electricshame

Train Ticket

2010-08-26T05:59:00.000-07:00

Friend: I need to book an open ticket from London to Edinburgh, leaving today.

East Coast Mainline Employee: OK, sir. Heading up for the Fringe are we?

Friend: No, my mother has just been hit by a car and killed.

ECME: ….

ECME: So, not really a holiday then?

Friend: No.

Fnarrr

2010-08-25T06:14:00.001-07:00

Further to my previous update, here comes another (you lucky, lucky bastards).

So my made-to-order iPad case hasn’t turned up yet. Which has annoyed me muchly. I mean, how long can it take to send a made-to-order iPad case from San Francisco to London? By standard post?

Oh, standard post?

[edit] I have checked with the US mail people, and they say it can take a while, and I shouldn’t worry too much just yet.

Either that or Royal Mail have lost it.

Anyway, no one other than me cares about my made-to-order iPad case, so this is all neither here nor there.

Erm.

I wish there was something exciting to tell you. But quite honestly, there isn’t. The Tranny Olympics (yes) didn’t even happen last weekend, so I can’t tell you about running around East London in a pair of heels. Because I wasn’t wearing them. I could make it up, I suppose.

Maybe that’s what all the interesting bloggers do?

oh, hai

2010-08-06T03:17:00.001-07:00

Shall we have yet another stab at this?

I haven’t written anything in quite a long period of time, other than the occasional Facebook status update, or rant email to a train company – and to be honest I kind of miss it. So here I am again, tapping away when really I ought to be working.

The guy who just last week was texting me to say he ‘missed me’, and who was telling his friends he had met ‘someone he really likes’ has decided to go deathly quiet on me, so that’s the update on my so-called love life. It’s ok though, I am used to being constantly disappointed by practically everyone I meet, so don’t feel too sorry for me.

In other news I am currently working as a contractor in a job I hate. And being a contractor in the Civil Service really isn’t the best place to be right now, you know – with the Conservative Party all hell-bent on ruining the country for everyone. I am more than likely going to be axed at some point uncomfortably soon. This is awesome news. I LOVE being unemployed. And losing my home. And being declared officially bankrupt. It really puts a cherry on my sundae.

On the plus side, the made-to-order iPad case from San Francisco which I ordered two months ago has finally shipped. So that will cheer me up for 20 minutes or so when it finally arrives in a couple of weeks.

How are you?

so it has been a long time...

2009-12-26T17:47:00.000-08:00

Nearly a year has passed. And what a year. 2009 has been, quite literally, the worst year of my life.

Nothing has gone according to plan. I was made redundant from my job shouting at Architects in April, and spent a good three months doing very little before being offered a temporary job being personal assistant to an interior designer, who happened to be the ex-wife of a member of a world-famous pop/indie group.

Anyway, not to bore you with specifics: but the job front hasn't been good, nor has the boy front. The tall actor has played a specific part on this side of affairs... getting over him has plagued much of my time. And as such, it has plagued any pledgeling relationships I may have had over the past twelve months.

In December of this year events took a turn for the better. I have started a new job, and I now work in the fashion industry. I know, get me. And everything. I am still settling into it, and it is still all very new and scary, but - well - I am getting there. So 2009 hasn't been a complete waste of time. Which is a saving grace. But I am still without that special someone, which isn't fun. He needs to be here. Where is he?

2009-01-06T05:06:00.001-08:00

My perfect end to 2008 was crushed at 2:30pm on Wednesday the 31st of December when the tall actor decided that he really didn’t see any future with me, and ended things unceremoniously in his kitchen.

It was not unlike having a football boot hurl full swing at my stomach, and quite literally knocked the wind out of me.

In my little world everything was going perfectly. I was so incredibly, unbelievably happy. The happiest anyone has made me for longer than I can remember. I had just spent the most wonderful Christmas with the most wonderful man, and I was looking forward to bringing in the New Year with this person who had made the prospect of 2009 really terribly exciting.

