate is nothing like the quick and dirty approximation you’ve been using while making these purchases, and you’ll return home to find not only have you paid seventeen quid for a shot glass that can’t even go in the dishwasher, but that the people at NatWest know it.

The tourist shop itself is a masterpiece of modern capitalism. Seeking an authentic native experience there is something akin to doing your weekly shop at Fortnum and Mason. The grumpy harridan at the till is no more selling lovingly handcrafted local antiques than Asda is. You know how cringe-worthy it is to see a group of tourists stumbling out of a Wee Scotland Shoppe on Regent Street, bags bursting with tartan tablecloths? Think of those poor souls and step away from the tchotchkes.

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