A Night-time Drama

The Boyf has fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, as usual, which inevitably means he's already snoring by the time I've cleaned my teeth and put on my best M&S nightie and hair-net.

I climb into bed, snuggle myself down under the duvet, pop my iPod on and open my book ("Dirty White Boy" by Clayton Littlewood, which a friend bought for my birthday. It's Clayton's diary of two years of owning the DWB clothes shop on Old Compton Street, and is a great read if you love Soho).

The Boyf's snoring takes on a harder edge as he slips further down into sub-consciousness, and in my ears the soundtrack to "The Dark Knight" is struggling to make itself heard. The quieter movements are drowned out completely, making me forget that I even have music on, and causing me to jump at a sudden crescendo.

I read for an hour, til 1am, as is my way. I'm not really tired but know I must turn off the light and try to sleep to be fit for work in the morning. The only light in the room is the table lamp on the other side of The Boyf, and he's clearly out for the count so I don't want to disturb him. So I decide to gently slip out of bed and walk round to turn it off.

All goes well until the light goes out, and I'm assaulted by the darkness. We'd bought especially well-lined curtains earlier in the year, to help us get to sleep when we troll in from a club at 8am on a bright summer Sunday morning, not realising that our days of doing that seemed to be numbered. The curtains, coupled with the fact that I've just had to stare straight at the lamp to find the switch, means I'm suddenly blind.

Ok, let's get back to bed. I retrace my steps, but misjudge where I am, and before I can stop myself I've caught my shin on the corner of the bed and I'm falling. On the way down I head-butt the chest of drawers and land in a heap, stifling a cry into a soft "Mumph". I lay there for a moment, whilst The Boyf stirs, but then his snoring returns to normal so I decide to get up. My leg hurts, and as I rub it I can feel something sticky, so I've obviously cut myself on the edge of the bed. Cheap bloody Ikea bed!

Back on my feet I still have to find my side of the bed, but have now lost all track of how far forward I fell. So once up I step boldly forward and "Crack!" face-first into the end of the door, which has been left ajar. I stifle another cry and listen for The Boyf, who's snoring doesn't miss a beat.

Bugger this! I turn in the direction of my side of the bed, stubbing my big toe on the other bottom corner of the bed and finally, softly, climb in on my side. I lay there breathing heavily for a few moments, trying to decide which part of me hurts more, and deciding that I really can't be bothered to find out how badly my leg is bleeding. I'll let nature take it's course with that one.

Finally I relax and move into my comfortable position ready for sleep.

Tomorrow I don't care whether he wakes or not - I'm leaning across The Boyf to turn out the light.

Oh, If I Must...

We've not been out much recently, and when we have I really don't seem to be in to it (and I'm aware that I've been saying that for some time now). So I'm in limbo at the moment, feeling odd if I stay in but not enjoying it when I'm out. Maybe this is part of growing up. A case in point was XXL on Saturday night, in which the intrepid/tepid (depending on your viewpoint) Freemasons took to the decks for a brisk/paltry set (90 mins) in which they seemed to only play their own productions. As I'd mentioned to a friend a couple of weeks before, a normal XXL night is a Freemasons production fest as it is, so how would we be able to tell the difference? The answer was, we couldn't. They might as well not have turned up, frankly, as most people didn't know what they looked like anyway and couldn't tell the difference in the music being played. Someone commented on how good they'd been at one point, and we had to inform him that the Freemasons hadn’t even started yet.

But it sure did bring in the crowds. XXL was rammed, with a 6 deep queue at the bars and no extra staff (as per usual). Quite how I managed to get enough drinks down me to end up plastered is quite beyond me, but I succeeded. And I had the mother of all hangovers on Sunday. She was an ugly, spiteful mother too, with a habit for foot-stamping.

And the tottie? Yup, there were hot men there, that's for sure, but the hottest guys would have gone to the simultaneously running Megawoof. But I just couldn't be bothered to make the effort with anyone. Yeah, I snogged a guy or two, but when 4 separate guys made it obvious they wanted to come home with us I made it pretty clear I wasn't interested (even though in all cases I really should have been, cause each was certainly do-able, and I'm kinda picky). I just couldn't be arsed (pardon the pun) with going through the motions of having to drag someone home and then spending a good couple of hours making like snakes on the carpet, and then having to kick them out afterwards. Perhaps The Boyf has got the better idea - he always ends up in a sauna, which is as quick and simple as you'd want.

So, I'm finding a general level of apathy for going out, and for picking up trade. In fact, my apathy seems to be spreading to other areas of my life, as you can probably tell with my incredibly lax blogging. I can't really be bothered to go to the gym (although The Boyf's ensuring that he forces me), and I'm eating badly. I think I know what's wrong, but the problem is too big for me to deal with at the moment, but it's not a revelation I want to be making here just yet. I know I can't let things go on forever though.

Allsorts Really

Well, let's see what’s been going on since my last post…

Well, the USA elected a new President. Some guy called Obama.

Erm, the F1 World Championship went down to a nail-biting, down-to-the-wire last race of the season. Some guy called Hamilton won (not the deserving winner if you ask me, but that's a whole other story (which I could quite literally bore you senseless with if you so wish)).