So when he turned around and wiped all that off the chalkboard I was left a broken man. I am still somewhat a broken man. I guess I had finally let my guard down properly after we had the ‘boyfriend’ conversation. Now I realise it was partially this conversation which may have been the start of the end.

I miss him. I miss resting my head on his chest as he held me in his arms. I miss his smell. His smile.

I suppose letting my guard down was the worst thing I could have done. And in fairness, after dating for only two months it was probably not the right time for me to have opened my heart to him. But I did, I can’t turn back time, the overwhelming feeling of this man being ‘different’ than the others was, as it appears, not to be trusted.

I wish things could have been different.

I wish he was still mine.

And it ruined the New Year.

2008-12-30T06:59:00.001-08:00

So it would appear that the tall actor and I are now officially ‘boyfriends’.

Oh, merry Christmas everyone!

Yes, sorry for the tumbleweeds, I will brush them away. Shoo, shoo… bad tumbleweeds.

There. Better.

So, yes. The weekend before Christmas the best friend/ex-flatmate S (who has now moved into a rather lovely flat in Covent Garden with his boyfriend) invited some of us gays (and his mother) for Christmas dinner at his new place. This was on the Sunday before Christmas, and a lovely time was had by all. Yes, I got horribly drunk, and at some point in the early hours decided it would be a great time to slur into the tall actors ear that I wanted to be his boyfriend.

He seemed taken aback by this, but only as he had assumed we were at that point already, and had been for a while.

Whoops.

So, yes, I officially had a new boyfriend for Christmas. Which is nice. Very nice. Everyone seems to like him, some people a little too much, which is very affirming for someone like me – but also petrifying, because I am scared that at any moment he will realise that I am not as breathtakingly beautiful as he is and will leave me for a Calvin Klein model. Or something.

I hope he doesn’t.

Christmas day was spent at the other best friend (and now future flatmate) D’s place. There were four of us, which became 6 later in the evening. We had dresses and high heels. And we were fabulous. And fierce. And I now want to go to Trannyshack. And this is worrying me a little.

I don’t want to become a bad transvestite. I do NOT make a very convincing woman. Although I do have a very symmetrical face. Oh, and good pins. But other than that, the broad shoulders and big hands are a dead giveaway that all is not what it seems when wearing a pretty dress with a big bow and lipstick.

Still, Christmas was fun. And it is now the 30th of December and the hangover has almost completely disappeared.

So tell me, how was your Christmas?

2008-12-04T07:19:00.001-08:00

So I am having a rubbish week at work. Well, to be frank, most of my weeks at work are rubbish, but this one especially so. Bloody rubbish. Really bloody rubbish.

I won’t bore you with the specifics, it really isn’t worth it.

And I am also really bloody tired. I think I need some time off. I have not had the motivation to go to the gym since Sunday, I nearly went last night, but chickened out at the bus stop and bought a packet of Marlboro Lights instead. Bad move. Very bad move.

I have not bought a packet of cigarettes in weeks. This cannot be a good sign.

The tall actor is making up for my bad general bad mood by offering small periods of joy, but this is in itself proving to be a problem: I think I have properly fallen for him (lets not get ahead of ourselves here – I am talking about infatuation, not love), and at this point I do not know for certain what his feelings are for me. When we are together this is fine, I am just happy for him to be there – but when we are apart, which is most of the time, my already downtrodden mind starts churning things around. A text goes un-replied to for more than 15 minutes clearly means he is not at all interested and never wants to see me again.

I have to run to the disabled toilets for a quick game of solitaire on the iPhone to calm myself down.

And then I go back to the desk and get back to waiting for his response. Eventually it will arrive and I will be happy again, for another 15 minutes.

This is a problem I have at the beginning stages of most of the relationships I have ever been in. And is probably the main reason I am still single. I am way, way too needy. It manifests itself in a need for constant reassurance that I am wanted, that I am needed, that I am attractive and that I am better than all of the other options.

Yes, yes, I am quite insane.

