MissBehaviour's blog needs a little more variety of style.
Thus far you've been treated to three sorts of posts, all carefully crafted in content and vocabulary: i) The not-so-secrets of my 'Harem', giving an insight into both the variety of subs and sissies I've accumulated and how I treat them; ii) philosophical ramblings around the whole issue of (TV) domination and iii) vanity publishing for MissBehaviour. Obviously these broad categories will continue - there are a few exploits of harem houris still 'on the stocks' for publication in future weeks, I cannot suppress 'thinking on paper' and equally well MissBehaviour's ego needs occasional massaging[1], often through pictorial exposure. But I digress...
MissBehaviour's blog needs a little more variety of style.
Should I perhaps be somewhat Sterner? Should I rail against small niggling little annoyances or ponder on strange behaviours and moral inconsistencies?
Last weekend for example our colonial cousins indulged in what has been described as the secular holy day involving some apparent variant of Rugby football played out in front of a myriad of fans, supporters and assorted onlookers. Indeed several noted bloggers around these parts made special efforts with parties, wagers and other nefarious activities (best not to enquire too closely) to 'enjoy' themselves while viewing the spectacle.
And all this for a case where there wasn't even a hint (in public at least) of a misplaced nipple or an accidentally-over-exposed mammary. Masters and Mistresses of the dominating arts, well-skilled Dom(me)s and cheerfully suffering subs, Ladies strongly desirous of Cock and Bulls newly cuckolding — all reduced to tribal hangers-on. And an event where the highlight was a demonstration of remote starting of an internal-combustion engine.
Sorry - I mean forgetting one of the lines of a National Anthem. An anthem commemorating the bombardment of a (Yankee) group that couldn't see the caring nature of His Majesty's navy, nor the entertainment value in the display of fireworks released in their honour. An anthem that is actually set to a British drinking song - a song for quaffing Shandy or stronger. But I digress...
Those fireworks were an early experimentation by the British - developed in India, they were judged suitable to entertain the colonial cousins during one of their 'tantrums'. Even the French were given them as a treat, though it wasn't without some risk to the giver: 'and one of these, following me like a squib until its shell exploded, actually put me in more danger than all the fire of the enemy throughout the day'. But I digress...
National Anthems are peculiar objects. The British have one, but while the Welsh and Scots have their (subsidiary) ones, the English do not. (Northern Ireland is just too complex to contemplate: "They blame it on Cromwell and William the Third" - Flanders & Swann). But the third verse of the British Anthem calls for the destruction (actually crushing) of one part of the nation - the Scots again. (This verse is normally not sung - I wonder why? What say you Tristram?). But I digress...
[1] The honorary proof-reader (1-1) suggested Madam needs her ego stroking more often than she cares to admit.
Goodness me Miss B! Have you been allowing your subbies to watch Top Gear?
ReplyDeleteYes, it all is a little crazy. and must seem even crazier from across the pond. but it does provide good blog fodder.
ReplyDeleteand today I got to work in a bit about the Spanish Armada and the brutal oppression of Ireland, all spun front the Super Bowl.
A blogger's gotta do what a blogger's gotta do.
Bad-Penny: You will naturally have spotted the oblique references to the ne plus ultra of the art: 'twill be long-remembered after Clarkson et al have drained the last dregs from the fuel-tank.
ReplyDeleteMick: You're perfectly correct — it does seem crazy, but no more than the motley bag of semi-divinities (they must be, since they are paid on astronomical scales) in a game for gentlemen, played by ruffians, which often ends in violence off the pitch.