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Showing posts with label #sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #sex. Show all posts

Saturday, 25 March 2017

'The Oldest profession' - business competition



Starting on Monday (on ITV Encore) is an 8-part drama entitled Harlots. It’s set in eighteenth century Georgian London, a so-called family drama (as opposed to family-viewing drama).  Inspired by the stories of real women of the period, it follows Margaret Wells (Samantha Morton) and her daughters as she attempts to balance her roles of mother and brothel owner. Her business comes under attack from Lydia Quigley (Lesley Manville), a rival madam with a ruthless streak.

Competition between houses of ill repute is not new, of course. Coincidentally, I came across this item recently:

Aberdeen, Dakota Territory, 1890s.
The House of Adeline had been the only game in town for some time. Then an enterprising madam called Jewel hung up her shingle about a block away and vied for clients.

One day the working girls at Adeline’s nailed the door shut on one of the Jewel girls as she visited the outhouse – after throwing in a hornet’s nest. When the hapless girl was freed, she was badly stung and couldn’t work for a few days. Later, emboldened by this ‘success’ against the competition, Adeline’s girls then sneaked into Jewel’s back yard and put itching powder on the bedclothes drying on the line. Much cursing and scratching followed, and clients were lost.

Several days later, the Adeline madam didn’t get any customers for some days and wondered why, only then discovering that a quarantine sign for measles had been placed at the front door!

The two madams called a truce.

This is paraphrasing just one anecdote in a fascinating non-fiction history of prostitution in the American West – Upstairs Girls by Michael Rutter.  I’ll write a review of the book shortly.


Monday, 26 September 2016

'It's one of those most wicked of things...'

A big thank you to Jack Owen across the Pond, writing an Amazon review of Catalyst:

A nice nostalgic drop of mayhem, sex and fashion with an avenging poster-child for haute couture fighting murderous conglomerates. It is a welcome escape from insoluble world affairs.

Nik Morton's fashionably correct antagonist 'Cat' (Catherine Vibrissae) is the smartest avenger since Emma Peel was teamed with John Steed.

I enjoyed dipping into Morton's smorgasbord of tidbits which reintroduced me to southern England, Wales, Spain and a splash in the Med. All the while following the scent of blackguards tormenting caged furry pets; then sadistic scientists using refugees to test-drive a sex cocktail which would shame Viagra's prowess.

Not sure if my Granny would approve, but its a great read for frequent flyers stuck at airport terminal, bathers at the beach or coffee shop habituates. It might also rock the chairs of 'Enquiring Minds' readers of a certain vintage.

I should caution you it's one of those most wicked of things – a series.

And this is just Cat's first recorded adventure.





Catalyst - obtained at these Amazon sites worldwide.

Wednesday, 13 July 2016

Book review - Love Among the Haystacks



David Herbert Lawrence was a prolific writer of short stories. This book collects six: ‘Love among the haystacks’ (1930), ‘The lovely lady’ (1933), ‘Rawdon’s Roof’ (1928), ‘The rocking-horse winner’ (1926), ‘The man who loved islands’ (1929) and ‘The man who died’ (1929). Lawrence died in 1930, aged 44.



‘Love among the haystacks’ is a well-observed bucolic episode in the lives of two brothers, Maurice, the youngest, and Geoffrey. It suffers from the use of dialect, which slows the pace and hinders the reader’s comprehension. The brothers are working in the fields, stacking hay. The local vicar joins them briefly accompanied by his children’s governess, a Pole, Paula, who is about the same age as the brothers. Accidentally on purpose, Geoffrey topples Maurice from the haystack; fortunately, he survives the fall and is presently administered to by Paula: ‘Maurice lay pale and smiling in her lap, whilst she cleaved to him like a mate. One felt instinctively that they were mated.’ (p18)

Geoffrey befriends Lydia, the wife of a tramp who sponges off the field labourers. Lydia’s story is a tragic one, told in the barn while the pair shelter from rain. The boys get their girls.

‘The Lovely Lady’ concerns the unpleasant Pauline Attenborough, 72, her niece Cecilia and her son Robert. Strange, that of all the names to choose, Lawrence opts for Paula in the above story and Pauline in this one. Pauline was ‘lovely’ in the sense that she appeared to most people to be only half her age in looks. Robert’s elder brother died in odd circumstances. Cecilia is attracted to Robert, but his domineering mother is in the way. The only person Pauline ever loved was herself. A story about power and lost love.