Erm, Laura White got voted off X-Factor, for no reason that I could fathom. Once she got over pretending to be Amy Winehouse it turned out she had an amazing voice. What’s worrying is that I came close to crying whilst watching the results show - I was bitterly disappointed for her after what seems a complete travesty. The worrying part was that I didn't come anywhere near crying when I found out Obama was in, but then why should I? Ok, he'll be the President of (arguably) the most powerful nation on Earth, but to be honest the cynic in me (who I try to keep as locked up as possible) wonders just what he's going to be able to accomplish. I want him to succeed, and he'll be a brilliant President, of that there is no doubt, but can he really bring about such a sea change to the USA? I'd be very happy for him to prove me wrong.

Most importantly though, the Dartford Toll has gone up by 50p. A nightmare for all those in Kent who love Lakeside. Which would be no-one. After all, Kent has Bluewater, which is like Lakeside but with all the trash removed.

Oh, and I had a birthday. My own, as it happens. I'm now in my mid late 30's. Apart from having to work I had a great day. I got a new phone (for the techies out there it's a Sony Ericsson C905 with the 8 megapixel camera - still resisting the lure of an iPhone), and loads of really cool presents (clothes, books, films, music). And in the evening The Boyf and I, plus OMBs and The Drag Queen went to a Turkish restaurant (Kazan) for what turned out to be an incredible meal. At the owner's recommendation (he's a mate of ours) we went for the Ottoman Feast and were blown away by the quality and quantity of food. I can't recommend it enough.

Also, it looks like my job isn't as safe as I once thought. In fact, yesterday I was told that things were getting better, today I found out that my team is going to be disbanded and people will be made redundant. So it looks like I might have a lot of free time soon to write this blog. Clouds and silver linings and all that…

My Move And Assorted Do-Dah's

Ok, I'm not happy at work anymore.

My little department has moved floors and now I'm… sitting with people. I don’t have a desk on my own anymore, and have to mix it with my minions. The first week was ok - it was quite a novelty having people to chat to about X-Factor.

I'm totally into X-Factor this year. That makes it sound like I'm not obsessed with it every year, which I am, it's just that this year it's been brilliant. The standard is so high, there are about 6 singers who deserve to do really well. The big fly still in the ointment - I'm not counting Daniel cause he's only there on a sympathy vote - is that nasty little melted plasticine faced Irish pixie-troll boy. Have you noticed that his name is actually spelled for the sound you make when you see him and are sick - Eoghan. Apparently it's pronounced Owen, but I'm having none of it. Frankly he unnerves me, and quite why people are voting for him is beyond me. Even the usually cynical Cowell (I still would, unfathomably) keeps telling him how great he is. I've come to expect such balderdash from Walsh, but not Cowell. Apart from Eoghan I'm not liking Rachel's rather typical 'tude, but that's about it. Even JLS managed not to annoy me this week.

Oh, Diana to win!

Now look what you've done? You've twisted my arm into talking about X-Factor. Naughty, naughty viewers.

So, I'm sitting with The Plebs at work, as I affectionately call them (not to their faces), and the novelty has worn off. I had one benefit; I found I had a clear line of sight to a hot guy (one of only about 3 in my building - considering there are 500 people working here that's not a good hottie quotient - this place is ugly), so at least when the chatter had turned to football or Gemma Arterton (as all the boys here seem obsessed with both, but not for the same reason I gather) I could stare at the hottie and have a little "moment" i.e. fiddle with myself under the desk. Except that this morning I walked into work to find someone's moved a cabinet directly across my line of sight. Bollocks!

Having said that I did go off the hottie a little last week. I popped to the loo and someone was in one of the cubicles… er… "making a noise". I think you know what I mean. Apparently he had a large number of kids to drop off at the pool and they didn't want to go quietly. I think you get me drift. Anyway, I was rapidly trying to leave the vicinity when the cubicle door open and out walked the hottie, looking rather flustered. I find it difficult looking at him in the same light now I've heard every bowel movement. I'd normally expect a nice meal and a snog before I get to that level of intimacy, so perhaps it's for the best that I can't see him anymore.

This post isn't very nice, sorry. You wait for weeks for something and I give you X-Factor and Number 2's. Hardly very high-brow. I do apologise.

Un-Narcoleptic

The Boyf's away for a week, so what do you think I've been doing?

Well, I can tell you what I HAVEN'T been doing - sleeping. I just can’t seem to drop off. If you read this post a while ago you'd already be familiar with my odd sleeping problem; I find it impossible to sleep without someone else in the bed. Now, I could play this to my advantage and use it as an excuse to tramp a succession of men into my home whilst The Boyf's away, but in actual fact I'm behaving myself. Mostly.

I decided to go to XXL on Saturday night, on my own for the first time in 3 years, and a very odd experience it was too. I was hit on the very moment I stepped in the door, but managed to fend the guy off even though he was very very cute. It was just too early to be thinking of such things. Luckily I wandered through to the other bar to find The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming and his husband, R, holding court, so spent much of the evening with them (whilst trying not to paw at TPWWSC too much, which seems to have become a habit recently).

As the evening progressed I got drunk, but not ridiculously so, and the cute guy I'd fended off earlier kept making his presence felt, to the extent that I ended up snogging him. Oops! Well, he was really cute. We then spent the next couple of hours dancing and chatting and snogging, before I decided enough was enough and headed off home. Shattered I fell into bed and… didn't go to sleep.

After about 6 hours of tossing and turning (which even the ever-present vaccuum cleaner couldn't quell) I got back up, got changed and wandered down the road to find The Drag Queen and a new neighbour of ours in a pub, after which we took the most random cab ride ever and ended up in the RVT.

