The UK is Back!

The UK is Back!

Well, this international touring ho, may me lifting her skirt a bit more in the UK, why you ask, because the economy is back!

How do I know this? Is it based on the financial forecasts, the credit rating of the nation, the GDP predictions for the economic growth for the future? The retail index? The fluctuation of the pound against other currencies? The performance of the stock market? I wish I could say that it was based on these more acceptable gages.

No, my conclusion is drawn simply from the fact that I am seeing more coked to the gills clients. Now, why this difference is becoming more apparent isn’t that they stopped using coke during the recession, far from it. The difference now is they are using more coke than before.

Example, when you are called to an outcall to a seriously chic boutique hotel, ushered into a lush suite, and before I can slip into my sexy knickers, I am offered an assortment of class 1 substances, in quantises that if the police were to pop it would land the lot of us in some serious trouble. I am not talking grams of coke, I am talking ounces, and lots of them. I politely declined, I tend to like my drugs in the form of a well made cocktail, or a bottle of good champagne. But I don’t judge.

But the amount that was on offer is what gave me pause, and made me realise that people in the UK had disposable income again. God bless them.

But before I start to get too excited and unpack the knickers, the UK in its delightful wisdom have opened the borders to the EE countries. I personally haven’t a problem with the ladies from there, what I have a problem with is the fact they drive the damn prices through the fucking ground, ruin the market and the clients, then bugger off home leaving behind a mess. Just because 50 quid is half a months salary in their country, doesn’t mean they should charge that for the half hour! Men should pay for the privilege to get between our legs! Not act as if it is a right. The fuckers are entitled enough as it is.



Life is simple, but as humans we need to complicate things. And men make the mistake of thinking about shit and fucking up what could be a brilliant encounter.

Example, the client who couldn’t follow instructions, got lost, wondered about the place, then after about 20 phone calls, several verbal dressing downs, lots of huffing puffing and getting lost again, he finally showed up!

Upon which I discovered he was actually a lovely gentleman, delightfully quirky, funny, and had forgotten his hearing aide at home, so he wasn’t really hearing sweet fuck all of what I was saying to him! I could only look at him is utter shock and ask the obvious questions. And thank my lucky stars that he hadn’t actually heard most of what I had said, as I was rather abrasive to say the least. Silver linings and all.

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

The not so joys of working in Ireland-winter edition

What the very fuck has happened? I am still on tour, and am starting to notice that the wonderful inhabitants of the places I visited in England in the summer have somehow changed. I mean seriously, are people saving that much for Christmas that in the middle of October business is down by that much? Fucking hell! Or is it the influx of new and desperate hos, needing money for their presents as well?

Well whatever the problem is, I hate winter time. I am grouchier than normal, and that is saying something, I want to sleep more, and I have caught the bloody flu! I need a holiday! All in all I hate England, I hate Ireland in equal measure.

When the sun, if it shines, is shinning in this part of the world the clientele are lovely, when the weather changes, they all become bears.

Seriously men are dogs in the summer and bears with sore heads in the winter.

International travel

International travel

To say I am a jet setting ho is an understatement. I think I am up in the air more than my legs. 😉 so, during my many transcontinental trips you start to notice things, how certain groups of people travel, how people are treated at airports, how bloody inept the security really is, down to how certain airlines treat their passengers.

The bottom of the scale is Ryanair, a flying bus, that stops short of charging you to use the toilets. It was actually proposed. Not an airline I use, unless there is no other option, and I mean no other option. I would take the bus, or the ferry before traveling with those cheap bastards. And anyone who knows me, will tell you I don’t travel well by either of the latter options.

Traveling through LHR is akin to witnessing the migration of huge herds of various types of animals all at the same time. Asians tend to be like schools of fish, all moving in the same direction at the same time en fucking mass. Jesus, I try to avoid being any where near them. Africans, are like pissed off migrating pachyderms, with more flipping luggage than any human should have at an airport, arguing when informed they have to pay extra for the 80kg over the allowable weight. Loudly, too I might add!

Then you have your budget travellers, they remind me of bees, everything is micro managed to the ounce, as they can only afford to travel as the budget is limited and there is no pissing room for error. The clueless traveler, much like a fledging baby bird, never having ventured outside of their comfort zones. Announcements startle them, as does everything else associated with air travel. Often getting lost in the toilet cubicles.

