Well, that got your attention.
Last night I dreamt I slept with George Clooney. We had mad and passionate and unbridled sex. If you’ve never had the chance to get in bed with George I can highly recommend it. If I was scoring, I’d give him a solid eight and a half. He’s that good, though he does pull the sheets right over his side in the middle of the night.
Readers who have been with me from the beginning of this blog will already know that George and I have form. We have history. Fortunately his wife, Amal, was no where to be seen last night. She’s very very understanding, well at least I think she is. If she ever discovers this blog she’ll probably sue my sorry backside through the international courts in The Hague during her lunch break – whilst simultaneously wearing a terrific dress and flashing those amazing legs of hers. I obviously can’t compete. But enough about her, back to me and her husband.
In the dream, right after the sex, George made me a hot and steamy cheese fondue. Apparently he’s a big brie fan. Who’d have guessed? He had one of those pointy dipping sticks with a crunchy crouton on the end of it which he’d thoughtfully drop onto the end of my tongue every so often. He’s most attentive. He might hog the blankets in the middle of the night but he’s very generous with his croutons, I can tell you.
The reason I’m updating you with the details of this fascinating story is because when I came down to the cafe kitchen earlier for breakfast I discovered Guido drawing up the menu for tonight’s dinner service. And would you believe this? Slap bang right between the cod and the rib-eye was an optional Cheese Fondue for two to share. If you can get here tonight it’s a bargain at £10.
“Gosh,” I said crunching some granola, “that’s a funny co-incidence because last night, right after I had mad and passionate and unbridled sex with George Clooney, he cooked me a cheese fondue.”
“Really?” said Guido, I could tell he was impressed, “how’d his taste?”
“Oh the absolute best,” I said, “yours’ll take some beating. His was so light and creamy and tastey.” I couldn’t help it, I momentarily paused whilst I recalled his thick muscular hairy arms dunking. “What you planning to use for dipping?”
“A toasted crusty cob,” said Guido. I strangely felt myself involuntarily raise an eyebrow. “You got a problem with that?”
“Hmm,” I said, “All I’m saying is that George has a preference for croutons.”
There was an awkward silence.
“Well if the two of you happen to fit in sex again tonight, perhaps you could try using a baguette instead.” He looked back at his menu. “Let me know how that goes down.”
On reflection I’m not really sure telling Guido about my dreams of extra marital sex was one of my better ideas. Even if it did involve cheese. But don’t worry, I think our wedding is still on – at least I hope it is because I’ve been spending a lot of spare time researching pavlovas.
I seriously do doubt that neither George nor Amal will make it onto our guest list. But if George insists on popping up during our honeymoon for a quick one, trust me, I’ll be keeping it to myself.