This entry isn't about my left tonsil, although, if it wasn't for that sinister inflammation, I'd be righteously teaching the youth of Muttonham the finer points of the visual arts at this very minute.
As it is, I am hunched in front of the glowing screen in my purple bathrobe, nursing lukewarm echinacea tea, listening to internet radio and reading Lauren Winner's Real Sex (which the M left, conveniently, on the kitchen table).
I try not to write about sex here, but since this is in the form of a non-confessional book review, it is well within the purview of this blog.
I have to confess, I skimmed/skipped the first three quarters of the book. I did this for a few reasons.
- I read all the righteous sex-is-only-for-people-married-to-each-other books that my mother gave me back in the 80s.
- I attended those 90s InterVarsity sex lectures, too (that inevitably began with the presenter confessing to years of porn abuse or some other shocking sexual deviance)
- I believe it. From what I saw in my skimming, she outlined an ethic and view of the body that I already espouse.
nb, I double checked the spelling. Both inflamed and inflammation are orthographically correct.