"I write articles about sex," I said cheerfully to the doctor. Check me out, talking casually to a doctor I just met casually wandering about. I hadn't even checked to see if there were any children around. Bad ILB. Don't mention the fact that you're a sex blogger - even a veiled hint at it - and always check for children. Not that there were any. Phew.
"Fantastic!" ejaculated the doctor, a bit like the Ninth Doctor in fact. "Where do you write these things?"
"Um, uh." Talk your way out of this one, ILB. "On the Internet." No, no, no. Do not say that.
"I also write poetry... and plays and... er, I write songs. I'm in a rock band!" Nice recovery. "And, er, er, I did a degree in English, and I wrote half a novella for my dissertation..."
Fortunately, that did the trick. We talked about rock bands for a bit and the doctor, distracted by the witty banter, didn't mention sex any more.
But I really shouldn't get carried away like that. After all the stuff with Belle that seems to have happened during one weekend in which I've been absent from the glorious Internet(s), you can't be too