Now, our new neighbour is a rugby player, and build-wise is more in the vein of a proper professional player than a who-ate-all-the-pies amateur. He's seriously buff, and is ruggedly handsome. Actually, that doesn't quite do him justice. He's actually a very lovely mixture of chiselled and battered, if that makes sense. Yesterday, fresh from a game, he was covered in bruises and little scars, which obviously made him even more attractive. I cooed and aaah at him, delicately touching his bruised forehead, so much so that he asked whether I'd like to see the rest of his battle scars. Er… Hello! So there was I, in the middle of the RVT, being given a guided tour of his chest and abs. The Drag Queen rolled her eyes at me, and I had to go outside for a bit to calm down.

Apart from that absolutely nothing happened, but to be honest that was quite enough anyway. We had a good dance and a few drinks and then I jumped in a cab home to get some much needed sleep. Except that I stayed awake til about 1am and then woke up again at 2 and couldn't get back off to sleep til sometime after 4. Today I'm pretty zombie-like and I'm not sure in what state I'll be by the time The Boyf gets back. If anyone has any good ideas on ways to make me sleep please let me know at the usual address at OMO Towers.

One Man's HardOn...

And on to HardOn's 5th birthday, quite literally for some.

Arriving just before 11 we were stunned to find an enormous queue stretching down the road outside of Hidden (the venue). How were all these people going to fit in this small club? What I was forgetting was that everyone will mysteriously end up covered in lube during the course of the night, thus making it possible to squeeze more people into the building. It doesn't make any difference if you don't go anywhere near the play-room either, somehow you will still get lube on you at some point. I swear that nothing in the universe spreads like lube at HardOn. They really should be testing it in the Large Hadron Collider rather than just blasting atoms about (or whatever nonsense it is they're doing).

Anyway, as we'd turned up with one of the DJ's and were on the guest list we simply marched up to the front of the queue and walked straight in, much to everyone's chagrin I should imagine. And thus, only 5 minutes after arriving we'd already checked our bags in and were at the bar (which already had lube on it). I love being a DJ groupie.

The place gradually filled up, although it never seemed to get uncomfortable, which seemed odd to us. We always spend almost the whole night in the first room (the bar area) cause the music's better, and this room didn't ever seem to be getting any more full. It puzzled, and dare I say it, vexed us, until we thought we'd have a look in the play-room to see what was going on. It was rammed, as were a lot of the people in there. In fact we could barely get in the door (even though it was covered in lube), and very quickly decided not to bother proceeding further, and so went up the stairs (where I slipped on lube) to the mezzanine, which unfortunately smelt like a rabbit hutch that was in dire need of a clean out. So back down the slippery stairs to the dancefloor it was.

Now, I seem to have said this a couple of times recently, and I hope it's not because I'm becoming some sort of snob (well, more of a snob), but the crowd at HardOn was plug ugly. Ok, that's a little unfair. In fact, it's very unfair, but then I like to generalise based on very little information. Certainly everyone seemed to be of a certain type, and not a type I find attractive I'm afraid. We stood outside for a bit to get some air and try to wipe some of the lube off, and all three of us (The Boyf and myself plus our DJ mate) noticed that everyone looked the same. Skinny or scrawnily muscular and hairless, and of course nearly everyone was in black leather or rubber (and lube). In fact, so many people looked like they needed food it looked a bit like a consignment of leather had been sent to famine-stricken Ethiopia, just with more erections. I commented to The Boyf that I was probably the fattest person there, which was met with a scowl, but I think I might have been right. I guess I'm just used to XXL and Megawoof and therefore need to readjust my size expectations.

As a result I didn't find one single person attractive, so remained chaste for the evening. I guess I just like my men a little bit better padded, or at least a bit hairy (and without quite so much lube on them). Having said that I did enjoy myself, and had a good dance, but felt unusually tired (ok, drunk) early so at 4am I grabbed a cab (oddly covered in lube) to head home to shower the lube off and get to bed, resolutely unsullied.

Actually, whilst I've been writing this I've been thinking about the whole unattractiveness thing, and I think it's simply because I'm not paying a lot of attention to anyone at the moment, looks wise. I'm just not noticing men, attractive or otherwise. The Boyf often points people out and I go "Nah", but then when I really look at them they're very attractive. I'm just not that bothered. Oh my God, perhaps, suddenly, I only have eyes for one man! Gosh, I wonder who it could be...

Holiday Round-Up

I never did tell you what I thought of New York and Ft Lauderdale did I? And I know you're terribly interested.

So, New York; in a word "repressed". Or perhaps "depressed". There's still a definite "should we really be having fun?" vibe hanging over the city, like the entire population feels guilty about something. Where are the clubs? The really banging bars?

We had the opportunity to visit a bath-house whilst in town, believe it or not for the sole purpose of having a shower (we'd been on the beach all day and didn't fancy schlepping out to Westchester to change before heading back into the city). Anyway, it was a good job we weren't feeling frisky, as we would have been put off by the "No Oral, No Anal, No Vaginal, No more than one person to a room" speech we were given, along with the various posters put up to remind us. I know it's all to satisfy local laws, but it certainly puts a dampener on the experience.

