Boyfriend of the Week

Well Christmas can't come soon enough... and not because I find the holiday truly inspirational or anything like that, but purely because I need a rest!

In short:

* Work is HELL.

* I want to move to Melbourne NOW rather than in a year's time.

* I hate the fact that London is about to descend in to WINTER.

* I need SLEEP.

However, in order to avoid seeming absolulely negative.... here is my new BOYFRIEND of the WEEK:



Yes, I've been watching repeats of Secret Life of Us late at night to remind me of where I will be living in a year's time. And I've fallen in love all over again.

Break in Transmission

For now, I'm too busy to blog... so until next time:

Concuss-Head

I managed somehow to give myself concussion on Friday night (I wasn't *that* drunk, honest), but a few highlights of my last few days include:

The Birthday Party of a pair of Dandy Gay Twins;

Dinner at the Criterion with Angela Bishop who was absolutely charming in quite a right wing way;

and finally...

Bill Henson at the V&As' Twilight Exhibition.

Sick Note.

One of the consultants who works for me is a complete and utter nightmare. I think I've referred to him previously as TWG (The Welsh Gay). I don't actually have time to outline the extent of his nightmarish-ness, however, need to rant about one particular area of behaviour.

TWG is always (and I mean ALWAYS) afflicted with some type of illness or another. If not the flu, a diabetes-related condition (the diabetes itself is questionable), a kidney infection or a verruca (yep, waaaayyy too much information) - he is CONSTANTLY sick.

This year he has had something like 24 days off work for illness (more days than his holidays) and approximately 14 of those days have been on Mondays (chel surprise).

Last night I went out with the Handsome Lawyer for a catch up and he is working in employment law at the moment, he offered me some advice as to how I can sack him without fear of an employment tribunal - perhaps I'll take him up on that....

Master of Mystery

Whilst on the tube homeward yesterday I snuck a peek at the tall, dark, handsome man's reading material sitting next to me and saw that he was reading something called The Mystery Method.

I did a quick scan and was surprised to see that it was actually a document to do with how to pick up women. And in my opinion, the advice wasn't that great.

Firstly, I didn't think it was that great that the 'target' was being referred to as a 'victim'. Since when did females who are being hit upon become 'victims'?!?

One line I glanced at said something like:

"Take the victim down from their friends, family and home. Once isolated they have no outside support and in their confusion are easily led astray."

Yep, I think the Mystery Method is definitely the way forward. It was developed by someone who is named Mystery. I bet he's a laugh a minute.

I wonder if The Mystery Method works with the gays?

Turning

F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend), OBF (Other Best Friend) and I went to see Anthony & the Johnsons with Charles Atlas at the Barbican in a show called 'Turning'.

A show which celebrates gender metamorphosis; the women on stage were truly celebrated in their beauty - each and every one had their moment to 'turn'.

F/BF started crying in the first song and didn't stop for over four songs. Antony's voice was as fragile yet powerful as ever and his songs took on even more resonance with the beauties' images being projected behind him.

I said to F/BF and OBF afterwards that I felt like we were watching an historic event; I have a feeling that the performance will inform and inspire artists for years to come. Truly incredible.

I've just bought an...

Apartment! (... in Melbourne)

I now have no money! But I'm very excited!

This is my new living room!

Michael Clark

So I finally have seen a Michael Clark dance performance.

I've been wanting to see one since I heard about him back in the early 90s and he worked with Leigh Bowery.

It exceeded any expectations I had - absolutely incredible. Mmm... runs until the 4th November at the Barbican.

The dance was thrilling, fresh and provocative.

3 words: GO SEE IT.

Boyfriend of the Week

I haven't had a new boyfriend for ages; primarily because I haven't had time. However, F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend) and I went to see Marie Antoinette on the weekend (not bad, beautifully filmed but soooo languid that I got a bit bored) and I decided on my new Boyfriend of the Week.

Jamie Dornan - welcome. And the way you look, I think you might last a while. I won't mess you around like Keira did. Honest.

Adventures of the Jacketini

So I went out with my ex-boyfriend's brother (also a gay) on Friday night; I have always been very fond of him and he really makes me laugh - for a while he attempted to become fat enough to be labelled a bear; but only made it as far as cub status. We'll call him Cub for the purpose of this post.

I hadn't seen him for some time and have been working so hard that I knew I was well up for a few (aka many) drinks. We met at a very smart wine bar Grape Street in Bloomsbury and were surrounded by a mixture of very polite punters.

