Warning— those of faint heart please skip to the horizontal rule

So, after a pleasant enough sauna and swim, I was drying myself and putting my clothes back on. As I glanced over, a fellow came out of the shower. He was thin, perhaps scrawny. Unremarkable in any way.

Except for one thing.

If I recall correctly, the ancient fertility statues were generally female, but if you apply a similar level of exaggeration to a male ummmm... figure, and blow it up to life size, this was your man. He was easily the largest I’ve ever seen, and I swim a lot, sometimes at nude beaches.

Anyway, despite my policy of not staring at anyone in changerooms, I took a couple of extra (very discrete) peeks, just to confirm to myself that I wasn’t imagining things. And no, I wasn’t. The poor(?) fellow was very sensibly keeping things covered up for the most part, unlike the well-hung (or what I would normally think of as well-hung) guys who feel the need to parade slowly from the showers at a very leisurely pace.

And with that, I left the swimming complex with nought but a memory.

Marion and I are making our way through the third series of Gilmore Girls. It’s excellent fun. We have fifteen more episodes to get through before she leaves on June the 24th (because if we didn’t she’d wonder what happened). We should follow the example of Hilda (my housemate). The DVDs arrived Thursday a week ago. When I got home from my first (and possibly last) television party at 2:30am on Monday morning, Hilda had just finished watching episode 22 and was ready for bed. That shows a determination I can’t hope to match.

Here’s an interesting entry I’ve been reading by the blind-Polish-busker-shy Pablo.

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