Honey button it is then.

Garcon! You have Canary Honey Rum? Then get the lady a Honey Button and don't kill the honey with too much lime.

So it's Luskkov who dresses your cool. Vairee nice.

Word reaches me that you've been dallying with my old pal Bill Goldman on your spare evenings Honey Button. What other adventures are you having these days? Bill's a charmer, but I've heard he's a bit hopeless in some situations - doesn't always hit the right button on the elevator for instance, so there you are still stuck on the ground floow when you thought he was taking you up to the roof garden...

Here's your honey, button...
Hey, give the lady a cocktail mat, purleese. We can't have her Lushkov sullied by sticky latino rum, now can we? That's better.

What's your name? OK Anton, take this. Now I want you to make sure this lady is treated right, OK? On my tab...

It won't happen again, honey button. Imagine serving it drooling down the glass like that. They need a little shaking up around here, but in the meantime, Anton will look after you, never fear. You'll get the best of service from now on.

Now, you were about to tell me all about your latest adventures.
Can't wait. Baby, I'm all ears...

Honey button it is then.

Garcon! You have Canary Honey Rum? Then get the lady a Honey Button and don't kill the honey with too much lime.

So it's Luskkov who dresses your cool. Vairee nice.

Word reaches me that you've been dallying with my old pal Bill Goldman on your spare evenings Honey Button. What other adventures are you having these days? Bill's a charmer, but I've heard he's a bit hopeless in some situations - doesn't always hit the right button on the elevator for instance, so there you are still stuck on the ground floow when you thought he was taking you up to the roof garden...

Here's your honey, button...
Hey, give the lady a cocktail mat, purleese. We can't have her Lushkov sullied by sticky latino rum, now can we? That's better.

What's your name? OK Anton, take this. Now I want you to make sure this lady is treated right, OK? On my tab...

It won't happen again, honey button. Imagine serving it drooling down the glass like that. They need a little shaking up around here, but in the meantime, Anton will look after you, never fear. You'll get the best of service from now on.

Now, you were about to tell me all about your latest adventures.
Can't wait. Baby, I'm all ears...

Darling that is perfect, nothing wrong with sticky fingers... part of the fun of a good honey button... honey.

Simply exhausted, entertained a very bright young thing last night down from your Northern parts. Introduced him to the big smoke, and a little smoke from my good friend Chang... I do so enjoy corrupting the youth, but just getting into my Egyptian cotton sheets as the birds were at their mating game, flirting with the morning sun, has drained me of all vitality today.

I may lay quietly in the King's Arms (no tattoos I hope) and listen in on you more energetic little comets.<br><br>Post edited by: Dotty S Parker, at: 2006/02/15 13:44

Tattoos? Certainly not.
Imagine getting up close and personal with someone resembling a willow pattern plate. Not for me sweetie. A healthy toned skin is far more acceptable in a close companion, even a touch of bottled sunshine, though that's a cosmetic of the deperate or destitute, really. Much more agreeable to top up in the tropics, on a tranquil beach by the great waters, such as my little Seychelles hideaway. I'm flying south for the winter in a couple of weeks. Would you care to top up your tan, honey button? - Though I had beter warn you, there's no electricty. Well, there's a generator, but it creates a hell of a lot of noise just to plug in a hair drier.

Does a month of continual glorious sunny days and steamy tropical nights hold any appeal for you? Or do you prefer the excitement of life surrounded by sex shops, clip joints and post production suites here in the infamous square mile that is Soho. A change might do you good. IOt always works wonders for me.

Surprise me later, don't tell me now. Would you like to eat? The choice is limited here, but I'm beginning to enjoy the buzz. It's like bees around a honey pot. You are causing a stir sweetie, they are all gazing at you in awe. Have they never seen a southern belle before?

To continue the finger play some yasai yakitori would be lovely... blow it, make it negima... after the last few months in the Maldives detoxing under the watchful glare of Frau Eidlewein I need to get my canines in some god blessed MEAT!

Suddenly all those curious young beaus are looking a little nervous. Was it something I said? I would blush but I don't seem to have that little trick in my clutch. I'll stick to a contemplative gaze instead.

