Father and son: How to insult Russian Ogliarchs in Monaco

It so happened that on my most recent trip to the continent with my two dear friends Ms Belle Douleur and Aunty Tonje in tow, we did happen upon two Russians: "look" I whispered the three of us sitting around a table in the Cafe De Paris " it's a father and son act" as two males walked in and loitered near our table looking for the best spot. One of the them was very tall, tanned and most good looking in a "ken way" the other short and squat, heavy of frame with a very round face, anorak and glasses; in fact it has to be said that this was the roundest face any of us had ever come across; as we three ladies later agreed upon - Aunty making a most correct observational comment that he had "a cartoon face". As we were three ladies in Monaco however and were prepared for a time of partying and socialising, we were prepared to overlook looks and covers for want of some engaging company and entertainment: henceforth the following ensued:

As the Nazi waiter brought a bill over and asked for payment - even though we were not moving and pleaded further drinks to his insistence of a "pay as you go along basis" (so un-continental). Father and son had sat right next to us. I tried to grasp their accent as the waiter spoke to them - believing to myself that they sounded of eastern extraction but not feeling sure of the whereabouts of their cultural origins exactly and with son disappearing for a few minutes I urged, in the most matronly and persuasive of ways, Aunty Tonje on: inspired heavily by a group of young women at the next table who, we had gleaned, had had their drinks brought for them by some old sugardaddie type. Aunty being the outgoing party girl of the three of us was nudged further and further in the most unabashed of manners by myself - " go on, talk to him...do it...ask him of any good clubs...go on...he's looking, he's looking...I urged. And so Aunty Tonje made her move; " erm, excuse me, the Russian favoured not to hear but kept his comely look about him "excuse me" Aunty spoke up and he looked to our direction " we were wondering if would know of any good places to visit around here of an evening". And so the descent began.

"Well" he spoke " I can recommend Cannes at the moment because of the film festival - his accent remaining unidentified until I piped up - "where are you from" just as Shortie sat down. "Russia" he spoke directly at me, "marvelous!" I exclaimed and at that point the waiter came over, Russian Ken gesturing with his hand, "ladies drinks?" "mines a white wine" Tonje said, Belle ordered a cocktail and myself a sparkling water. Shortie sat in his chair side by side with me so that when we spoke we had to turn our heads slightly and our eyes moreso - it was obvious that we could bare not to look at one another. "And what do you do" Tonje followed. "He's a plumber" I said grinning at Russian Ken. Showing his sense of humour he laughed and said "I work in coal and metal"; "he's a miner" said Aunty - again Russian Ken laughed, Shortie sporting a smile also. That's not a tan said Aunty it's coal dust - he offered his hand forth and she rubbed it and everyone laughed at the 'un-PC' joke, the Russians no doubt at our blinding cheek. "Do you know of any good bars or clubs" said Aunty to Shortie? "Well we went to a club called ****** (some name I cannot remember) in Cannes which was pretty good but there is a problem here" chimed Shortie "there are so many whores here in Monaco" - to this his alpha male reference of persuasion I took not too kindly and the air turned sourer than one could have imagined marked by a deathly silence; one of many to come. Shortie through one true but tirade filled statement had, without doubt, landed himself in my bad books. "Well isn't that why you came here" I retorted "and isn't everyone a whore in this capitalist world?" I followed. There was a silence. In a seemingly but shallow attempt to change the mood Shortie said "So where are you from" Aunty told him she was Norweigan but lived in London, "we're English" I divulged, pointing between Belle and myself. He snorted "I went to school in England - a top public school - Seven Oaks". "Oh" I remarked "wouldn't Eton be the top public school?" " No Seven Oaks has been the top school for some years". "How come you don't have an English accent then? I enquired, suspicious as always. I haven't tried, I wanted to keep my Russian accent. "You look Russian" he said to Aunty, " lots of people tell me that" she said. "And what do I look like," I joined in, there was yet again another silence. "I've never been to Russia although I should like to go to Moscow" my feeble attempts at a truce seemed to have some impact as both the Russians nodded agreeing it was a beautiful city "but I once had a boyfriend who dated Russian women, he had a degree and MA in Russian and Eastern politics he told me Russian women were cold and that he would never date them again". The Russians flinched - it seems I had knocked us down their scale another notch all through my cynical experience of lives and life. "Typical and ignorant" hissed Shortie. The conversation then turned to politics and communism whereby I was in my element and Shortie and myself exchanged blows loaded with both sarcasms and truisms. "Of course" I remember concluding, "there really is no such thing as communism" I remember well that Shortie let out a small laugh but I felt he agreed mostly with my statement. "I must say", getting onto the subject of the rich and poor gap in large countries such as Russia who had favoured communism previously, "that with communism's profession of progression one would think that all those communist countries would have the lowest mortality and crime rates. Shortie stiffened and attempted to defend Russia as I crusaded on in the brusquest of mannerisms. For twen minutes or so 'Twas Russia versus Uk versus communism vs capitalism versus humanism versus the human condition etc,. Russian Ken, Belle and Aunty who had opted out of politics were trying to amend the relationship through light conversation but it seemed that all attempts were futile. "Well" I recall saying at this point of the scenario which it must be admitted is now rather fragmented in my mind "if we want to talk progression" after the Russian had made a swipe at out and out capitalism "don't they sell children's body parts in Russia" I made no apology for my rudeness again I brought everyone to an excruciating silence, Shortie eventually answering with "typical ignorant English". I agreed "yes it was an ignorant statement, that is very true" and so was the statement itself I thought and I am sure they quietly agreed. As the conversation had turned to politics, "progressive society" and nationalism of sorts Aunty made her escape and had now gone to the lavatory and there was again a pervading uncomfortable silence - things were not going well. Belle and Russian Ken then started to talk about cigars and she accepted a cigarette from him. On Aunty's return Shortie expressed his succinct observational skills " so it seems you are the quiet one" he pointed to Belle " you the chatty, fun one and you" - he glanced sideways at me and me at him - and paused as I filled in "I am the dangerous one" yes" he replied as though genuinely thankful for my erudite self-description. The conversation turned to "So how are you getting back" we drove I said - I saw them exchange glances: clearly they wanted a lift and as we had made ourselves uncomfortable in our presence I wasn't going to put out (with a lift) unless they put in - the final nail came when the waiter sauntered over and landed us the bill - the Russians not offering to pay, made Aunty Tonje's face a picture as she seemingly choked on her drink, Belle got out her purse with very much readiness and I laughed out aloud as though not in the least surprised. Do not they say you should never talk politics over dinner; such fun! Aunty ordered another drink and the conversation lay sparse on the ground at this point. As we sauntered off I bent down and whispered in Shortie's ear " Seven Oaks my arse" "Seven Oaks your arse" was the riposte. Exactly, I thought, I had him in training and he wasn't even aware.