Just entering the place was an odd affair, involving having to put valuables in a safe deposit box, then putting the key to it in an envelope and having to sign for everything, in many different places. I believe the safe deposit box was then put into a safe which was lowered into a vat of boiling oil, and the whole lot suspended over a pit of poison-tipped spikes. Once we finally made it inside it was drab and quiet, like The Admiral Duncan on a week-night (but with even less sex and no opportunity to at least get drunk to spice things up). I have a feeling there was an entire floor closed off because there didn't appear to be a steam room, just rooms and showers, so perhaps our visit wasn't a good indication of the facilities, but still, it just wasn't up to English saunas (and that's coming from someone who’s not into the whole sauna thing).

There was one very sexy guy in attendance, and he was very interested, but we just weren't in the mood, so we showered and left in a hurry to find somewhere with some atmosphere. Unfortunately we happened upon The Gym Bar. Oh well, you can't win them all - the place seems totally devoid of any discernible character.

Perhaps we just need to spend some more time with some locals "going native" to get the best out of New York. I certainly like the city, in fact I like it more each time I visit, but there's this odd sanitised feeling. It's like London's younger and similarly wayward brother has found God and renounced it's sinful ways. It's lacking spunk.

Whilst we were in America the Democrat Convention was on, and we sat through Hillary and Bill Clinton, and Michelle and Barrack Obama's speeches on tv with our hosts (who got very into it). It was certainly interesting to see how intent everyone is about it in the USA. I must admit to finding much of the content of the speeches rather dumb and overly sentimental, and dare I say it laughable in places, but it seems that this is the way to win over Middle America, who don't seem to be able to make up their minds on who to vote for purely on policy. I just couldn't imagine Sarah Brown making an impassioned speech about Gordon in such a way - it just wouldn't work over here in the UK - it would be met with derision. Still, the current US election is entirely fascinating for us, much more so than at any time in the past it seems. I guess the rest of the world is waiting with baited breath praying that America does the right thing this time.

At that will be the last missive from OMO Towers concerning politics.

On a lighter note, we had to queue to get into Abercombie & Fitch!!! (Ah, back to the usual vacuous gay chatter). Yes, queue, for a whole 15 minutes. The Boyf made the comment that this would be the one and only time he'll ever queue to get into a shop, but I found it all rather amusing. In fact I find the whole A&F experience rather amusing, hence my willingness to queue. Once inside the place was dark and the music was pumping. And it wasn't anywhere near full. Apparently they make people queue to build interest. The assistants were dancing, and I mean REALLY dancing, not just jiggling. Do they really get paid to stand by clothes and dance all day in a strange half-light? Do you think A&F employees will evolve with extra joints to allow for better dancing, and with translucent skin and large eyes? Perhaps some of those light-emitting cells like deep sea fish to attract us to the polo shirts.

We tried to take a photo of them dancing but they wouldn't let us, so we surreptitiously videod them instead. We basically just ran about the shop giggling, and weren't really all that interested in the clothes, partly because we'd forgotten to take a torch with us and thus couldn't see anything, but I did see a polo shirt I quite liked, which turned out to be a completely different colour once I got it outside in the light. A&F thinks it's being fun and cool, in a totally false way, like someone's shouting at you to have a good time, and thus is unintentionally hysterical in spite of itself. I think there's irony in there somewhere…

Ah, so what else? Oh yeah, Ft Lauderdale is a bit dumb, bless it, and felt a tad provincial. It's Brighton with better weather and a prettier population, and thus has the same charms as Brighton with the added bonus of not having to wear a coat, gloves and a scarf on the beach. To own the truth I found the place slightly bland and soulless, but this was compensated by the (overly) friendly people we met. Certainly I'm going to visit again soon, but it's not somewhere I could ever envisage living. At least not until I win a lot of money and have extensive surgery. Or become an aging Jewess, which seems unlikely.

I have a feeling that this entire post disses the US, and I don't want it to. I love going to America. It's so much like home, but with those little surprise-and-delight differences. Until next year...

Getting A Head

I had the good fortune, quite by coincidence, to meet a guy in a bar last week who was very high up in a foreign office of a well known company in the industry in which I work. And I mean VERY high up. Although he works for a different company to me we're intrinsically linked, and in fact it makes him my superior in certain respects. So meeting him in a bar was a bit of a surprise. What was more of a surprise was that he looks nothing like his photo on the internet, and now comes complete with a beard and a rather fit body. In short, he was a sexy little fucker, contrary to what I was expecting. Needless to say we hit it off and he ended up back at our house. HeHeHe. And what a dirty little bugger he turned out to be too. I shall never be able to go to one of his presentations again without blushing. Likewise he's banned me from any front rows/wearing anything slutty.

In other news, The Boyf is going away on a business trip in three weeks time, to Tucson, Arizona of all places. He's not looking forward to it. I am. He's not all that keen on flying, although he'd never let it stop him going anywhere. And obviously he's going to miss me and pine. He'll probably stop eating and his fur will fall out. Conversely I'm planning all sorts of stuff for that week. I'm having dinner parties, big club nights out, movies, museums, shopping, all sorts. It's to keep myself busy of course, otherwise I'd just sit at home in the dark with some gin. If I'm going to drink myself til I can't remember I might as well do it somewhere fabulous surrounded by beautiful people. I don't know how I'm going to cope, truly...

