Porn

I'm not talking Ron Jeremy or Debbie does Dallas here....

Every Sunday I set my V+ box to record my porn; I look forward to watching it all week and in anticipation, I watch the previous episodes of my favourite porn; rewinding and rewatching my favourite bits, the bits with the sexiest man with the hottest moves, (although "man" is stretching it a bit, in America, he couldn't legally buy a beer).

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My current fixation is 20 year old Chris Fountain (yes, and don't I just feel like the quintessential dirty old woman for all my leering and drooling!).

I just love it when a man can dance, look strong and look sexy all at once.

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Hurry up Sunday!

The coolest picture I've found today!

Please Santa, Easter Bunny, Birthday Fairy, whoever is listening.....

I really really want one of these!

Make me over, make me nice?

I've been thinking about having a bit of a change.....

Although I still really like the look of my blog, for me it has a little black dress kind of a feel, I think I fancy a bit of a change. I'm not sure what sort of thing I fancy for a new look, so.. if any of you guys out there still read me.. what do you think?...

Change the dress?

The ping-pong balls of retribution

A tale about the time I attempted mass murder of the staff on Children's ward....

And it's all true!

Many, many years ago (26 approx), I had been admitted to the local hospital for various treatments and tests. This of course, did not a hapy bunny make. Generally I was quite a "chipper" little girl, but the multiple needle stabbings, the incessant obs (temperature, blood pressure, blood glucose etc) all colluded to transform my easygoing nature into one of bloodlust and villainy.

I'm guessing that at the time I would have been four. I could possibly have been as young as three, but certainly no older than five. A nurse came by with one of those ugly grey kidney trays - a kidney tray that had become - in my infant head - synonymous with pain and bloodloss. I told the nurse flat out that I didnt want any more needles. I don't exactly remember the conversation with the little nurse, but I imagine she'd have coaxed and soothed me - anything to make the process go more smoothly.

I told her again, and with as much authority as my four year old self could muster, that I wasnt going to have anymore needles. Sensing a problem, she tried to bargain with me. Would I like to hold her thermometer... or maybe wear her pretty upside-down watch for a few moments? Nope. No deal. I may have only been four, but I wasnt a shmuck.

It was then that the silly little nurse signed the death warrants of the entire staff of childrens ward. She said that if I would let her do the bloodtest, she would personally make sure that I didnt have any more bloods done; no more needles.
I had yet to learn that if something sounds too good to be true.. well you know the phrase.
"Deal!" I would probably have excitedly yelled, thinking to myself : no more needles, no more needles, no more needles!

Silly little nurse did the deed, took away the phials of my blood and then happily went off duty. Leaving my new NO-MORE-NEEDLES status to be dealt with by the unfortunate nurse who was covering the next shift.

An hour later when all my obs needed doing again, the new nurse was less than impressed by my insistance that i was told i didnt have to have any more blood tests done. This one wasnt into bargaining; she was deffinately of the brute force school of nursing, where wild, un-aimed stabbings are advocated, nay applauded.
At least it was probably over quickly.

My temper was blazing, even hours later. I'd been cheated, stabbed and robbed of my blood, but at four years old (and being a small four at that), there wasnt much I could do. That is, until Aunt P came to visit. Because Aunt P brought me a gun -
Aunt P, some of you may remember from a previous post....She was the one that used to eat the chocolate bait from my pixie traps.

So, I was a four year old, with a grievance and I held a gun in my hand - it wasnt't ever going to be pretty.

Needless to say, when I opened Aunt P's gift, I was delighted. it was no Uzi 9mm...It was made of clear blue plastic and shot ping-pong balls but when I looked at it, I saw one word blazened before me... REVENGE.
(I couldnt actually read at age four...but you get the sentiment hehe)

I could have waited for the next time my obs were due to pull a surprise attack, but my patience had long since run out and my trigger finger was itchy... I went in, all guns blazing, as they say.

Somehow, I managed to have all members of staff on the ward lined up in front of a wall before me. I can still see the whole scene if I close my eyes: the white-coated doctors and the nurses in their uniforms of either blue or yellow and the wall that they stood in front of was a delightful colour, one that Crown or Dulux might name corpse-lips-blue on their colour charts.

I shot them all. One by one and in no particular order of grievance, I took aim and rained down on them the ping-pong balls of retribution, I even stopped to re-load several times.

The masacre came to an end eventually... the doctors and nurses went back to work, civillians went back to their daily lives, no doubt scarred by what they'd witnessed.
And me? Well, I got some "jail-time". I had to stay in hospital for quite a while afterwards, and there was no let-up in the onslaught of the obs.