I'd decided to kill some time before I met him by shopping. For baby clothes. I've been going a bit mad since I found out my sister is pregnant, and now I've found out it's a girl I've been even worse. One of the items I purchased was an incredible double-breasted winter coat - in faux cream astrakan fur. It cost me more than I've spent on a single item of clothing for myself in some time - Cub and I decided to christen it "The Jacketini". A silence fell all around us and people nearby gasped when I pulled it out to show him.

Anyway, after 3 bottles of wine we foolishly decided to stumble to Trash Palace (why, oh why?!) where we carried on drinking until 3am.

I awoke the next morning with a vague recollection of knocking so loudly on the front door of my mews house to wake up F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend) to open the door for me. I had forgotten that my house keys were in my pocket and not only woke up F/BF but half of the neighbourhood in the process. I quickly glanced around my room to see that I had my phone, wallet and shoulder bag - they were all present and accounted for. Then a horrible thought slowly dawned on me: Where is the Jacketini and other baby clothes?

I scrambled out of bed and did a search of the entire house - surely they were dumped in the hallway or on the stairs? No, no Jacketini to be found.

Obviously I went in to complete and utter meltdown. I was sure that having left them in the Palace of Trash that some lesbian couple had taken them for their soon to be born baby - why wouldn't they? Who wouldn't?

On speaking to Cub he informed me that he'd left his bag there as well and was going to check with the bar (once it reopened) to see if the Jacketini there. I was unhopeful.

Later that day Cub called me and gleefully screamed down the phone that the Jacketini was safe! I was so happy I could have kissed him. Somehow it managed to escape the clutches of the soon-to-be-lesbian-mothers and my soon-to-be-born-neice will be the most glamorous of all Perth babies.

I only hope that tonight is not a repeat performance...

Humour Me.

Was this when he was at his most beautiful? Yes, yes, it was.

Shoulder Pads

Moan of the day.

As I mentioned, we've had a new trainee - we'll call her Cheeky Mare (CM) for the purposes of this post (she's lovely and cheeky in a good way) - start at my company about a month ago who I'm responsible for managing. We have set her targets together; I believe that people are best motivated when self driven - we are all unique creatures and different people are motivated by different things.

Ginger Boss (GB) decided today that she was obviously not involved enough in this process - perhaps she doesn't think I'm doing my job as manager properly (!?) - so decided to pitch our two consultants against each other in a 'competition' which will culminate in a prize for the person with the best sales figures.

It's really pissed me off. I mean, firstly; obviously she thinks it is entirely reasonable to undermine me as a manager. Secondly, how bloody eighties-power management-padded shoulders does she want to be?!!

Can you tell I'm completely over my job?

Over and Out

I could write about my brilliant weekend. I could write about how full on my job is right now. I could write about my attempt to buy an apartment in Melbourne. But I'm not going to. I've got something I have to get off my chest.

I am SO VERY BORED with Kate Moss. Yes, she of the slightly dirty looking face/hair; the drug-addled boyfriend whose band has just cancelled the rest of their tour because he's doing 'so well' at rehabilitating; the 3 year old child that has to live with the fact her mother is a drug dependent loser.

Why is it that this stupid, irresponsible woman still manages to stay on top?

How long ago was it that she was caught with her noseful of the white powder? Yet somehow she manages to be splashed all over our TV screens and magazines in what seems to be new contracts? What does this say about us, the general public?

Kate Moss - I think you should crawl under a rock somewhere. Frankly, you look dirty and you bore me.

Three Things

1. I feel ambushed by work. Right now it is overtaking my life. I don't live to work, I work to live - but right now, it feels the other way round.

2. I have the autumnal blues. All I can think about is the impending winter. At least it is going to be the last one in London I have to deal with for a while.

3. I miss having time to read all my fellow bloggers' thoughts. It sounds slightly ridiculous, but I've come to enjoy hearing about your lives and wonder what I am missing out on when I don't have the time to read you!

Hungover-Head.

This is about all I can manage today, after last night's little number. It's all Dale's fault. He made me drunken blog. Honest, he did.

Blog of the Drunk.

right.

we're talking about party lines. It was a late 80s/early 90s thing. You called a phone line and there was a group of people chatting all together. And we used to pretend that we were other people. That was the party line.

3 bottles of wine down - first time for drunken blogging.