Pink Flamingos

Sunday was "Gay Day" at London Zoo, an annual event where they force all the animals to bum each other for our enjoyment. I jest of course. It's actually an excuse to have some transvestites run about the zoo dressed as air stewardesses (no idea why) and have a gay brass band perform loads of cliched gay anthems (they were playing "Dancing Queen" as we wandered by). And of course you can't have lots of gays in one place without there being a ridiculous amount of cruising, this time in an unlikely environment such as in the reptile house or whilst watching the Pygmy Hippo have its lunch.

It turned out to be a lovely sunny day, so a little group of us (10 in all) descended on the zoo to gawp, stare and point, and to also have a look at the animals. Boom boom. It actually wasn't as gay as we thought it might be, and there was a definite lack of hotties to cruise. But who cares, the zoo gave good animal and we were thoroughly entertained by the meerkats, giant anteaters and the otters.

Afterwards, as ever, we ended up at the RVT for a dance where I was rapidly set upon by a hot Spanish tourist who was incredibly forward (which I like - but only when they're sexy, obviously) and seemed to have a thing for my fair hair and beard. I wasn't complaining. He was actually a real sweetheart and I wanted to keep him, but The Boyf wouldn't let me. He's such a kill-joy sometimes.

OMO's Gig Review - Madonna's "Sticky & Sweet" Tour

A great concert, spoilt only by the absolute shambles that was Wembley's Security and The London Underground. For a start, Security told the back of a very long queue that they could move to the gates before they bothered telling those of us that had waited for hours, thus allowing those who had literally been waiting only minutes to get to the front of the queue and thus causing a stampede from those who had been patiently waiting all day and who were now missing out.

Then London Underground saw fit to close Wembley Park Tube Station at 12:00am with at least half of the audience still trying to make their way home (after the concert had over-run). Result; tens of thousands of irate people causing a near riot to try to get to cabs and buses. And of course none of the buses actually go anywhere near Central London. We ended up walking in a completely random direction - having no idea which way was home but just wanting to get out of the crowds - and finally came across a stop for a bus which went to Oxford Circus. A 40 minute bus ride, then a £20 cab ride later and we were home - at 2:40am!

And I won't even begin to tell you about the girl in front of us at the concert who got drunk and decided to start a fight with everyone around her. She eventually got thrown out (just before Madonna took to the stage), much to our relief, but not before she'd kicked, spat and punched everyone around her - except me, who for some reason she kept away from. She even called The Boyf "fat arse", which I found rather amusing as he doesn't really have much of a backside at all. I always joke that it's been worn away but he doesn't find it funny.

Anyway, on with the show…

Madge was 35 minutes late to start, which we decided had something to do with her trying to get the last few drops of blood out of the sacrificial virgins. Either that or she was having trouble emptying her colostomy bag.

Finally a parcel trolley was wheeled onto the stage complete with Her Madgeness, hands secured behind her back to stop her clawing at the audience with her talons, and with a mask over her face to stop her biting us (and hopefully to stop her trying to sing).

OK, I made that bit up.

She actually appeared in the centre of the stage on a throne, dressed in some old bling, and over the course of 2 hours firmly made the point that at 50 she's certainly not past it.

Rather obviously she concentrated on the current album (I won't bore you here with a withering attack on it, suffice to say that I know it's already going to win my "Worst Album Of The Year" award), but actually some of the new songs worked better live than they do on record. Sprinkled in were a fair selection of older songs, all of which were re-interpreted in some way. So we had rockier versions of "Human Nature", "Into The Groove", "Hung Up" and "Borderline", and mash-ups of "Vogue/4 Minutes", "Music/Put Your Hands Up For Detroit" and "Like A Prayer/Feels Like Home", the latter by Meck, which itself blatently steals the riff from "Don't You Want My Love" by Felix. All worked very well I thought.

What also worked remarkably well was the Romanian Folk Music segment, which sounds like an abomination we could well do without but was actually one of the best parts of the show, being full of energy and excitement.

Her Madgeness ended the concert with "4 Minutes" (this time sans "Vogue") and then a seriously danced-up version of "Give It To Me", thankfully without the comedy production of the original. (I'm pretty sure Pharrell actually gave this song to a group of 5 year olds to produce in Music Class, and has been pissing himself every time he hears it since).

Ok, I need to get something off my chest about "4 Minutes". So, Timbaland and Madonna are in the studio writing this song and deciding on the concept (you just know Madonna has concepts for her songs). So the concept is "There's only 4 minutes left to save the world" and in the video there can be a timer counting down from 04:00. Brilliant! So the song's 4 minutes long? No, it's 4 minutes and 3 seconds. Er, couldn't someone just tell Justin Timberlake to shut up for 3 seconds and end the song on time? Apparently that would make too much sense.

Other points to note; Madonna can actually sing. Who knew? Whereas Kylie has a thin, whiney voice she can at least hit all her notes. With Madonna you're always perpetually nervous that she's going to go for a high note and miss, with disasterous, ear-shattering results. But not this time. Oddly, it was the low notes she was struggling with, which made "Ray Of Light" an unusual experience, with it's low drone and sudden piercing chorus. One can only assume that, clearly being a cyborg, she's had her voice synthesizer altered to help with her upper range.

There are only two negatives I can really throw at it. Firstly the sound in Wembley was awful. And I mean, REALLY awful. It's just not a good venue for concerts. Secondly, as with this type of artist we're left with an empty stage as they do a costume change, and as usual this saps the energy and kills any momentum. I thought Madonna's were worse than normal, as she rarely had much going on on stage, preferring to leave it to playing a video of her singing a song on the big screens (which apparently weren't big enough to be seen from the back of Wembley).