I took a little comfort from my ping-pong assault, and fell to sleep dreaming of the cool feel of the clear blue, plastic gun and the slight popping sound of ping-pong balls let fly at their target.

That one was for Al, by request..lol.. hope you liked it sweetie.

Fuck-my-mouth Lipstick

Secrets of a make-up artist...

Large, pouty, over-ripe lips; juicy and slick and glistening, slightly parted with a not very subtle hint of delights yet to come....that is the aim.Being a make-up artist, you learn all sorts of interesting and useful little tricks; they're mostly used in the movies and theatre etc but you can easily apply and adapt them for your own day to day life.Bruises, contusions, scabs and grazes are useful for when you want to pull the odd sickie from work or school, or if you are making an insurance claim and you want to make the damage look worse than it is (kidding of course...).Sweat can be faked easily with a dab of glycerine, and it makes you look like youve been working much harder than you really have - either that or it makes you look like youve comitted some wickedness and are terrified of being discovered.There's tons of other examples, but I havent got all day to be here clicking away at the keyboard, so I'll skip right to the main point:The Fuck-my-mouth look.So called because - well, the title is self explanatory really. Pouty, glossy lips that draw attention are the order of the day and this technique really works.. its one of the reasons I got the nickname of "Lips"

Men may want to skip the "how to achieve" bit encased in the little red stars.

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To start off - you're going to need to start with the basics: Wax your upper-lip and exfoliate the lips themselves. You can use a lipscuff treatment for this. One I find which is particularly good is The Body Shop Lipscuff. It's pretty much like any facial scrub and it does basically the same job. It also primes your lips ready for the make-up later and due to the application of the scuff and the peppermint flavour, it plumps the lips up (the effect is temporary but does last a couple of hours. If you cant get hold of the lip-scrub, then apply a generous slick of gloss onto your mouth - let it soak in a bit (have a bath, or whatever) and then using a soft bristled toothbrush brush in tiny little circles over the lips.. this will give the exact same effect as the scrub.If you want to keep the enlargement of your lips for longer than it would normally last just by using the scrub treatment, then apply a coat of Rimmel's Lip-Lock. This generally puffs your lips out a bit too.
With the Preliminary details taken care of, your next tool is YvesSaintLaurent Radiant Touch concealer. All you do with this is to paint a circle of it on the outside of your lipline and then blend it in using your finger or a cosmetic sponge. Personally I use my finger. And If YSL is a bit out of your price range, then my favourite budget brand is Rimmel, so I reccomed their palest concealer stick - which will do the job just as well.
Lip-lining is not the most popular technique at this moment in time. with most people now just "glossing and going". Which is fine if you dont mind re-touching all night, have collagen plumping up your lips anyway or dont want the maximum results.
Always use a newly sharpened pencil. It's more hygienic, and gives a better line. Another tip is to not use lip-liner (as it melts almost as quickly as lipstick). Instead use an eyeliner which is much more hardwearing. and comes in almost any colour or shade these days . Naturally, the colour you choose will depend n which lipstick you go for. I would tend to go for a brown thats as close in shade to your lip colour as you can get. And if you're slightly lacking in lipage - line outside your natural lip line. Try not to be heavy handed doing this as pressure alters the tone of the lip line colour. The lighter the pressure, the more subtle it looks.
- To make the application more longlasting; apply one coat of lipstick, then blot. Pat on a little face powder then dust off the excess. Apply a second coat of lipstick.
When you have finished applying the second coat of lipstick, blot the centre of your lips - removing as much colour as possible and use a highlighter colour to replace whatyou've just removed. You can use a colour that is a couple of shades lighter than your actual lipstick or you can use a dab of a white highlighter lipstick. Blot the whole lip area again and top with a slick of gloss. This should blend the differing shades together, and give the final "plumpening".
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It seems like a lot of work, but it takes only a couple of minutes to actually apply. And its a much safer, more pleasant alternative to playing the russian roulette game of collagen injections (or worse still, arse-fat injections!). Not everyone gets pouty lips like Kylie, that merely need a quick dap of gloss; look at Leslie Ash.. or you may prefer not to...
(Blogger is being an asshead today, and I cant even look at other comments, let alone post any, so for all the blogs i like to stop in at, sorry - i'll have to blab a bit more when blogger pulls its finger out of its arse.)