‘Rawdon’s Roof’ is a rather slight tale. Rawdon insisted that no woman would ever sleep again under his roof. Laced with wry humour: ‘One looked at the roof, and wondered what it had done amiss.’ The reason for Rawdon’s ire is a failed love affair, of no great consequence.  A little irony and an amusing confusion of names are not enough to quicken interest.

‘The Rocking-Horse Winner’ is known as a ghost story, which is a shame, as that fact detracts from some of the surprise. It was published in The Ghost Book edited by Cynthia Asquith.  A beautiful mother found she could not love her children – a boy and two girls. There was never enough money for them to maintain their social standing in the town. ‘The house came to be haunted by the unspoken phrase: There must be more money!’ (p82) The family seemed to have no luck in the money stakes. Uncle Oscar visits regularly and catches young Paul on his rocking-horse, riding a ‘winner’ in his imagination. Then he announces the name of the winning horse – Sansovino at Ascot, which won last week! Paul has a strong affinity with the butler, Bassett, who likes a flutter on the horses. Before long, Paul’s racing on the rocking-horse suggests winners of races yet to be run, and both Bassett and Paul and eventually Uncle Oscar dabble successfully. Paul is striving to grasp the luck that his parents lack, so they can be happy. It ends tragically.

‘The Man Who Loved Islands’ is about Mr Cathcart, who bought an island and was master of all he surveyed. There also dwell in a few cottages an old married couple, a widower and his son and two daughters. So he wasn’t quite alone. Financial circumstances prompted the islander to move to a smaller island, where he took the widower and his daughter to work for him. On this second island ‘there were no human ghosts, no ghosts of any ancient race. The sea, and the spume and the weather had washed them all out, washed them out so there was only the sound of the sea itself, its own ghost, myriad-voiced, communing and plotting and shouting all winter long.’ (p110) He has sex with the daughter, Flora, and she becomes pregnant. He flees to a third island, wanting to be stripped of humanity, wanting nothing to do with his fellow men and women. He seeks emptiness. A wasted life.

‘The Man Who Died’ was originally titled ‘The Escaped Cock’. There are echoes from the previous story: ‘In his own world he was alone, utterly alone. These things around him were in a world that had never died. But he himself had died, or had been killed from out of it, and all that remained now was the great void nausea of utter disillusion.’ (p130) The dead man walking is a resurrected Christ who falls in love with a priestess of Isis. It ends with the phrase ‘Tomorrow is another day.’ – the same ending found in Gone With the Wind!

I’ve read a number of D.H. Lawrence’s books and found this one a disappointment. He distances himself from the characters, and tells the stories rather than shows us through emotions. Yet his observation of nature is excellent, so much so that you can almost smell the flowers, feel the stubble of the cut wheat and the damp presence of rain and sea surf. 

The cover of this copy (1981) was one of a series by Yvonne Gilbert.

Wednesday, 4 May 2016

Book review - I Kill



André Warner, manhunter is back, and with a vengeance. That’s what he deals in, sometimes – vengeance. Most of the time, he’s an assassin for hire, as we learned in End as an Assassin. Lex Lander’s sequel to that fast-paced traumatic thriller is a page-turner, and again no holds are barred.


It begins with a death – one planned, one unplanned. An echo of the start of End as an Assassin, almost; but with a difference. This time he really has retired from his deadly profession. Or so he thought. As his employer/contact says, ‘Some professions are not for quitting.’

So, his latest hit was in Tangier, with an alias. While sorting out his hardware issues for the hit, he encounters Clair Power, who is staying at the hotel with her teenage daughter, Lizzy. Before long, he’s helping them to ward off the unwanted attentions of Dutchman Rik de Bruin.

Yet again we’re immersed in the faux reality of Warner’s world, the details so convincing that it must be ‘real’.

Warner’s relationship with Clair – and later with Lizzy – becomes complicated as the plot thickens. There’s abduction, gunplay, brutal violence and sex in roughly equal measure.  And poignancy, and death too.

Another highly enjoyable breathless tale told in Warner’s own words. And, happily, more will follow with the third adventure, The Man who Hunted Himself due out later this year. I’ll be there.