Oh how we laughed… The subject of sex in the UK still seems to be something to giggle about. Being Dutch it really does surprise me sometimes how funny the Brits are about the matter. So when I accepted the invite to go to a new condom launch ( it was in Mayfair, in a club, free cocktails!) the giggling just didn’t stop. Everyone wanted to know when I was going and what I was going to wear and whether there would be men. The answers were simple: Wednesday night, just what I was wearing to work – it’s a product launch not a dating night, and yes since half the population of the world are men, chances were there were going to be a few around.
I took my friend Sura, who is excellent company for any occasion and we went after having some dinner . Long and short of it: It started promising, but it was boring.
Ah there were the free cocktails (Apparently you need to lavish British people with alcohol before they even come near a condom, and even then some aren’t keen), the silly games ( burst the blown up condom filled with glitter and a sex-quote from celebrities. Quote as in ‘something they said’, not a price list – that would have made it interesting perhaps), a table with toys which was widely avoided, the sex-expert who really just wanted to promote herself (‘I have written for many magazines, I coach celebrities at the moment, but I really would like to get in touch with the common people.’), and a little entertainment.
The entertainment was two men, breakdancing, topless. That’s right. That’s how sexy it got. Sura was in bloody stitches over my lap whilst I was really aware that the camera filming this thing was also picking us up as we were right behind the guys in the light. ( Table by the dancefloor, seemed a good idea at the time.) They were probably going for the Chippendale approach, it was more – I quote: ‘Take That in the early nineties.’ Minus the jelly. So imagine Howard spinning Mark on his head – that would be Mark on Howard’s head, it was a move I had never experienced before. When the dancers retreated, a small man wearing a hat and funnily enough heels, followed them ‘backstage’. Unfortunately for them ‘backstage’ was a backlit screen, so everyone could see the massive argument erupting in an amusing shadowplay. Something had clearly gone wrong. Whatever it was, the smallest dancer came out in a huff, wearing what can only be described as a small dead polarbear on his head. At least it was entertaining.
That was it. Cheap and nasty canapes, cocktail sausages, mini fishcakes and penis-shaped chocolates – thank god we had eaten -and more alcohol. So ninety minutes after we walked in, we decided to walk out again pretty much sober and slightly bored. All the ingredients for a good party and yet it was as if we were ten again: boys to left, girls to the right and really bad music.
We did make some observations about sex I’d like to share with you – feel free to skip this if you are squeamish:
- It is remarkably easy to spot the girls who are comfortable with sex. They are not necessarily the prettiest ones around in the room, but it is in the way they move.
- Beware of men who are good-looking and self absorbed. Self absorbed people don’t make good team players.
- Men who make a joke at the dispense of the size of their penis are not just larking about, they are warning you. Smile politely, laugh if you must, mumble an excuse and run.
- According to the press-release I got, most British couples only manage three different positions during their entire sex life. I am still a little bit in shock.
- Food is a good indicator for sex. Anorexics are not known for their amazing love lives, nor are fussy eaters. Food like sex is great and needs to be enjoyed with pleasant company. There is something to say for cheap and dirty food ( like that kebab after an alcohol-fest) but we all know it just leaves a nasty taste in the morning…
Lastly, people who talk about sex a lot, don’t get it a lot. As Oliver Martinez ( ex Mr Kylie Minogue) once said in an interview: ‘I don’t talk about sex, I have it.’ So you understand the cruel irony of Sura’s enthusiasm by filling my bag ( hers was in the cloakroom) plus a goodybag, resulting in 36 newly launched condoms on my dining room table and no man in sight…
(PS: Oh hang on there is! Having just realised the only explanation for the body-movements in my neighbours’ appartment, which I can see from my table ( either that or they are testing their new trampoline. In the livingroom.) I’m tempted to show my social side and donate them a pack with a note: ‘ Enjoy, but please close the curtains.’ Oh oh oh, so bitter, so twisted…)