I know some pretty nifty make-up tricks for guys too.. its not only lips that can be made to look bigger... (wink, wink)

The young enterpreneur

Pre "rap-star Extraordinary" and post "ghost/pixie hunter, aprentice witch, inventor Extraordianry" I went through a "richard Branson" faze.

I decided that I was gonna go into business. It was something I had dipped my toes into before and had had moderate success. My first venture would have been about the time i was five or six.
I'd been given a necklace made of tiny seashells by an aunt who'd been away on holiday. One night, whilst messing about with the necklace (most likely making some sort of invention) i broke it. I was understandably upset, but being the type of child to flip over the tarnished side of the coin... I looked at the benefit of having a broken necklace; the benefit being that whereas before I'd had a pretty necklace, now I had an oodlefull of teeny tiny seashells to do with as i wished.

After only a small modicum of thought, I had come up with a plan. These tiny seashells were so cute, i was pretty sure that everyone would want them and so my plan - simple as it was - was to sell these adorable little treasures at school.
Being that they were so small I knew i couldnt charge very much....I thought about h'apenny (which were still in circulation when i was a little un) but i didnt want to devalue them either.. so a penny a shell it was.
And I sold them all! - save the ones I kept for myself.

My first venture during my "Branson-esque" period, I enlisted the help of my staunch enterprise partner: my sister. We decide to open a cafe.
The idea came about as my sister had received a new tea-set and during a game, we decide that we would undoubtedly be wonderful at running a cafe. Sis decided she'd handle the orders and some of the cooking- on rollerskates no less - (i still have a picture somewhere of us in our uniforms! self designed i might add!) I meanwhile, would handle the advertising and the rest of the cooking. Knowing of course that buying a property was well beyond our scope (and we could hardly build a cafe out of lego now, could we?... we'd tried something along those lines a few years previous), we decide to run our business from home. And the advertising? That was neatly handled by a pack of "Uncle Bob's coloured chalks". I drew arrows all along the pavements and wrote bold declaritives about the wonders of our cooking. We waited a week and didnt get any customers (surprisingly enough) and once the rain had washed away the adverts, we effectively closed the business.

Quite a while later I set up another, this time more successful venture. Jewellry.One of my major strengths has always been art...not so much drawing, I really cant draw for toffee.. but give me a dollop of clay or a heap of junk and I can make you something pretty.

The idea sprang from a televison programme i watched about a woman making pendants from clay. I watched with fascination at how easy the whole thing was and I just knew that I could do something wonderful. This simple idea, coupled with my natural art ability, well, i was just sure to be a millionaire within a couple of months (eh Rodders? ;) ).

I wanted to keep the costs as low as possible, giving me the maximum profit potential. I bought a packet of air hardening clay out of my pocket money and all other necessary oddments were filched from around the house; mainly from my mothers sewing box and my fathers tool box.

I had a few basic designs and i decided to use monochrome colours so (which not only kept down the cost as the paint wasnt even mine, but it also gave the pendants hugely enormous style credibilty). I hung the pendants on shoelaces and despite this, i sold out of my first batch, even the one which i had made for myself got snapped up!

After this success,I made several batches of the pendants. even expanding the range to include two different sizes which also sold well. I then included silver and gold designs... these sold well, but not quite as well as the original design and after my final Design change (adding gemstones) - when the market was totally saturated with my jewellry and when the sales were falling off... I closed the business.. after all.. I had a rap career to begin ;)

An Extraordinary handbag

Another tale from childhood…

You all already know by now that I was an immensely gullible child. I believed implicitly in everything; ghosts, vampires, chalk drawings you could jump into, lick-able wallpaper….
The list was truly endless. So it was because of this that I developed a kind of superpower - I was a super packer.

As I type this, I can anticipate many people saying “eh?”, wrinkling their brows in bafflement with a “what the hell is this loony girl on about now?!”
So…let me explain.

Due to the many emergencies I knew could be lurking around the corner at any particular moment (the afore mentioned vampires, ghosts and any other mythical creature) I always aimed to be prepared……
I think you may see where I am going with this now… heh.

You see, I had a bag. It looked just like any normal little bag that any little girl would carry around. But it was a bag with a difference…probably partially inspired by Mary Poppins’ carpet-bag.
In this bag would normally be anything that anyone could need, albeit sometimes in miniature.
Need a mirror and a hairgrip? Yep, I had those.
Bored and need a game to play? Here ya go
Need to kill a vampire? Help yourself to holy water, garlic and miniature stakes (aka pencils)
Hungry and need a snack? Take and eat.
I even remember at one point my mother saying she wished she had some foil or cling-film (saran wrap, for the non brits) to seal up a bottle that had been opened but, for which the top had been lost. Hey presto! I looked into my extraordinary bag and pulled out the cling film.
Superman had his motto, “truth, justice and the American way”, I had mine “Be prepared”…okay so technically it wasn’t mine.. I borrowed it from the boy scouts and girl guides.. But hey, it worked.