And my least favourite traveler to be anywhere near is anyone who looks even slightly like they come from a country that ends in ..stan. They will get stopped! Searched! Grilled! I am not spending 20mins because the idiots that are hired to be the first line of defense against terrorism can’t profile properly. And seriously I have seen some of the morons that work for the various airport security companies, and I tell you now we are fucked if these are what is standing between us and a terrorist!

Some nationalities shouldn’t be allowed to travel, lets take the Irish for instance, they are either pissed or on the way to get pissed. It is like a traveling band of AA members without the sponsor. The French are annoyed because they are forced to leave their beloved France. The Germans are pissed the engineering, the food, the people, the place, the luggage isn’t German. Americans if they have managed to get a passport and have crossed the Border, will try to social engineer the entire trip to get upgrades or freebies. Brazilians think it is flipping carnival wherever they are. I tend to avoid all this madness by hiding out in one airport lounge or another. The Concord Room at LHR is the favourite, as is the Emirates First Class lounge at DXB

But when you land in a country where they are civilised about travel, it stops you in your tracks. Upon check in, the staff are actually helpful, assisting you with your luggage and even when over weight, not charging you and wishing you a good day. Upon boarding you are greeted with a smile and addressed by name! I thought I had done something wrong, why was this woman calling by my name!? And this isn’t in business class, this is economy! The airports are not mass migration portals, shuffling people from gate to gate like cattle. Your family can come with you as far as the boarding gate to see you off. I was like fuck me! Obviously, they haven’t had a terrorist attack happen, by either a disgruntled citizen, or an ungrateful foreigner. Long may the innocence last.

Hoing for fun

Hoing for fun

Yes you heard me correctly, one of my hobbies in addition loads of stuff civvie people do, is hoing for fun.

What I mean by hoing for fun, is this: When I am sequestered to any part of the world where I am not making a significant 4 figure sum a day, I am hoing for fun. I mean I cant really take it too seriously, due to the fact I am having to work for money far below what I would get as a tip in some countries. And the best part about hoing for fun, is when clients tell me I have an attitude, and should be grateful for the pittance they can barely afford. It gives me great pleasure to tell them, I am not working because I need this money, I’m doing this so as not to have to spend any money from my savings. This is pocket money for me, and not even decent pocket money at that! You should see the faces!

The UK mid range market is totally ruined! There was a time you could get some decent gents in the mid range sector, not anymore. They have either moved, died off, or become incredibly demanding cretins with entitlement issues. None of which I want any part of.

So you may ask, why bother returning to the UK at all? Well, due the fact I have family there, whom I really am rather attached to, and I actually enjoy spending my summers there. The Middle East is blistering hot, Oceania is cold-ish, so Europe is about the only place on the place on the planet worth spending time in at this time of the year. Thus, why I am on hiatus in the UK.

I am a hardcore ho, I am not doing this to get by! I am doing this to earn silly amounts of money, make no mistake, this isn’t some damn vocation or calling! I am not some sacrificial lamb sucking cock for the betterment of mankind! I am simply doing this because it pays bloody well. And if I am not getting a certain amount per day when I am working, time to move. Simples. I am not loyal to any place unless I am making money there. At the minute certain Middle Eastern countries are my favourite.

The day is coming soon when the UK client will start to appreciate a quality escort again, when those damn flood gates open and Eastern Europe dumps en mass the hordes of people seeking the land of milk and honey, the difference will soon emerge. And it will be something so simple, as when they hear that I speak perfect English. But until that day, I will be hoing for fun elsewhere.

I Didn’t Know It Was Possible

I Didn’t Know It Was Possible

But I have found a place in the UK I absolutely hate being in more than Ireland. The West Midlands! If I thought the Irish demographic of clients was a horrible lot. Nothing to date beats the lot located in this part of the country.

Where do I start? Lets start with the overall cultural demographic. It is as if most other counties from a round the UK had encouraged, mandated, or forcibly remanded its ethnic population to Birmingham or Coventry. And for some strange reason some of them haven’t managed to integrate and still sound as if they are fresh off the boat. They have stock phrases they speak and that is about it, and of course your answers have to fit those phrases, or else the conversation grinds to a halt. I am wondering if they are doing this to practice their English?

