Tonight, the Barnet Eye is doing sex. Well actually we're not as we're sitting here writing blogs, but you know what I mean.
There is an interesting story on the BBC. It says that if you want better sex, find a woman who has higher emotional intelligence (doubtlessly written by women with high emotional intelligence). I have a healthy scepticism of all polls about such issues. When I was a teenager, I laboured under the impression that everyone was having more sex than I was. There was one particular guy I knew who would regale us with his exploits. I was impressed, but I couldn't really understand what girls saw in him as he was a complete dickhead. One day he boasted about his exploits with a girl I was good friends with. Shocked at her sudden lapse in taste, I waited for a suitable moment and asked her what he had that the rest of us lacked.
Her response? She said that he was a a creep, he'd tried to snog her at a party when he was pissed and she'd told him to get lost. I then broached the subject of a few other mutual friends who he'd claimed were notches on his bedpost. Similar stories emerged. The said individual got a public dressing down shortly after. Since then I've never really believed any of these tales. Our old guitarist, Captain Ubungus, has a partner who's mother spent a year in the 1980's performing lengthy interviews with couples about their sex lives for a national government survey. Her verdict? don't trust surveys.
The Barnet Eye doesn't do personal advice, but if it did it would say this "never believe what your mates tell you about sex after they've filled up on the best lager in the world" - if you know what I mean. One thing which is a common theme in these tales. The bloke recounting the episode of great sex, in the pub after 10 pints, rarely refers to a current partner or anyone you've ever met or are likely to. I wonder why?
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