OBF (Other Best Friend) and F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend) are talking about pretending to be people they are not. And paranoia. Something I'm quite familiar with.

oh I like alcohol.

Back to M.I.A.

Wedding of the Year

I'm such a busy bee at the moment with work that I don't have a moment to scratch myself let alone blog...

I feel the need to quickly list the highlights of the Wedding of the Year between Marito and Mad Girl. OBF (Other Best Friend) took the Wedding photos, I'll post one when I have one but in the meantime, here's the invitation.

Edited highlights...

* Marito (in his fabulous Ozwald Boateng suit) and I drinking champagne together before the ceremony to calm his nerves;

* The group of hilarious "A-list Gays" (NOT) including Big Brother's Josh Rafter looking pumped full of steroids and leaving the wedding early to go to Revenge;

* Mad Girl's fantastic fifties inspired, powder pink dress - and how much weight she'd lost! (laxatives, surely!?);

* The photo shoot on Brighton Beach with champagne;

* Wedding Speeches by Mad Girl's 2 sons - both made me cry;

* The Crispy Pork Belly I ate for my lunch;

* Ziggy slumped on a seat at the end of the evening asking random people to remind him what his name was.

Smooth Moves

I'm still here.

Just recovering from moving in to our new mews house.

And the Wedding of the Year.

Exhaust-Head.

Awakening

A little while ago, I ended up in bed with somebody who is a very good friend. We have been friends for some time - I really value his friendship. I have never done something like that before but it felt entirely right - there has always been a certain sexual tension in our friendship.

Bizarrely though, it awoke something within me. I've been by myself for a while now, and I think I had neglected to remember what intimacy at that level is like. Because him and I are good friends, the whole thing felt entirely natural and comfortable - tickling... laughing; he burped... I laughed; he held me in bed... I sighed.

I had thought for a while that I was better off being single - I know that this has to do with trust issues and resultant barriers I've placed around myself subsequent to The Wanker.

But this little interlude suddenly re-reminded me what is so good about being in a relationship - those pure moments of connection which might not seem that significant but feel really, really special.

Just a moment...

F/BF (Flatmate/Best Friend) and I started our move over the weekend. GB (Ginger Boss) had been kind enough to loan me her car so that we could start moving over things like books, glassware, crockery, etc. It wasn’t too bad, although by Saturday afternoon when I was driving the car across London back to GB’s place I was pretty exhausted.

By the time I reached GB’s I was desperate for a drink of the alcoholic variety and thankfully, so was GB. We ended up in Balham Kitchen & Bar, and one drink turned in to five. (Ziggy the devil strikes again).

Anyway, I had to take the tube home and feeling slightly intoxicated, put my iPod on. At Elephant & Castle station I changed on to the Bakerloo line, and on the way down the platform walked past a very attractive looking guy (Blonde Adonis) walking in the opposite direction. He glanced at me but I was almost certain he was straight. And even if he was gay, he was completely out of my league.

I got on the Bakerloo line tube in the last carriage and awaited the train to depart. Three minutes wait is a long time on the London Underground! Just before the train departed, I was slightly bewildered to see Blonde Adonis jump on to my carriage – why? Just a few minutes ago I had seen him walking in the opposite direction.

I soon realised that Blonde Adonis was rather drunk. He almost fell in to the woman sitting next to him when he sat down, and smirked to himself in a goofy stylee. I smirked back because I knew the feeling (and his smile made me feel warm and fuzzy). The tube is quite a surreal place when you’re drunk – you realise that everyone around you potentially thinks you are an idiot, but what do you care?

All of a sudden I realised that Blonde Adonis was staring intently at me. Of course, I refused to look anywhere near his direction. I am crap at situations like this, particularly when I find someone physically attractive.

A few stations on and Blonde Adonis stood up (almost falling on top of me in the process). He stood right in front of me and stared at me, before walking to the nearest door (stumbling in the process but pretending to stretch whilst glancing over at me).

As the doors opened, he looked at me and mouthed ‘get off here with me’. I obviously looked confused so he repeated the command ‘get off here with me’.

I shook my head (probably not that convincingly as I really wanted to get off with him – in every sense of the expression) and as the door pulled shut, he stood with his arms held wide apart and a sad puppy dog look on his face as the train pulled away.

A girl sitting opposite me then indicated for me to take my earphones out, which I did:

Tube Girl: “um…. Why the hell didn’t you get off with him??”

I so didn’t have a good answer to that question.