As we walked out a heavily accented waiter came running behind us - "excuse me Madame, there is an unpaid bill" An inebriated Aunty had forgotten to pay for the last drink.

The beginning of our adventures on the Riveria.

He Who Hath Tried To Torture Me

He who hath tried to torture me

Failed for all his worth

Whilst hands were bound

a mind followed suit

And freed not itself

but tried further it's will



He who hath tried to torture me

Succeeded and gloats

Swollen and fat

Like satisfaction itself

sat me on bed of nails

Only then silence ensued

For I'd not let it be known

that silence was indeed my friend



String me up as I tighten this strap

Gag me indefinite as I tear at your skin

He hath tortured me for he hath found

What I'd hidden

Degenerate calls

Degenerate is

He hath found me

And torture is clear



For I'll bleed all day before you sip my blood

Killed himself before his own eyes

Strangluation by the rope, get on with the blade

Choked by hands, passed by such

For such as is never, never to explain fully

He who hath tortured me

my free soul

Will not gain crop in a field of contempt



When nothing is felt no symptom or pain

No torture or taint

In no return

For now we both hold

For we've both found

That torture proposed to be hidden

A new maid!

I hereby declare that Fanny of Hertfordshire is my new official maid.

Fanny, who has also undergone a recent name change to my liking, has pledged to serve her Mistress in more than a few ways and in the most servile of mannerisms. I shall sincerely hope that she sticks to her word. I should like to welcome her to the House of Sadie but at the same time warn her that: my standards shall never cease, my word remain law and my mind and hand always deft. To her I conclude - try your best for your best may save you, or break you, or both.

Mondays

Like Sir Bob and more. I have shot the whole day down and those who took part. I have listened to something I wished not and now I am bitterer than one could possibly imagine, a cruel cold woman, a cruel cold woman with a grudge on a Monday - a Monday that has been shot down. Hurry Tuesday for you know not your popularity.

Thoughts: BDSM/Fetishism, Culture, Society &The Indivdual

Someone recently sent me a not very pleasant email calling me dull - they may well be right! I did not respond directly, directing the mail to the junk box; but I suppose I have replied in some ways with this post. Off the cuff and in response to an email from a photographer regarding fetishism, I thought I should give my views on 'alternative' practice, in particular BDSM/Fetishism in cultural, individual and societal contexts, an airing.


'I see it this way - alternative movements/trends and fashions do lend themselves somewhat at some point to the mainstream but this is, I see, the commercialisation of a trend which when it does pass over to the other side, then in doing so becomes not an alternative trend. Clearly this is the product life cycle, applicable to all in the capitalist world, for everything is a commodity and everything has a price. These seeming two dimensional states (alternative and mainstream remaining transient) take on another dimension with regard to fetishisms and BDSM because of the base nature of both of the aforementioned. Fetish has/is currently experiencing a cultural resurgence however it is not totally culturally applicable because on a continuum from total repression to total sexual realisation true fetisism that that should be raw and extreme cannot be anything else lest it cease. BDSM/fetishm, as I see it, is a realisation of the sexual mind - and all this in the face of liberalism - as Muse noted society eats itself; as Paglia wrote sadomasochism post mass liberlism; as Baudrillard also wrote about, in great depth; something to the tune of - for everything is porn in a capitalist world and capitalism is inevitable as long as it goes unrecognised. To those outside of the practice of bdsm who want to gain from it not through it - if you are reaching over into the mainstream using fetishism as a theme then our goals are different for I am not intending to take my practice of BDSM/fetishism to the mainstream and have no desire - I wish to remain as sleazy as possible for me Mistress Sadie is not fun; it is drudge - yet light work, pretence - yet truism in explicit, but beyond explicit, form. That is what I have to make it to make life at least 'liveable'.