Anyway, I am at this exact moment in time during one of these ‘waiting for a reply’ periods. I small flurry of text messages an hour or so ago culminated in me asking the tall actor out on a date tomorrow evening. Then the texts stop. My question is hanging in the air. And the first thing my head settles on is not “oh, he must be busy – he will reply when he has a chance,” no, it is instead “oh, he obviously doesn’t want to see me ever again and must wish I was dead/in France”.

I am going to go the gym after work and take it all out on my abs.

2008-11-27T16:48:00.000-08:00

Things I have learnt over the past few days: the 277 bus is a social
creature and prefers to travel in large groups of other 277s, while
the 48 is a solitary creature, traveling alone and seldom seen in the
wild.

2008-11-25T05:35:00.000-08:00

Oh, and I didn't mention, the tall actor and I *have* done it now! And it is good. And he is very good at it.

Huzzah!

2008-11-25T05:33:00.001-08:00

Well that was a long time between posts now, wasn’t it? Oh, I apologise. It has been a bit manic around these here parts of late.

Firstly, I have been going on lots of lovely dates with the lovely tall person. Well, that was until he disappeared off to the Mediterranean to continue filming the film he is in. However, he is back on Sunday… so, I aim to re-commence lovely dates at that point.

Secondly, I have been extremely busy with the day job shouting at Architects.

Thirdly, I have been busy socialising. And have realised that I am probably going to have to become a hermit over the next month as to be able to afford some kind of Christmas. This was an accounting error on my part, and it will be interesting to see how this plays out. I always manage to be my most skint during the run-up to Christmas, which often results in family and friends getting the shittest of presents.

I think I bought my mother an umbrella a couple of years ago. Yes, an umbrella. And not even a particularly nice one. She feigned delight. She couldn’t open it indoors, which would have been bad luck, so to test out her gift she had to stand outside the front door, in Yorkshire, in December, in her pyjamas, to see if the damn thing worked. It did, so all was well.

My father visited London on Saturday, so I took him to my fabulous private members club with a pool on the roof for lunch. It was kind of a ‘just look at me now’ moment that I had been really looking forward to, and it didn’t disappoint. Plus, he paid. Which is a bonus. He brought his new wife along too. Which was. Um. Nice.

Oh, and the weekend before last it was the housemate (S)’s birthday. We all got terribly drunk and had too much sherbert (sp?). Funny story; I took the tall actor home with me that night, and being too drunk we didn’t do any of the sexing, but instead fell asleep. I was sure I had fallen asleep with my boxers on, but woke up naked. The tall actor gently informed me the next morning that he had been woken up by a randy little me attempting to initiate sexual relations. Unfortunately, I was fast asleep at the time. I have now been branded the ‘sleep rapist’, which isn’t really a reputation I want to have. Especially now that I know this snippet of information has leaked to one of my most big-mouthed friends. Anyway, apparently the actor had seen a television documentary about sleep walking earlier in the week, and there was a snippet about ‘sleep sexing’ and he had been informed that it was a bad idea to try to wake someone up while this was happening as it could result in the sleep walker, or sexer, becoming violent.

This petrifies me. And I wonder how many people I have had sex with without realising it. I have shared beds with straight friends, for goodness sake!

Anyway, he wants to see me again, so I clearly haven’t scarred him too deeply.

The following day the best friend D and I travelled from London to the South Coast in our hungover states to see Eddie Izzard play his home-town of Bexhill. Bexhill is, well, quiet. There was not too much for two London gays to do of an afternoon. We walked up and down the pebble beach. And then it got dark.

We got home at 1:30am.

How are you people?

2008-11-13T03:34:00.000-08:00

Last night I dreamt that Daniel Craig invited me to his hotel room to show me how he could piss on his own face.

Unfortunately, while on our way to his hotel room I got distracted by a bunch of old school friends, and decided to go to the park with them instead.

