Moist

Times Encounters has gone mental.

"Wot a Kisser!" my friend Jane emailed me excitedly the other day.  She is also signed up, as is every single single person I know.

She is so excited by her result, after  months of nothing happening, that when I went to stay with her last week, after a bottle of red wine she started 'messaging' about 1,000 people (including one or two girls) on my behalf, whom I would never have dreamed of contacting myself.  Eg she contacted lots of good looking men from the Top 20 who live miles away and will already be receiving 200 messages on a daily basis; and then a whole load of people simply because the site informed us that they were logged in at the time.

The next day I was inundated with replies. Despite the fact that Jane's computer hadn't worked properly, so the funny, charming, loving messages she had sent out had been turned into gobbledegook.

So since then I have been very busy practising my amateur writing skills bantering, if there is such a verb, with all my new admirers dotted around the country, instead of adding to this blog.

My favourite is a journalist who lives in an eco-house near Chippers (Chipping Norton to you and me),  who is game to play footsie at Beloved Daughter's Prep School Quiz Night next week.  He is a motoring correspondent and is going to drive me there in the latest Maserati. (He is not Jezza Clarkson, before you get any ideas.)  We'll believe all that in the unlikely event of it ever happening.  His writing skills are such that, even without a picture, at one stage he made it to Number 2 in the Times Encounters Most Popular List. I am very impressed.  I have yet to make it into the List at all, but I will keep on trying.

Anyway, he has challenged me to use the word 'moist' in my next blog.

So here it is. Moist.