Yes! *punches air*

I have cracked the donkey's back! (Or whatever the appropriate metaphor is here.) I have finished the fucking chapter.

But egads, was it ever a difficult birth. Remember how I posted about hating that chapter and being bored with my book and feeling it would never get finished and being despondent and typing up a fact and then not having any idea about the fact (what did the fact mean???)?

But just now, 3 minutes ago, I finished it.

I need to revise it, of course. Massively. But I've got my first draft printed-out, yes yes yes.

*runs off downstairs to book holiday, do other procrastinated things and, if time permits, to write John/wraith because that is what this hot weather is suited for: some hot wraith sex set on a desert island in the blistering heat*

Thanks for doing the poll, everyone! :-) I mean, I did the poll. (I always fill in my own surveys. I can't resist.)

Also, the world needs more Kaká. I mean, there is a trickle of Cristiano pics (if of an ethically dubious nature) but Kaká? Paparazzi, where are you when you're needed? Harry Fitwig? Get your butt into gear and fly off to Brazil! Never mind Madeira. There's a gaggle of your mates in Madeira. Get thee off to the southern hemisphere!

Speaking of southern hemisphere, I wouldn't mind me some Kewlie, either!

Also, I spent 20 minutes today in W.H. Smith, reading football magazines. I almost bought one. *facepalms* I will buckle soon, I just know it.

After reading the football magazines, I bought 9 HB pencils, one pair of cute ballerina shoes (pink! I've never owned pink shoes before! I used to be so sensible in my boring youth) and one strappy hot-weather top (this is also the first year that I'm wearing strappy tops since the 1970s! With no bra! being middle-aged roolz).

Also: GOLF! (Separate post coming up. Now I need to lunch!)

Picspam: And after football, there is always golf

I first discovered the British Open in 1996 when, staring blankly at my TV screen in the wake of the European Cup, I assuaged my football withdrawal with the sight of portly, middle-aged gents hitting a small white ball around a windswept golf link.

Golfers perform a very different masculinity to the one performed by footballers. These differing types of masculinities fascinate me.

What is slashy:

They go around in pairs. And they also go around in threesomes.

They embody the Manly Mature Man, not the Pretty Young Hotshot. (Except for Tiger Woods who, radically, embodied the pretty young hotshot for a few years there. But even he has filled in around the edges and anyway, he is too straightlaced to be a real hotshot.

They are total drama queens and divas. This is not a team sport! They camp and vamp and hype it up individually! They have temper tantrums; once I saw one golfer break his club over his knee, or they throw the club down; they fall into bunkers and do battle with sand and 'the rough'.

The expression 'the rough' is canon.

They have caddies!! Caddies, quite naturally, are bottoms.

Their fashion sense is out of this world. It chimes in with the divaishness of them all. Some very important questions: Do I wear a baseball cap or a Stetson? Do I wear a polo shirt or a button-down? How flappy are my trouser legs? Do I wear black? Do I wear saddle shoes or black brogues? Identikit biceps-revealing team uniforms? Not for these guys!

Commentators also love them so they, just like footballers, are Men Loved By Men. I heard various pundits swoon and giggle whenever they mentioned the name 'Tiger' (just as they did in the group stages of the World Cup with respect to Ronaldinho). Commentators call them son and fellow!!! As in: "Come on, son." "And look at what this feller is doing."

They show that you can be mature and not have a six-pack but still be a sportsman and a Man!

I bet they're really hot in bed. Except for Tiger Woods who is too considerate.

T'h: "Do you want to fuck Tiger Woods?"
Me: "Yes! No, on second thoughts, no!"
T'h: "Yeah, he'd say... *puts on American accent* May I tweak your nipples, please?"
Me: "Exactly! He's too considerate!"
T'h: "I meant: he had to ask."

( The wonderful world of golfing masculinity and fashion PICSPAM )

rec -- because i haven't recced in ages

cesperanza does it again. This is Amnesiac, SGA fandom, fps. What I learn from her all the time is how to make plot, how to structure a story. This one comes in nice bite-size chunks and is very cleverly paced. And the sex is love-ove-vely. Unfussily lovely.

So. Is there any good golf slash out there?