Now why would I want to do that? My subconcious is telling me I would rather spend time with a bunch of school friends I now have nothing in common with, over watching one of Hollywoods true 'hunks' performing a humiliating and self-depreciating act for my sexual amusement?

Not bloody likely.

2008-11-12T05:03:00.001-08:00

Well, the second date went well, and I must admit I enjoyed ‘Quantum of Solace’ more than I expected to… although that hotel towards the end was a health and safety officers’ worst nightmare. All it took was one little car crashing in the underground car-park in order to destroy the entire bloody building. Marvellous. The architect would be kicking himself.

But I digress.

The tall Actor and I held hands throughout the film, stroked arms, that sort of thing. We leant on each other. It was nice. We then went to a small Italian restaurant where we discussed our lives over authentic cuisine from the region. Along with authentic wine from the region. There was a bit of hand holding across the table, and lots of footsie under it. Sickening, right?

Then to the bar, where the drinking continued and the snogging began. All over each other. In the window. Hands up shirts and everything. He obviously goes to the gym, his lean 6’4’’ frame sports the most wonderful pair of pectorals, and one of those stomachs that makes me go weak at the knees. The kind of stomach you just want to come all over. You could grate cheese on it, I think.

But, I have still not seen him naked. And to be honest, this is fine by me. I am enjoying this old fashioned dating thing… and I think he is too.

Next one is booked for Friday. Friday Friday Friday.

Friday. Yessum.

2008-11-11T13:01:00.000-08:00

This is just a quick post to see if I can use the blogger email thing
on my
iPhone.

Oh, tonight is the night, tonight is the night.

2008-11-10T08:47:00.001-08:00

So the weekend was a giggle. The housemate/best-friend ‘S’ and I got the train out of London on Friday evening and hurtled our way down to the South Coast to visit his family who live just outside of Portsmouth.

I don’t know if you have ever been to Portsmouth before, but if you haven’t, and do not have the promise of a weekends free food to lure you, I would recommend you stay clear of this particular corner of England.

I have been twice now. I actually spent last Christmas there. And, well, what I suppose it does have going for it is how hilarious the provincial gay scene is around those parts. I have never seen so many fat lesbians in all my life. They were everywhere. And they seemed to be multiplying. Oh, and the MEN. I actually saw Ben Shirman shirts. On gays! I know! Who would have thought?! Anyway, it’s true.

So on Friday night we did that, and saw them and had one too many JD and cokes, and stumbled into a taxi home.

The rest of the weekend involved me and a sofa, and S’s mother doting on me hand on foot. Sandy is a wonder to behold. I love my mother to pieces, but Sandy takes the biscuit. Your glass is never empty. Your bowl of nuts always within stretching distance. Cups of tea. And a Sunday roast worthy of…. um… a MEDAL. Or something. It was very, very nice. Very nice.

We got home yesterday evening, watched half a horror movie over an order from Pizza Hut and then went to bed.

Date night tomorrow. The actor and I have been texting like schoolgirls all weekend. It’s cute.

2008-11-07T07:27:00.001-08:00

Date 2 is now booked for Tuesday of next week.

Huzzah.

2008-11-07T05:57:00.001-08:00

So I had a date last night. We ended up kissing on the roof of Shoreditch House. In full view. He is 5” taller than me. I like this. He is handsome. I also like this. He has great arms. This is also another plus point.

But he is also intelligent, and a good conversationalist… which is a rarity these days it would seem. We talked about everything, from the ubiquitous US election results, through to Olympic Airlines and, interestingly, urination and not being able to shit when there is someone else in the same room.

I guess this means he wouldn’t necessarily be into scat. This is not too much of a problem.

Anyway, I guess the point is, this is the first date in a long time that has made my stomach jump. The first one in a long time that has left me with a feeling of excited nervous tension. The first one in a long time where I would be quite happy to see him again… immediately.

As he waited with me for a taxi to take me home a possible second date next week was mentioned. I told him I would text him.

As I sat in the cab I got a text message.

“Not if I text you first.”

Interesting.

