A lot of people ask me if I am in touch with my feminine side. Good question. Of course I am. When the lights are out, and the child bride starts her lullaby of snores I have been known to throw back the bed clothes and touch my feminine side. But surely the Johnston of all parts of the male body is masculine, macho, honcho, the burning arrow and lord of all he surveys.
Was once. Recently Johnston has changed gender. At first an unchained bronco wild and free,liable to bolt at the sight of a thigh, a glimpse of knicker, the shadow of cleavage. Here was the drunken sailor that dragged me into strange bars, stranger beds and places one dares not remember. He was a real rascal with very poor satnav.
But the Wild Bill was brought under control. There were years when he did as he was told. Could perform on demand. Even drowning in litres of alcohol ,like some drowning rat ,Johnston would come through. Like a willing slave he would repeat and if needed, repeat again.
Recently though Johnston has changed. He no longer does what he is told. He sometimes disappears for days on end. Only sweet words and a lot of coaxing will get him to play at all. At the slightest sniff of the devil alcohol he retreats into his thick skin.
So Johnston has become a non drinking, disobedient critter who does what Johnston wants when Johnston wants. Johnston is no longer my willing slave but my capricious sovereign. Which is why I feel Johnston is no longer a male pal I can take down the pub but has changed sex. In fact sometimes I leave him/her behind.
One aged poet once talked of his loss of sex drive as being freed from a lunatic. I am yet to be so liberated. But Johnston has joined the one in 365 who change gender. It takes some getting used to.
Totally Random-this made me laugh