All in all though a great show (and I haven't even mentioned the sets, the dancers (one of whom was hot-Hot-HOT) and Britney Spears on the video screen). Madonna can rest easy in her coffin each day knowing she's thoroughly entertained us.

Update:
Apparently at last count 3,000 people had complained to Live Nation about the sound and the terrible organisation, particularly with the concert over-running and causing difficulty for people trying to get home. We've heard that some people had to sleep on the street until the Underground started up again in the morning. Shameful.

A Conversation With The Boss

3.53pm. 10th September 2008. The Office

The Boss: "Where did you get that shirt?"

OMO: "In the 21st Century, unlike that jacket you're wearing"

The Boss: "You know I wouldn't wear a fitted shirt if I were you"

OMO: "It's not a fitted shirt"

The Boss: "You mean it's supposed to be baggy but you're so fat it looks tight?"

OMO: "Dammit, you win this time. But well done on your first bit of catty gay banter. At this rate you'll be out by Christmas"

Our Holiday Pt.2 - New York

We actually stayed outside of NYC itself, in Westchester with friends of ours, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. The nearest town was about 5 miles away and their house is surrounded by woods and fields. It made for a lovey, relaxing setting, and many days were spent in the hammock in the garden reading and listening to music, or wandering about trying to find wildlife/identify the different species of birds and butterflies. I know, civilised aren't we?
Obviously we ventured into the city on regular occasions, using the train into Grand Central, and did lots of the usual touristy stuff i.e. took a boat trip round Liberty Island and to see the waterfalls, walked over the Brooklyn Bridge, wandered around the Botanical Gardens, and took a trip out to Coney Island to go on the Cyclone (truly terrifying - has anyone actually checked any of it since it opened?)

We also had a day out at Sandy Hook, rather obviously a gay nudist beach, which involved a 40 minute boat ride and transfer to the beach by school bus (yay! I've been in an American school bus!). As lovely as it was (I'm still peeling, to prove how nice the weather was) the clientele left something to be desired. Where Haulover was "hottie" this was "grotty". However a couple of guys in their early 50's arrived and pitched up next to us, and were both quite lovely (and hairy), and The Boyf in particular took a shine to one of them. Unusually he came over all English and refused to start a conversation with them, and is now complaining that he'll never get to know who they were.

The English shyness stuck me too, but then it always does. On the Sunday we found ourselves in The Dugout watching the closing ceremony of the Beijing Olympics over the heads of Joe.My.God and The Farmboyz (both Father Tony and C). Now, I'm a big fan of both blogs, but obviously couldn't speak to any of the people involved because I'm terribly English and didn't want to interrupt them. Instead I was waiting until I'd had a few drinks so I could slur at them and tell them I loved them. But before it got to that stage we de-camped to the Eagle. Still I couldn't summon up the courage to speak to anyone (they'd moved to the Eagle too). And then they left and the chance was missed, although on the way out, as they passed me, C said "Yes, we're leaving", evidently knowing that I'd wanted to speak by my body language (and the fact that I was probably staring). Anyway, I can at least confirm that Joe, Tony and C do really exist and that I found at least two of them completely do-able. I'll leave you to make up your minds which two.

More about NY later.

Our Holiday Pt.1 - Florida

So, on with the holiday shenanigans.

We started our hols in New York, but only for one night before moving on to Fort Lauderdale for a long weekend. Actually, we were based in Wilton Manors, which will come to no surprise to anyone that's been there. Quite why it's not been renamed Gayville is quite beyond me. Perhaps Bender Heights - it has more of a ring to it, if you'll pardon the pun.

The first thing that stuck me, almost literally, was the humidity. You can actually bite the air, although you look like a fool doing it. Imagine spending the entire day in the hothouse at Kew Gardens and you start to understand what it's like. The entire visit comprised of mad dashes between air-conditioned cars, air-conditioned shops, air-conditioned homes, air-conditioned restaurants - you get the idea. For someone with over-excitable sweat glands it's not a good look.

We had a big Friday night out on the day we arrived and got ridiculously drunk. However, I did get to spend the entire evening with a lovely and very sexy Venezuelan from Miami who I'd chatted to on the internet, and who somehow managed to politely deal with me getting more and more wankered as the evening went on, and then messaged me the next day to tell me how much he enjoyed my company. Aw!

On Saturday we went to Miami, like you do. After having a lovely Cuban meal (pork chops, natch) we ventured down to Miami Beach to have a wander about and generally sweat too much and get sunburned. I liked Miami and have decided I'm going to buy something small on Star Island. Like postage stamp size, judging by the house prices. To be truthful though it has actually crossed my mind to buy a little "condo" in Miami. What with the exchange rate and the US house market softening we could buy a little place and use it as an escape, whilst letting it out occasionally for people on holiday to help pay for it. It's an idea I'm going to be giving some thought to. I've already started putting all my coppers in a jar and reckon I'll have enough for something nice come Christmas.

On Sunday we got up early and ventured into the Everglades, where we had an airboat tour and looked for alligators. I've ALWAYS wanted to have a go in an airboat - you know, they're those things that resemble pieces of corrugated iron with a fan strapped to the back - and wasn't disappointed. I was disappointed at the distinct lack of alligator action however, as we only saw one baby. We did see turtles, a raccoon and loads of vultures though, plus a rather cute fisherman.