2008-10-30T09:52:00.000-07:00

First things first; it snowed. In central London. And lasted more than three minutes. I am happy about this.

Second things second; I have been feeling incredibly depressed for no apparent reason all week.

Third things third; I think I have made a date with a hot person.

Fourth things fourth; I am going to be visiting my mother this weekend, which means a long train journey, where I will be able to write a much more lengthy and, maybe, amusing post.

Until tomorrow, then.

2008-10-23T06:28:00.001-07:00

There was no hot boy in the gym yesterday. And the steam room was broken. Damnit. But I did manage to work with slightly higher weights than I have been using until now, which is progress? And the shower had both shower gel AND shampoo in it, which is a rarity.

Not much to report this week all being said – I was off work sick on Monday and Tuesday; originally due to feeling under the weather, and then a bout of insomnia on Monday night. Not fun. I could have been up all night having sex, alas it is hard to find someone up for an all-night seeing to on a weekday. Although I am sure I could have found someone on gaydar. No, the BBC News website was fine for me.

I did get chatting to a nice looking lad on Facebook on Tuesday while I was on my sofa though – and we have arranged a coffee date on Saturday which I am looking forward to. I hope I am not too wrecked from Fridays inevitable craziness to not be on form… let’s see! And then on Saturday evening we are all heading down to the ICA to attend ‘Gay Bingo’. Fun. Fun fun. Drag Queens and Bingo are two of the most wonderful things put on this earth. Cough.

What else is new?

I fell down the stairs while getting ready for work this morning. Damn sleepy fool that I am. I landed, much like an old lady, on my hip. Ow.

Oh, and I have to work later than I usually do today – which has pissed me right off something rotten, I can tell you.

Buggerit.

2008-10-17T05:44:00.001-07:00

I don’t go to a gay gym. I mean, gyms tend to be ‘gay’, but I don’t go to one that specifically caters for men who like Christina a little bit too much. No, they are called ‘Chariots’. Or ‘Virgin Active’. I get confused.

So anyway, when there is a hot boy in the gym I try not to look too much, because chances are they will be straight and might kill me with a free-weight.

Anyway, there was a hot boy in there the other day. I first spotted him as I was on the cycling machine thing, and he was on the running machine thing, and he had great legs and a perfectly sculpted bottom. And arms. I am an arms man. He had arms. I like arms. His were good. Did I mention he had good arms?

He had good arms.

Anyway, I stole a couple of glances as I was trying to pull too heavy a weight on the lats training thing. And I noticed we caught each others’ glance a couple of times.

I went to do some back stretches (laying on my front) in order to hide the growing erection emerging in my baggy sweat-pants (jogging bottoms, I think we call them over here).

An hour later, cut to the changing rooms. I have just finished my steam and shower and am fishing clothes out of my locker, when he walks in and opens the door to his compartment (giggles) which is only a couple down from mine. He looks at me again. And then very carefully starts taking things out of his locker. Coat. Book bag. Jeans. Gym bag. Prowler bag.

Prowler bag?

He holds this infront of me just long enough for it to be obvious that he is DEMONSTRATING his homosexuality. He then wanders off into the showers and gives me a cheeky wink.

I hope he is there again next week.

Arms.

2008-10-16T03:39:00.001-07:00

Like a prayer.

Being card carrying homosexuals, the housemate and I, the various works of Madonna are played relatively frequently in the flat. We have recently been exploring forgotten delights such as ‘Dear Jessie’ and the hilariously camp rendition of ‘More’ from Hanky Panky, that Dick Tracy thing she did.

I acknowledge the fact that the last paragraph makes my housemate and I appear to be screaming, pink-glitter-top wearing, musical-theatre loving fags – and, well, we can be on occasion (minus the pink glittery tops), but usually we avoid the camp extremes.

But it’s Madonna, you know? So we can get away with it. At ear splitting volumes. Screaming ‘TIME GOES BY, SO SLOWLLLLY’ to the .mpg of the ‘Confessions’ tour I illegally downloaded off the internets. Have you confessed yet?

