Oh Flirtomatic. My love. My lifeline. The reason for my very existence! I’m back! Nuzzling once more in the safety of your proud bosoms. What a feeling! Smashing.

Now then my dear friends, you know me, if I were the owner of a trumpet, where possible I would prefer not to blow it. Instead I would leave it resting against the sideboard and allow other people to come along and blow it for me. However in the absence of any available puckered lips I must do a little trumpeting of my own and say I was pretty damn pleased to hear that so many of you queried my whereabouts over the last few months. I’m touched, I really am (although, sadly, not in a sexy sexy way). Given this …erhem…outpouring of grief I thought it only right and proper to fill you in on the details of my extended leave.

Well, around about late December last year I was doing the standard Chrimbo shopping bit. Fish slice for mother. Pipe tobacco for father – you know the sort of thing ­ – when I spotted one of those Santa’s Grotto set-ups. Never one to miss an opportunity to sit on the knee of a man bearing gifts I polished my buttocks and headed over. I queued, as one must, but eventually it was my turn to follow the little green elf through the tinsel curtains and into Santa’s private space. The mere sight of him, sitting there, with his manly stomach pressing against the taut fabric of his outfit and his heaving sack resting at his feet – oh my goodness! And then, as I placed my cheeks upon his knee, I had a vision. Me lying upon a lion skin rug, in my best pants and bra, in front of a roaring fire. Him kneeling down and letting the soft bristles of his big white beard caress the bare flesh of my thighs. Ladies and gentlemen I could stand it no more. I launched my lips upon his and attempted to insert a ripe tongue.

Santa, a chap not well known for his salacious ways, was seemingly taken aback. He pushed me away and I landed in a heap at the feet of a gob-smacked elf. There was a to-do. A policeman arrived. Unfortunately I also enjoy the sight of a man in a helmet and so I afforded him the same tongue thrusting behaviour as I had our Christmas hero. There followed further rejection on the part of the copper. And then a small white van appeared. Oh dear. I was bundled into the back and driven to a sinister building in the middle of some even more sinister moors. And there I stayed. For five long months. Men in white coats prodded and probed at my brain as I licked my lips, flicked my locks and fluttered my lashes. It seems they believed me to be suffering some sort of disorder. ‘An obsession for flirting’ they said. ‘A mania for seduction. A passion for tantalization.’ These ‘doctors’ wanted to fix me. To take away the temptress and leave but a hollow shell.

No chance pals!

It took me five long months but eventually I escaped -with the help of an orderly who wasn’t quite so displeased with my femme fatale personality. I snuck out under the cover of darkness and bolted to a little safe-hole I know (again the owner of which would not be happy to see my cheeky little ways turn to dust).

Of course it is imperative that we keep this a secret between you and I. You must tell no one my true identity. I am no longer Mel, your happy go lucky blogger of years gone by, from here on in I shall be Miss. Tallulah Minnelli McFlashalot. Hoorah!

So, people, now that I’m back, how about we get this show on the road, eh.

Yours,

Miss. Tallulah Minnelli McFlashalot (formally know as Mel) x

Be Sociable, Share!

•