Afterwards we headed to Haulover beach, which is like Brighton beach only with sun, sand and attractive people. Oh, and with water you can get in which isn't so cold it makes your testicles retract back inside. Once there I spent the afternoon looking at American pee-pees (it's nudist, I wasn't just lingering in the "rest-rooms") and trying to work out the percentage of cut to uncut. My conclusion - if you have a foreskin, flaunt it. In fact, the guy on the next towel had a very big foreskin, which was being pulled on by some locals. That’s the problem you see - Americans don't know what to do with them, so they just pull on them or put their tongue in them as if they're some sort of exotic fruit. Oh well, if it keeps them quiet.

Later on Sunday we went to "Steel", which is like G.A.Y. but with more facial hair. I mean, it's trying to be a bit butch, but the big burly guys bouncing up and down to "Kung Fu Fighting" kinda spoils the image. And singing along to "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" wasn't helping either. There were a couple of hotties in da houz tho - er, sorry about that - and I'd nearly managed to drag one into a dark corner to be devoured when his slightly irate boyfriend showed up to snatch him from my web. Back on the prowl I managed to corner - in my drunken stupor - a rather lovely chap with a thick beard who I was soon leaving with in his truck (result - an American with a big beard and a truck!) along with The Boyf who seemed rather perplexed at the speed of events.

Once back at Beardy's The Boyf promptly fell asleep leaving me to keep the British end up. And lots of fun it was too. He was certainly one of the sexiest guys I've ever slept with, we've kept in contact, and I shall be seeing him again someday.

On Monday the heavens opened, what with Hurricane Fay laying some way off the coast, so we spent a day shopping and mentally preparing for a flight to New York which didn't look like it was going to be pleasant. We actually had to fly through an electrical storm, which was both interesting and terrifying in equal amounts.

And so, late on Monday night, we found ourselves back in New York...

I'm Back!

Morning!

So, I'm back from my holiday and I'm feeling a little… odd. Haven't slept very well since getting back, which is partly jet-lag and partly self-inflicted (we went to Tonka when we got back on Friday, then to XXL on Saturday, then spent Sunday in bed with a trick we picked up).

I'll be filling you in on all the details of our hols over the coming week, along with my ever-insightful thoughts on the USA that we discovered on this trip. You know me, I'm always full of original information; remember I went to France and declared that the French smoke too much and drive badly. Yes, it's that level of insightfulness. Is "insightfulness" a real word?

Anyway, lots of work to be getting on with so please just chat amongst yourselves for a bit and I'll be back with something to read shortly-ish.

OMO At The Movies: "WALL-E"

Have you noticed how often I'm going to the pictures (aw! Quaint) these days? Frankly, it's all I'm doing. No, I'm not going to moan again about my social life being dull. But it IS dammit! Anyway, after a slightly false start where I drove us to the wrong Multiplex (!) I finally got around to seeing WALL-E last night, a film I'd been looking forward to since I read the premise last summer.

So, was it any good? Indupitubly, yes. I loved every moment, and rather obviously ended up crying. (I looked around at everyone else, and yes, I was the only one in tears. Again). I'm having a bad few weeks, ok.

I won't bore you with the story, but the whole thing is a rather touching love story set against the back-drop of an abandoned Earth, after humans have managed to dump so much waste it has become uninhabitable. The female of the middle-aged couple sitting behind us was heard to comment (about 15 minutes in): "I think there's a message in here somewhere". Sheesh, do you think Lady?

I found the first 30 minutes incredibly touching, as we're introduced to our unspeaking titular hero and his world purely by the visuals and his actions. Being an overly romantic, slightly melodramatic gay, I felt his loneliness keenly within my soul. Jeez. I saw The Boyf look at me, "You're going to cry in a minute aren't you?". Apparently I'm all too obvious.

The second part of the film takes on a more obvious action slant, a la Toy Story, to keep the kids hooked, and it never really reaches the intelligent and moving heights of the first part. As a whole the film's very well paced, and short, the result being that it all seems to be over a bit too quickly.

I found it interesting that the humans are less detailed visually and have less emotional depth than any of the robots, and WALL-E in particular is beautifully rendered. He passes off as more life-like than almost anything in Spiderman 3. Yeah, yeah, here I go about Spidey3 again. The animation is really beautiful, and is perfectly set off with the score, which consists of a melding of new music and songs from "Hello Dolly!".

Criticisms? Yeah, I didn't want it to end. Apart from that the whole "Man is killing Earth" thing is shoved in our face at every available opportunity, but then I mustn't forget this is a kids film first and foremost.

On the whole it reminded me of why as a child one of the most moving films I remember is "Silent Running", which is the adult version of WALL-E when all is said and done. I'm just amazed that there's been no mention of a remake, in this day and age.

In two weeks I really think I've seen the best two films of this year, and I'd be very surprised if anything else comes close to this and "The Dark Knight".

Brighton Pride

So, how are you today?

Good, good.

Yes, well that's all very well but you've neglected to ask me about Brighton Pride.

So, without further ado, I'll fill you in on the weekend's shenanigans, few and far between though they were.

The Boyf and I got up early on Saturday to catch an early train, but like all good gays we couldn't make up our minds what we wanted to wear, and thus left about an hour later than we wanted to and ended up missing the parade. It was just as well because it appeared that it had rained. We made our way straight to Preston Park, and it was fortunate that we'd had plenty of hot weather as it had stopped the place turning into a mud bath, although that might have been fun in retrospect.