So, anyway, a few weeks into her ‘Sticky and Sweet’ (Justin singing ‘Ma-dor-nah’ in 4 minutes) the news have finally broken that she is to split from her loving husband, Guy Richiepoos. Who, according to Madge’s brother is an evil, sword wielding homophobe.

I welcome this move. Madge needs a gay husband, a la Vivienne Westwood. Someone to carry the small dogs, and who would be absolutely delighted with going dildo shopping with the missus. Someone to pluck Lourdes’ fucking eyebrows (I mean, seriously? Does she not have a mirror? Or a webcam?).

What we don’t need is the worlds biggest gay icon (other than Vaseline and the GUM clinic) being married to a posh boy with a fake Essex accent who occasionally likes to make vaguely homophobic comments, and shit films. It’s not like he is even attractive. Mrs R? Fuck off.

So, who is going to be next? One of her hot dancers, I hope. Possibly Brazilian, and wearing little more than a pair of bright red speedos. Rodrique, or something. Us gay boys need an icon with a nice lump of cock hanging off their arm at premiers and society galas. Not an East-End gangster wannabe, who will no doubt be gracing our screens along side Babs Windsor in the Queen Vic as soon as his £20m reported payoff from Queen Vogue has been spent (on guns, and sherbert, and a new bungalow for mummy).

Fuck the credit crunch, the biggest news this year: Madonna is single, and like totally back on the game. Grrowwl.

2008-10-13T03:36:00.001-07:00

Busy weekend. As you know, I took Friday off – so on Thursday night D and I went to the gym (ow. ow ow), then for a quick dinner and later headed over to the Joiners Arms in Shoreditch for a few drinks, some boy-watching and to pick up ‘supplies’ for Friday night. Nice little evening.

On Friday I had a blissful time during the day sat at home doing nothing but watch television, browse the internet and masturbate. Hey, I am not ashamed… it is great when you can spend some quality time getting intimate with yourself. I would have preferred a sparring partner, but my little black book is a bit on the thin side lately… and everyone else was at work, and not logged into gaydar.

Friday night was interesting. The Ting Tings were great. I have developed a fully blown crush on the brother (the band is made up of two siblings, one boy and one girl) who plays the drums… the arms on that man. Sigh, if only. From there D and I jumped on the Tube back to Shoreditch, where once again we ended up at the Joiners. A few mutual friends and acquaintances to bump into, a really hot guy in a checked shirt wearing Sam Sparro style glasses who I regret not saying hello to, and plenty of drug-addled filthy gays. Love it.

I woke up on my sofa, fully clothed, at 10am on Saturday morning.

Saturday and Sunday were much quieter, and extremely enjoyable days. Saturday was spent by the pool at Shoreditch House with some friends, drinking fruit juice and water, having healthy salads and not so healthy desserts. D and Grace were there, and we ended up all heading back to D’s flat where we made a beef stew and watched X-Factor on the tellybox. From there I ran out to meet my housemate S to catch a film (Mirrors. Horror. Ridiculous), followed by an early night.

Sunday consisted of the gym, and then another afternoon in the sun (23 degrees!) again on the roof of Shoreditch House… this time with N, a guy I met a few months back while he was ‘performing’ in a porn film being shot in my flat (don’t ask). The most amazing body. Which he had out all afternoon. Which was nice to look at. But made me feel inadequate and self conscious in comparison. I kept my T-shirt on. Apart from while swimming.

Yesterday evening I sat and watched the Peter Kay special on Channel 4, decided it was a bit on the rubbish side of average and watched an Eddie Izzard DVD instead… and then fell asleep to BBC News 24 on the laptop in bed. Success.

2008-10-09T05:20:00.001-07:00

So this week is killing me. It has been non-stop at work. I am grumpy. I am tired. And I have broken out in stress-induced spots. I am not feeling very pretty.