Quite an achievement that… getting all that stuff into one tiny bag…I wish I had the same knack when packing my holiday suitcase…..

Life lessons #1

Otherwise entitled: Things to never EVER do whilst you're drunk #1.....

I've been away, on holiday - thats why you've seen so little input from me just lately. I havent been abroad, just a nice little holiday camp a couple of hours away from where I lay my hat. So while you poor little lovelies were busting your asses at work, I was having a sauna and a dip in the jaquzzi... lazily drifting around the swimming pool then back to base to lipstick, powder and paint before heading to the clubhouse.....

Now THAT'S where my trouble lay.

During dinner, i had leisurely quaffed two glasses of cool crisp chardonnay. With dinner over and done, I began a bottle of what may as well have been called "GetmedrunkQuick" - in sour apple flavour.

I showered successfuly (without incident) and started doing my hair - prisoning the tantalising tendrils in curlers to rival Hilda Ogden, after which i commenced with the lipstick, powder and paint. Being thus filled with the "Getmedrunk", I believe at this point, I may have been singing.

When I was suitably attired in the fuck-me outfit of choice, pouty-lipped and fluttery of lash I proceeded to take the curlers from my locks....no major disaster had occured. My hair was curled, a bit overly springy, but nothing a splash of serum wouldnt be able to tackle.

Usually when I curl my hair it takes literally moments for me to do it. after the ten minutes of putting in the curlers, I put on my make-up whilst allowing them to work their magic. Once i take the curlers out, I grab a dollop of serum, run my fingers through my hair, and a voila!.. usually i have something presentable. Despite the fact I can happily spend hours playing with make-up, I have remarkably little patience with hair.... it seems to always do the opposite of what I want anyhow... as you will see...

After finishing the grooming routine, I looked in the mirror... something didnt look quite right.
(and please remember I was moderately plastered at this point)
Dismissing it, I put on my jewellry....
Nope. something still didnt look right.
I faffed around with my hair a trifle more, puckered up my lips and give myself a thank-god-I'm-me-or-I'd-die-of-jealousy smile..
(again, I remind you, I was drunk!)
Aha!
I looked at my (oh so delicious) reflection and figured out what the problem was.
My fringe - bangs, to the non British. My fringe. It wasnt sitting right... it looked too long...maybe a little... hmm.. off.
My fingers toyed with it a little more with no satisfactory result and my alcohol soaked senses reminded me that there was a pair of scissors in the kitchen drawer.
Under normal circumstances ie sobriety, I would never touch my own hair with a scissors..I mean, I'm loathe to let a trained "professional" (i think we all know my opinion of hair dressers) near my hair. But with "Getmedrunk" pleasantly sloshing about in my blood stream, the scissors seemed like an extension of myself.. an Extraordinary Scissor-hands if you will, and the thing I needed to do to put my hair - hence the world - to rights was trim the fringe slightly, on the bias. I figured that I'd end up withy an asymetric fringe draping sexily over one eye.
So I angled the scissors just so....
My hand unwavering, my courage to the sticking place.....
and.....
I...
snipped.
One deft and fluid movement and half the fringe was gone.

Instead of the delicate trim, I had, with one babaric slice, chopped off a vast portion of my fringe. And instead of the sexy asymetric fringe, i have a straight and severe line of hair. And to think, my mother used to cut the fringe of both myself and my sister when we were children and she NEVER got it this straight!

In conclusion.. i now look about nine years old.

I know there's the whole nanny state, big brother discussion about our government right now.. but really.. i do think that some enforcement should be in place to stop drunken fools cutting their own - or indeed, other people's hair.

Hair grows they say.... judging by the length of the front of my hair, and the effect it has on the appearance of my age, I should be hitting puberty in about three weeks... Any volounteers to accompany me on a wild rebellious streak?

On the rocks...off the rocks

It felt as good as it looks on t.v! Now, i'll bet that has you wondering!

Actually, i'm not really talking about anything rude.. I'm talking about the kind of incident that happens in every soap almost weekly - that old, throw-a-drink-in-the-face chestnut.Picture it, Swansea, 1996...... (forgive me.. forgive me, I've been watching the golden girls!)