But my dearest Scot, after my recent absence by the Laccadive sea, sleeping under the light of actual and not human stars, I am simply gasping for the detritous of Soho... hair dryers that are not reliant on the wiles of a generator (always female in gender in my experience, prone to conking out when someone less shaped like a prow of boat wishes to beautify themselves, jealous in their limited femininity) are the simplest of my requirements that Soho can fulfill... the rest are too depraved to mention... but sweet talk me and I probably will...

Dotty xx

Honey Button what you hunger for is something with a bit of body about it, tender and succulent, full of promise on the plate, but in the mouth simply bursting with pent-up flavour and full of those hidden essentials, reared on rolling green northern hills. A diet of Yukitory can never satisfy your inner needs and the long term results would be scrawny to say the least. It can never give you staying power sweetheart and you do so need that in this business.

It's simply not enough to look as if you are it, at this moment. You need to be the daintiest of thoroughbred fillies, out-classing all the rest but you also need enormous reserves of hidden stamina, drive and determination, second only to an Arab stallion, one that is fully capable of transecting desert, mountain and steppe at high speed for just as long as it takes. And, of course, you have to arrive at journey's end looking as if you simply strolled across a meadow to take a curious look at something that might possibly be of interest to you, or possibly not. It's other people's perception that you have to manipulate darling, you know that. But you have to be in training at all times and keep yourself in peak condition.

I recommend an intake of filet de bouef papillon supreme twice weekly, served at my table in the Savoy Grill. Bernard, the chef de cuisine there, is one of the few people in the world who know precisely how it should be prepared and cooked. A truly discerning chef, he sources his meat from my own farms. Filet papillon supreme is the most sublime and tender cut there is, sliced rather thick, then split and opened up to that butterfly shape. Flash fried in a VERY hot pan, lightly oiled, for just 30 seconds each side, then at reduced heat for one minute a side it becomes mouth-wateringly tender. The result is heavenly protein, moist ans succulent, with all the delicate flavour of the beef retained. It melts in your mouth Honey Button and then seconds later the after-taste arises, rich and full, like the finest chocolat noir. Mmm, heavenly delights.

You see darling, you are hungry already!
We shall dine there tomorrow....
I shall send my car around for you at eight.

I would love to introduce you to one of the greatest of life's pleasures immediately, but alas, at this hour it is night porter service alone, so you must wait. Anticipation will increase your appreciation. The interval will merely arouse your appetite and make it stronger. Once you have tasted the Aberdeen Angus from my estate in the Mearns, you will never again so much as glance in the direction of negima. There will be no slipping back into your old habits. You will be soon be fit enough to take on the world and beat it to submission at your feet, you only require some changes of direction and a discerning pallet to shape mnd mould your slender taste buds more firmly, so you will reach the hights of extacy with every meal you take. Bon appetit, cherie!

How did you enjoy the BAFTAs last night, sweetie? I so appreciated that heavenly ensemble with which you graced the occasion. It was, in the nicest way, deeply disturbing. Even David was totally charmed by you, so pre-occupied in fact, that I was forced to give him a nudge when Dickie announced his fellowship. I do hope the cameras didn't catch him staring at you. He'll die if they caught him with his mouth agape. Of course I don't blame him, you did look simply ravishing, but he did rather look as if that was what he wanted to do himself! It's never a good idea to be too public about these things, that is far too plebian. I tried to make my way over to you at the soiree afterwards, but found myself hemmed in by a posse of American starlets who all wanted to know what I wear under my kilt. I really wanted better company, but when I broke free from that mob, you were nowhere to be seen.

You definitely deserved the BAFTA for Best Frock, Honey Button. Darling you were positively tactile!! I could feel the fineness of that shimmering smooth silk slipping under my finger tips just looking at you. You were ceratinly dressed to undress in that creation. Was that one of Genny Lushkov's as well? He dresses you so well. There's little in that department I would want to change. Maybe the lightest of touches here or there, saving -if you would permit me - the masterstrokes for those special occasions where you simply have to burst out into a grateful, receptive world to give them release. They'll never be able to get enough of you. I guarantee that, hand on my skean dhu

But who should have got the Best Supporting Frock would you say?