On the other hand:

I am going to the gym with my friend D this evening. I am going to spend at least 30 minutes opening my poor little pores in the steam room. I am going to have a nice dinner somewhere lovely. I have the day off tomorrow.

Yes. I have the day off tomorrow.

And I can’t wait.

I am going to do as very little as possible. Though I may buy a face mask thing and sit and watch daytime TV, interspersed with moments of horizontal alignment on the sofa with slices of chilled cucumber over my eyes. I am going to play lots of Sigur Ros, Goldfrapp and Lemon Jelly, interspersed with the soundtracks from ‘Notes on a Scandal’, and ‘Amelie’.

In the afternoon I may go for a swim.

I am also going to overdose on effervescent vitamin tablets, Saint John’s Wort and mineral water.

Because I have a big night planned for Friday, and I want to look good. I want to feel good. And I want people to look at me and comment on how refreshed I look. And I want to wash this week right off.

Yes.

2008-10-07T02:50:00.001-07:00

I was supposed to meet an ex-boyfriend for a coffee yesterday evening (dangerous at the best of times), and as we had planned to meet in Shoreditch at 7pm I decided it would be a good idea to pack the old gym kit and head straight over from work to the club before the coffee/moaning session commenced. The ex cancelled our coffee in the afternoon, but I figured I should still go to the gym because, you know, I already had my Nike jogging bottoms and vest in my bag.

So, off to the gym I went.

It was empty, apart from one really incredibly hot guy who probably goes to the gym, oh I don’t know, at least three times a day. And me. With my 3-week in gym physique (read: skinny, but with more bumpy bits than I am used to). And he decides to do his bicep curls on the bench next to mine. He was using 20 kilo weights, to my 8 kilos. It was like watching a homo-gym version of ‘Little and Large’.

I got the last laugh though, he tripped over a loose shoelace as he got up and went flying across the floor… the momentum of his weights didn’t help, and he landed in a rather embarrassing position of tangled arms and legs.

When my sets were over I gracefully rose to my feet, sauntered over to the weight rack and neatly placed my puny little dumbbells down, elegantly. Dabbing the few stray beads of sweat from my brow daintily; with a little white towel.

All because I could remember the first rule in P.E. class from being 6 years old: always double knot your laces.

I was not so sophisticated later on in the evening, sat with a friend watching a film belching and bubbling after drinking a protein shake too quickly, followed by a glass of coca-cola.

2008-10-06T06:03:00.001-07:00

Dancing like a whore with the best friend/housemate at Popstarz on Friday night; scarves, duffel coats and dog walking in the park on Saturday, and a morning spent in South London amusing myself at ‘Wimpy’ on Sunday (along with the gym, and the ‘Secret Policeman’s Ball’ on the television with a Chinese takeaway) and my weekend was all over far too soon. I was just starting to get into the swing of it.

I did get cruised by a really hot guy all the way home on the bus after the gym though. I very nearly introduced myself, but I have learnt from past mistakes never to pull on the public transport network.

They tend to wind up being closet transvestites/Nazi sympathisers.

2008-10-01T05:45:00.001-07:00

So last night I had dinner with Grace and her boyfriend, Tom. They have one of those happy cute relationships where they constantly take the piss out of each other, but you can still see the love.

The conversation is always odd between Grace and myself, we are extremely cliquey, and our friendship revolves around in-jokes and an inside-out knowledge of each others’ psyche. Apparently it can annoy outsiders who happen to be in our company. But the strange thing about her relationship with her boyfriend is that somehow as he knows everything about her, he has figured out everything about me.

The first time I met Tom was at Grace’s birthday a year and a half ago, or so, and as I was introduced he asked if I fancied a beer. I was feeling particularly cheeky that day and responded:

“Hello. I am C. I am a homosexual. We haven’t met. Bloody Mary, please…” and shook his hand.

I think that started us off on the right foot.