I was in Liberty's nightclub with my friend "PD". We'd had an okay-ish sort of night although PD wasnt the most fun loving of girls...not unless she'd drunk the equivalent of the river Tawe in vodka.

We were standing at a table, sipping drinks and chatting when a bloke came over and started talking to me.
"My mate is asking if you'll go over and talk to him." (very 3rd year school disco, dont you think?..lol)

I told the bloke who'd walked over that i was busy talking to my friend and that his mate should do his own talking, to which he smiled and walked back to his friend. But no sooner had he gone, than he was back, saying "please would i go and talk to him.. he said you know each other"
Of course I'd noticed/recognised him when we got to the club. 6ft4 blond hair, attractive face, muscular build..not really easy to miss, or forget. I'd met him whilst out on an impromptu night out with my mate "M". We should have been doing coursework for college but we'd simply thought, what the hell, and gone clubbing it. M had caught herself a bloke - her seduction technique was absolutely faultless; she bought hold-up stockings in a size slightly too large which ensured that they mostly fit, but fell down often, giving her an excuse to hitch up her skirt sliding the stockings back up over her legs, with her hand on her thighs just that little bit too long...it worked like a charm.
She soon had a six foot TA (part-time soldier) simpering and drooling at her side, at which point i didnt see her again for a couple of hours. She and the TA dissappeared.

I wandered around, chatting to a few other mates that were at the club, flirting with the barmen and dancing a lot. Presently a big blonde hulk of a man asked if he could buy me a drink, and then we got chatting. We got on pretty well, bantering and having a laugh but I was begining to get worried about my friend M. So Soldierboy and I scouted around looking for her and also for his mate, who'd also gone missing. A quick check outside proved fruitful, we saw both our friends heading back around to where we stood; they'd been in the carpark behind the club.

M had lost her stockings.

We went for post drink pizza and arranged a date for the next day. M and I were supposed to be in college, but we decided to skip. We hadnt done the work we needed to hand in anyway.
The boys picked us up and took us for a long spin down to the Gower. A pub lunch would have been nice about the time we got there, but the boys had other ideas. Our lovely date was more like a test on a reality game show - the planned activity that day?.. Why, none other than rock diving! Plus a stupid-amount-of -miles hike to actually get to the damned cliff.

Perhaps the boys were testing our stamina... but they sure as hell tested my patience!

They had wetsuits and other bits and pieces of equipment, but neither my friend or myself was suitably equiped or attired to launch ourselves off a cliff. Not to mention the fact that we'd have had to climb back up again, in sodden clothes, then the nature hike again...no thanks Soldierboy, not for me. I had warned him I wasnt an outdoorsy type of girl. Had he planned a wallet loaded assault on every shoe shop in the area, he would have found me altogether more enthusiastic. M scaled down the bottom of the cliff with her TA, where they proceeded with a repeat of what they did in the carpark.. being a lady, I took to admiring the view, picking at my cuticles, and estimating how long it would be before we could be in town. Soldierboy, noting the X-rated show at the bottom of the cliff, lost all ability of speach and just gawked.
Once that part of the date was over, my friend M and I were dropped off in town, each of us with the phone numbers of the x-treme daters. We headed to McDonalds where i ate the biggest McMeal i've ever eaten (usually i abhor the stuff), i even ate a dessert!
Later that evening M tried to ring her TA but apparently kept getting mis-directed to another number. "I dont think any of them speak english" she told me. When we compared the phone numbers, we found we both had the same one..and apparently it was for their local takeaway.. yes. I DID fall for that one!
(back to the actual story after that long ass backstory!)
"He said you know each other"
"I dont thinks so" I said, "he must have me mixed up with someone else"
Soldierboy was pretty persistant and eventually I started talking to him. After a short while he suggested that we all went for a meal, and of course, being the kind, generous and forgiving soul that I am - nothing at all to do with the tall muscled physique, the the chiselled features or the cute dimples ;) - after consultation with "PD" I agreed.
PD and myself went to the ladies room, to have a quick gossip and to refreshen our lipstick and other girly primping that i'll spare you the details of. On the way down the stairs a pretty, dark haired girl walked past us on the stairs.
When we returned upstairs, Soldierboy was not in obvious view. When I did eventually spot him, he was in a corner, in deep conversation with the dark haired girl I had noticed earlier. When I asked Soldierboy about her, he said she was his cousin. As I have a multitude of cousins myself, and have often been mistaken by new girlfriends for a girl after their man, I took him at his word. He said he needed to go talk with his cousin for a little bit and then we'd leave for a resteraunt. PD and I headed for the dancefloor. Less than ten minutes later, I noticed Soldierboy talking very very closely to his cousin..right into her mouth to be precise. PD and I went to the bar and stood there talking and drinking.
Just then, Soldierboy's mate happened on by, and asked us if we'd like a drink. We got chatting to him and casually asked about his "cousin". He looked baffled.. "he hasnt got any female cousins" was his reply. I bought a pint for Soldierboys mate, then asked him to go find Soldierboy and bring him to me - which (surprisingly) he did. When I'd asked his mate to go and get him, i had intended merely to tell him to go to hell, but as i saw his grinning face, my hand found the pint of beer still standing on the bar and i threw it over him. Seeing the beer soaked face, sans cheesy, shit-eating grin was very pleasing. I bid him goodnight and made to leave.
Soldierboy stopped me and apologised profusely, even asking if he could still take me for a meal to apologise properly. Whether it was the novelty of the apology or the physique again I dont know, but we did end up going for the meal - although I didnt eat a great deal; about a forkful from each course I think.
And the point of this story... ermm.. non whatsoever...
such a long way of saying "I once threw a drink in a guy's face"!