And they all call hookers. My phone constantly rings off the hook, but very little business. I think they are doing it to break the monotony of their underpaid jobs. They are abrupt, rude, and cheap fuckers who are basically bargain hunting. I had one idiot, who told me he would give me xxx amount, I laughed at him, and hung up. They seem to think that they are doing me a favour, and not the other way around. Not to mention their accent grates on my fucking nerves. It is annoying, clipped and basically a bastardised version of a London accent. Which is equally as annoying. And the bastards are cocky! Which is the most jarring thing of all, unlike the Irish who are grateful for the fact you are answering the phone, however you answer the phone. These cunts seem to think they are jack the bloody lad. I would like to remind them, they are calling a hooker looking for sex, this doesn’t stand them high on the social totem pole. Bloody hell less than a week here and I am waxing nostalgic for Ireland! Jesus Christ!

Now my TS friend was making a small fortune there. Then the penny dropped, of course. Look at the demographic and look at what she is offering. She has an 8 inch penis, and a willing bumhole. I definitely don’t have a penis, and my bumhole isn’t so willing. So as she was being shagged to within an inch of death, I was having my hair done, having my nails done, having a pedicure, shopping, and praying for the week to be over so I could go to climes more appreciative of what I have to offer.

Sheep-shaggers, Bell-ringers, And angry chipolatas. My observations on working in the countryside.

Sheep-shaggers, Bell-ringers, And angry chipolatas. My observations on working in the countryside.

Dear god! If it wasn’t for the fact I was ticking over nicely, I would be tempted to run naked down the street just to break the monotony. I am bored to tears here in the country, or kuntrey as the irish pronounce it. There is something seriously off about people from the country, no matter where the country side is located, they just don’t operate by the normal set of rules the rest of us are used to.

Why is it they go out of their way to sound as daft as possible? I mean anyone who takes that long to ask a question, or finish a statement causes my teeth to itch and I either hang up the phone, or when in a good mood, answer the question for them and wait for them to catch up. Let’s just say I haven’t been in a good mood lately.

Slow people fucking irritate me! Wether they are slow moving, slow reacting, slow talking, or slow eating, just being in the presence of someone who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time makes me want to go over and sort things out for them. Yes, I have control issues. Yes, I am a grouchy cow. And no, I am not bothered by either of these things. The only time I like a slow moving punter is during a Dom session, it gives me the perfect excuse to wail on them with gleeful abandon. And god help them if they don’t react. Even when they react I still hit them, just for the sheer hell of being in my presence. But there can be too much of a good thing. I start getting RSI, due to whipping the holy hell out of idiots.

Or they show up straight from work, mind you I haven’t a problem with a man coming in from work in his work clothes. But, when that work is farming, and it involves domestic animals, I kind of take exception when they walze in covered in mud and/or pig, sheep, horse, or cow shit! Yes I fucking take exception to this! Why, because they don’t for a second think they should have showered at home before venturing out like that? Don’t they have a minder that points these things out? How do you manage to go from feeding Daisy the cow to wanting to shag an escort? With not so much as pause to clean yourself? Baffling.

So finally after having enough of this muckiness, I ordered one gent to remove his shoes before stepping on my carpets. He looked at me funny. And I repeated myself. He just couldn’t seen to understand why I wanted him to remove his mud covered shoes, from which there was the faint odour of animal excrement tickling my nose. The bouquet wasn’t canine, which tends to be rather sharp and sour. It had a more bovinian and ovinian tinge to it, which can carry a more malty, verdant, and earthy notes. Oh sweet Jesus, I have been far to long in the country. I am now assigning top, middle and base notes to animal poo!

Anyway, he did remove his shoes, and looked longingly back at them, to which I blurted out before I could stop myself, “Trust me dear, no one is going to steal those boots.” I think he took exception to my statement. Too bloody bad. I wasn’t going to have to spend the better part of 20 minutes cleaning my damn carpet to within an inch of its life again that week for no one! I am down on my knees enough, thank you very much.