Joy to the Swedes

See, I'm sitting here in office but what I actually want is for the lights to dim, a disco ball to pop out of the ceiling and for me to be suddenly wearing a sparkly dress as I slow dance to Patience with a boy in a snazzy suit. So snazzy it makes my eyes, ladyparts and miserly sensibilities twinge.

In a nutshell that is prom, yes?

This romaance mood is solely because of this one email I got from Four Fountains Spa saying they wanted to give me a free massage. Now the only massage propositions I've gotten are from posters in the ladies train compartment. One beauty was offering "Therapeutic massage. Foot massage+back massage+vaginal massage. No charge". So after being suspicious as to why a spa would offer this to me, of 5 blog readers fame, I said yes please.

So anyway. Yesterday I got one (free!) Swedish massage from there. It was ohgodd so good. It was the first time I was getting some proper spa type treatment so I didn't know what was more acurate, the Hollywood representation of all this (it is) or the YouP0rn representation (it's not). Everything smells yum, there are pretty dim lights everywhere and a cute man at the reception. One also looks straight out of an exercise machine infomercial and feels like a shiny happy throughly content beached whale once the actual massage is over. Good people, these guys. I am very much in favour of giving them money in exchange for happiness. So much happiness.

Now I need someone to mail and offer to give me some sparkly dresses. Don't be shy.

I am Storm's sidekick.

I sit quietly at my window seat in the ladies compartment, headphones in ears, eyes closed, head leaning on the window grill. The music in my head reaches new crescendos and the wind buffets my hair in time with it. I feel like any moment a leather clad Halle Berry is going to burst into the compartment and tell me I'm the only hope for the future, before we both leap out into the unknown to battle the forces of evil. I wonder if my co-passengers have any inkling of the drama they are about to witness. But then I open my eyes and most of them are asleep with their mouths open and one is giving sidey looks to the unruly mop on my head that the wind has so carefully styled.

Life.

I saw a cocker spaniel outside office. It was fat and brown and curious and did not know how to walk in a straight line. Ooh what is this, ooh what is that. Someone needs to plot what would happen if a dog like that walked across a chessboard. Like, assign different pieces to his legs, tail etc and see what plays out. That'd be one trippy chess game.

Anyway the dog zig zagged all across the pavement, his beautiful silky feathery ears brushing the ground, sweeping up the dust gently.

I wonder if anyone has had the business idea of designing a mop which looks like a dog from the outside. The inside part will clean the floor and all. The outside will look like a happily scampering dog.

Life is.. interesting. But mainly because it's not really.