can anyone say "diahroea of the push button publishing?" .... How about "scraping the bottom of the barrel"!

Recent Whorings

I have to be strict with myself theses days, I slip into my naughty ways so easily, and of course, with such a hugely pleasurable activity that is to be understood...

Book club comes around once a month which is now when i restrict my book buying for myself (as much as is humanly possible, anyway). And I now only allow myself the indulgence if I manage to get around to reading our book club choice. I really had to impose these restrictions on myself as I am apt to get carried away during the moment. Moment of course being a euphemism for purchasing.

It doesnt matter what bookish den I purchase from, although each has its own individual charm.

The supermarket - The advantage of course being that then newly published and top selling books are priced wonderfully low. Also the act of slipping from the vegetable and fruit section to the book section takes away the tedium from the chore of grocery shopping.

The big chain bookstores - Not quite as well priced as the supermarket, but having 3 for 2 offers on many books, the big chains have the advantage of stocking the vast majority of titles that people want. They are wonderfully fun to browse in as they tend to surprise you with whats on their shelves.

The independant - Tend to be pricey compared to the many other book buying places and very restricted in its choice, usually specialising in one genre, but therin lies its charm. They dont just stock the most widely available books, or the ones on the top ten... many a gem of a book is to be found in an independant store.

The second hand bookshop - A particular favourite of mine. Invariably stocked with everything to suit any taste and with teeny tiny prices.. win win situation.

Online - Pretty much any book is yours for the buying and generally very well priced (depending on the availability of the chosen book) but this is not a favourite option of mine. Typically only reserved for titles I can't get hold of in any of the above options. I personally dont get such a shopping high from the net. I like having my purchases then and there. Also, being a tactile person i like the act of browsing. Walking through laden shelves of books, sliding my finger down the spine of an interesting prospect and then delicately plucking it from its book family. Taking in the cover, reading the blurb on the back and then flicking through the pages to see if the writing style appeals... none of that can be done in the same way on the net.

On my most recent book buying extraveganza, i chose several titles recomended by internet friends.

I got a Laurell K Hamilton (the first Anita Blake) based on the rave review of the adorable Peanut Queen.

Notes from the Underground by Dostoyevsky that I noticed my MIR reading.
Other aquisitions were:
I know this much is true - Wally Lamb
Consider Phlebus - Ian M Banks
Wheel of time - Eye of the World (book one) Robert Jordan - Recomended by Mr Bad
Norwegian Wood - Haruki Murakami (which I'd been meaning to get for aaaages)
Foundation - Isaac Asimov.

The book club choices this month were:
The Swimming Pool Library- Alan Hollinghurst (also bought on the latest book buying frenzy)
The God of small things - Arhundahti Roy (which i already have on my bookshelf)
and one with the word tractor in the title, which I didnt fancy and didnt bother to write down. (I'm afraid I DO judge books by their covers).

I'm halfway through the Hollinghurst so once that is done, I'm entitled to buy whatever takes my fancy (yaaay me)... plus ...
I'm on a promise at the next book club as I have a belated book gift coming to me by way of my good mate (also called Maria).

Do you have any suggestion of anything that i absolutely must read?