Being the Internet Residence of Digby Ponder esquire, aspiring author of the parish of Crouch End in the great City of London.
As constructed on Tuesday 4 March, just before midnight, with the help of a rather nifty pull-out feature from Netizens Unite magazine. (Pictures to illustrate my NetDen will be added at a later date.)
So, to see a picture of the author click here (not yet loaded).
To see a picture of the author with college chums on holiday in Ibiza, click here (work in progress).
If you share any of my interests, click in the appropriate place, and I will connect you:
Such as the inexorable progress to Premier League glory of Barnet FC. Or to be involved in Netdispute about the films of Quentin Tarantino, or lament the untimely deaths of River Phoenix, Jerry Garcia and John Major (a joke, that last one).
A really hot recipe for tacos.
The bawdy tales of Boccaccio in The Decameron.
And last, but certainly not least, mastering the art of novel-writing.
Digby Ponder. E-mail address: email@example.com
Wednesday 5 March 1996 11.43.37
Dear Rudy. No sooner had I made it up with N over the great Tacos disaster, than fate was standing ready to deliver another coup de pied au region genital. Monday morning, stiff from a night on the sofa, I foolishly decided that I would nevertheless have a sesh on the weight-bustin' Nordic skier. I put some Wagner on the tape-deck (gets me going), mounted up, put both feet in the restraints, took up the reins, fixed the Nordic skier's perpetual smile of "virtue through exercise" on my mug and - as the Ride of the Valkyrie got under way, pushed my left foot forward with gusto and my right foot backwards with truly Wagnerian emphasis. The restraint on the right foot snapped and my leg kept on going. The one on the left held - so that maintained its journey in the oposite direction. Primary result: involuntary splits, with gonads resting uncomfortably on one splintered ski. Secondary result: badly pulled hamstring and a week off work. Tertiary result: two days at the screen and on the phone to the Netizens Unite helpdesk, setting up my very own Homepage. Visit and enjoy!
Wednesday 5 March 1996 12.02.21
Dear Arianna. Thanks for your suggestions about sites. Wells Fargo was good. It even tells you what colour the upholstery in the standard stagecoach was - so expect to find Bug Cody (my hero) spending some time on his quest westward slumping back into pomegranate red leather coverings, or pounding the steam-bent limewood of the interior doors. Most of the other stuff was splendid, too. Cowboys.clothing, horses.equipment, wild-west.firearms all turned up fascinating material.
Unfortunately, your recommendation of cowboys.secret.life led me into some unexpectedly murky waters! It does seem to me that a large number of our fellow Net-users are unusually frank. I had absolutely no idea there could possibly be "40 ways of pleasuring your man by hand", let alone what it had to do with the Old West.
Anyway, I'm sure you don't want to hear any more about that. Good luck in your exams next week - it seems only yesterday that I, too, was 21 and in college. In fact, it was a good six or seven. Message me soon.
With many thanks, Digby.
Thursday 6 March
Dear Arianna. No, I'm not shocked. You just imagine, don't you, that beautiful young women from the West are all rather religious and restrained. Given that I couldn't get beyond 10, your revelation that 40 seems conservative to you was a surprise. And I am glad that you felt able to tell me this. Of course, some of my friends, if they heard of this discussion, might ask what the 45 actually were. But I would never be so ungentlemanly.
Changing the subject entirely, do you ever plan to visit this country? Tell me if you do, and it would be my privilege to show you around our historic city.
Friday 7 March
Dear Arianna. I honestly did not expect you to list all 45, let alone describe them. The first 20 do seem rather wonderful. Round about 30 they got kinda hard to follow and occasionally even painful. Nos 40-45 sound both expensive and, well, unspontaneous.
Still, since reading your message, it has got rather hard to concentrate on anything else!
No, Paris is in France, which is sort of next-door to us. But you can easily get from here to there. It is crossing the Atlantic that is the difficult part. Talk to you tomorrow.
Saturday 8 March
Oh God, Arianna, me too. More soon. Love, Dig.Reuse content