Call me a pessimist...but a pessimist can break balls far better than an optimist'

Dirty Stick

Dirty Stick: Indeed the name brings to mind, vulgarity, disease and general degeneration and it has to be said that Dirty Stick of Hatfield meets all the above descriptions; vulgar in action, diseased in mind and degenerate as a whole being. The evening past Dirty Stick was admitted to my stable; an action which he will both regret and cherish - in one foul swoop to begin and then in alternating states until the permanent state of sublime submissive euphoria is reached.

After the failed attempt at personal initiation and the CBT cheese grater scenario, the cling film bound to his face and arms distorting his gnomish facial features, which weren't much to speak of in any case, was indeed a sight to behold. Lain, stripped bare and exhausted on the cream thick pile carpet, whilst American Beauty played on the screen before us, he kept on pledging that he wanted to be mine, that everything that was his was mine: 'I just want to be yours' he whined. Well Dirty Stick everything shall be mine. I shall take, take, take; use and abuse and fulfill your wantonness. Beware, they say, for you may just get what you ask for.

Instant recifications; bringing him down a peg

Perusing my website this very evening I was aghast to find a grammatical mistake which made my blood boil for more than one reason - not only was this sound abuse of the English language but who, ultimately, pays for the mistake I ask you? myself, that is who! Mistress Sadie - presented as careless for all to see! Well, I shall jolly well make sure that the record is set straight and that however much I pay is paid back to me doubly so.

A lowly web squirt called Bert(no rhyme intended)decides every now and then to change things as he feels is correct however Bert fails to see that his literary perspective is firmly skewed, his grammar in the gutter and his enthusiasm unknown to a boundary or two; even if one (a boundary) hit him on the nose. The simple fact of the matter was that he was told not to amend text unless I said so; that he was to paste text from my email. I am therefore positively fuming.

In light of this, One has to let it be known that One can only take so much incompetence before taking firm action. Below is the mistake, that I promptly sent in an email to slave Bert himself, outlined for all to see.

Bert
It has come to my attention that you have added Mistress (in large bold type) so that it does not replace 'I' but replicates Mistress Sadie - I should inform you that semi-colons do not indicate the end of a sentence but can be used for; lists, to avoid confusion with commas; clauses, with relation to the previous remark/statement; (and/or) clauses that are too short to be a sentence. I do also believe that very long pauses can also call for semicolons; lets hope you agree.

The sentence in question, your twisted version that is, therefore reads without the clauses and lists in between -

Mistress Sadie, once lost,...;Mistress Sadie is now most certainly found....

SHOULD BE!

Mistress Sadie, once lost,...;...;is now most certainly found...

Here One could use commas but chooses to use semicolons especially in the state of their of decline.

Low sluts like you need to know the correct way.

This, rather your, unforgivable version DOES NOT MAKE SENSE! I would have not, in any instance, given the go ahead for this - I have told you regarding text that you are not to change it - I am to change it and send it to you. What came over you? Explain.

In light of this rash behaviour and resultant embarrassment to E/everyone all round, you are to write a disclaimer at the bottom (included below) before the copyright sign and a letter of apology which shall explain both how and why you caused this awful mess, and due distress to your Mistress - this shall duly be posted on the Blog for all to see.

After this fiasco, a strong word I am aware, I hope you do not make any repeats and I certainly hope you've not gone skiing and that you can make it to Pedestal whereby you shall be punished in a most public manner.

Ms

Obvious non clarity

Fleetingly, the kiss has left me.
Hungry for more strictness and pomp.
Will not always do if it is not more than cannot be done.
Where again a palm or a mind shall land.

Dissatisfaction or Missatisfaction?

My blurred vision allows this: that in the beginning A/all are never satisfied (my mother would tell me when I was younger, that I was or would never be satisfied); some become satisfied; some become dissatisfied again after some initial satisfaction and others are 'missatisfied' - the latter with obvious regard to satisfaction concerning the wrong things, the former - dissatisfied - with regard to lacking any satisfaction at all.

I remain, in this, my introspective vs extrospective moment of self analysis, both dissatisfied and satisfied - that is I am satisfied that I am dissatisfied and would endeavour or expect nothing else, have never done so, and would hope for a sound contradiction for the rest of One's life. After all, life is never so fun except when getting above One's station - you will agree!