So anyway, the conversation last night included lots of talk about Tom and Grace’s sex life, the life Grace and I are going to have after Tom dies (after our respective husbands pass away, Grace and I are going to spend our twilight years on cruise ships with prostitutes), and how much Tom likes to surprise Grace with his tea-bagging antics.

We all know what tea-bagging means, stop giggling.

Apparently, while watching television a few days ago Tom gets up from the sofa to go get some chocolate. Absentmindedly, Grace holds her arm out over the back of the sofa while she carries on watching Corrie (or whatever) and waits for her chocolate delivery.

Chocolate was not delivered to her waiting palm.

You get the idea.

We then went on to discuss what would happen if Tom were to be tragically killed and Grace was left manless and childless. If this were still the case by her 35th birthday I am to impregnate her using a turkey-baster.

P.s. The mussels were delicious. Tom did roasted tomatoes with pesto for a starter. I bought cider, fresh bread and desert.

2008-10-01T00:41:00.000-07:00

After the gym yesterday evening I am sat on the bus admiring the forearms of the married city banker sat next to me. I think he knows I am staring, but doesn't seem bothered.

We stop to let someone off, when I get a tap on the back of the head.

It's muscly Californian... he is getting off the bus, he waves and watches me as we drive away.

I get a text: "You looked cute."

I reply: "I look knackered."

2008-09-30T05:02:00.001-07:00

So yesterday evening D (dear/best friend, once completely debauched now seems to have settled into a life of cutesy coupled bliss), S (another dear/best friend, fabulous PR in the fabulous music industry, dahrling) and C (long time acquaintance who I have had a little crush on for years, but nothing has ever happened) went for dinner at the oh-so-trendy Shoreditch House, of which I am lucky enough to be a member.

After a game of pool, and some connect four action (Monday is games night) we head over to the restaurant and order our food. I go for the politically incorrect meat. I don’t necessarily agree with the concept of veal, but god-damn is it tasty. As it turns out, my selection was the envy of the table – the other gays seemed a little under whelmed with their seafood dishes.

A few cocktails later and we were in the bar on the roof, the four of us for some reason playing scrabble. D has a cranial capacity well above that of my own, and he proverbially flounced us all… although the game was not played all the way through to its completion, when the bill came he was on 151 points to my 55. Damn his knowledge of long words.

Really there is no particular reason for this post. It was just a lovely little evening. Even though I managed to drop my bank card between the floorboards of the restaurant. Luckily it’s the kind of place that will bend over backwards for its customers, and I was informed this morning that they had the boards taken up and had fished out my card – so I can pick it up when I go to the gym there later on.

Oh, and a tall muscled Californian man I had kinky sex with a few months ago was there, having dinner with his ex-boyfriend. I got a text from him this morning informing me that he thought my dark haired friend (S) was cute, and has been lusting after him at the gym for some time. I found this a little offensive, texting a guy you have previously had sex with to hit on his best friend?

The amusing thing is that I know that S doesn’t fancy the Californian in the least. So ha. Ha.

This evening: drinks, mussels and girly giggles with my best lady friend, Grace.

Huzzah.

hello there...

2008-09-29T03:53:00.000-07:00

So, once upon a time I had my own dot-com weblog. I had a few regular readers. But, too many people knew it was me – especially members of my family, and I couldn’t be as open and honest as I would have liked regarding the, um, subject matter. And managing my own website just got, well, rather tedious. And I have a very limited attention span.

So, I let it die. The domain name lapsed last year. I have been blogless for some time now.

Recently, however, I have been getting back in to reading the inane ramblings of other people once again. Usually at work. Usually when I am so bored of what I *should* be doing that slipping into someone elses life is far more enjoyable.

So here I am. Back at the keyboard. Tapper tapper tapper.

I don’t think I have anything to say yet, but maybe I will soon – but for now – a few things about yours truly:

Yorkshire Boy
Work in the built environment
Gay
20-something
Recently started the whole homo-utopian gym thing (Adonis-like physique by Christmas is the goal)
Recently quit smoking
Recently became single

The rest, I am sure you will figure out…

Much love,