The first thing that crossed our minds as we walked to the park was "What an ugly crowd", a sentiment echoed later on (more about that in a bit). Yes, not one pretty person in sight. I observed that, with the roads being closed off and people wandering up the middle of the streets, it all looked a bit post-apocalyptic. In fact, the way most people were dressed and were shambling about it all looked rather too "Dawn Of The Dead" for my liking. I did think about a little light looting, as it didn't look like anyone would notice, but thought better of it.

The park was great, as usual. Brighton really knows how to do Pride, and it makes you realise that London sorely misses having an event in a park at the end, although Trafalgar Square and Soho do admirable jobs. Rather obviously we hung out in the bear tent, which is always located right at the entrance next to a large bank of toilets and a decent array of burger vans. That way the bears don't have to move very much and can just eat, drink and lollop about.

On one of our little excursions around the park I was stopped by an "Oi!" from a group of older gentlemen sitting on a pink blanket (complete with picnic) who each resembled, in part, Quentin Crisp, like each couldn't manage the complete look so had divided it up between them to make things easier. A floppy hat here, a chiffon neck-scarf there. Actually, they were all a bit Hinge & Bracket without the wigs, and most came complete with half-rimmed glasses dangling from chains about their necks.

Quentin 1: "I'm terribly sorry about the "Oi". How very rude of me".

He reached up and took my right hand in both of his.

Quentin 1: "Now then deary - would you be so kind as to tell me where the fat people hang out?"

I raised one eyebrow. Then the other for emphasis.

Quentin: "Oh, good Lord, I didn't mean it like that, it's just that our friend has just sent us a text thingy to say he's 'hanging out with the fatties' and we don't know where he means. You look like you might know where that is. Oh, this isn't coming out very well. Damn it, and I think you're very sexy. You're very much my type you know dear."

He pats my hand.

OMO: "Thank you, that's very kind. I think."

Quentin 2: "Well, you're a bit of a bear and when our friend said "fatties" we figured that's what he meant."

Quentin 1: "Yes, quite. So, do you have any ideas? I mean, look as us sweetness, we need a bit of help finding anything"

OMO: "Well, the bear tent is that large one down the front that smells of cooking fat. You can't miss it, trust me"

Quentin 1: "Oh good, thank you deary. You are kind to some old gays. So, will you be there?"

OMO: "I should think so, yes"

Quentin 1: "Wonderful! You are my type you know. Like a hairy little bouncy castle. Come along girls, let's go and see the fatties"

Elsewhere I managed not to be insulted by anyone, and in fact The Boyf and I were crowned "Most Beautiful People At Pride" by a mildly drunk women from London in a rather lovely dress, who accosted us later in the evening to ask why everyone was so ugly in Brighton. We agreed that they were, but didn't know why. So we had a long chat about what it meant to be a bear - we get that from straight women a lot - and then she wandered off to catch a train home and "get away from all the ugliness". Bless.

We'd ended up spending most of the day with TPWWSC and R, and also with the sexy Iraqi and his partner, and as usual I ended up snogging TPWWSC and getting myself all worked up. I do wish that boy wasn't so damn sexy. Or married. Oops, probably shouldn’t say that. So, swiftly moving on…

In general we had a wonderful day, which wasn't even spoilt by the ridiculous queue to get on the train at the end of the night. Roll on next year.

OMO's Gig Review: "KylieX2008"

So, on Tuesday night a little group of us gays (6 in all) went to see Miss Minogue the Elder at the O2, each of us obviously giving a reason for going which was quickly undermined by the fact that we all knew all of the words to all of the songs.

Before I give you a completely useless review I would just like to add that only in Gayland could 50% of our little group be made up of porn stars. It'd had been arranged by a friend of ours and we hadn't thought (oddly) to ask who was going, so were rather pleasantly surprised to find ourselves squeezed between some rather lovely, sexy men. Who were all, to a man, completely marvellous company.

Anyway, on with the show; Kylie was of course utterly fabulous. The set comprised most of her current album (surprise!), with a good sprinkling of older hits.

As usual with Kylie it's all about the show, and the resulting set pieces and costume changes were pretty wonderful. The stage itself was incredible - similar to George Michael's stage where the back screen scrolled across the stage itself - Kylie's entire stage was lit from below and matched the patterns of the movable back screens. The whole thing was an array of lights, and was used very very well.

The downside to all the costume changes are the fact that the show never really got into its stride. We'd have three or four songs and then everything would stop for a bit, so we never really got into a momentum until very close to the end. In fact, I'd say it was only the encore which really got everyone up on their feet. And I really don't care for singers who leave the stage part way through a song to change whilst leaving backing singers to finish it off.

Trying to promote the album meant that some of the song choices didn't really work ("Speakerphone" is not a good way to start a show, and was thus followed with "Can't Get You Out Of My Head"). The weaker songs were certainly current album tracks (hello "Nu-Di-Ty" and "Heart Beat Rock"), although "In My Arms" (which we rather obviously sung as "How does it feel in my arse?") stood up surprisingly well. Wasn't too sure about the cover of "Copa Cabana" either, but it was certainly interesting.

Highlights for me were "Shocked", "The One", "Flower" (a new song), "Kids" (always good for a sing-a-long), and "Slow", although the winner on the night had to be "Your Disco Needs You" (but perhaps that was just because we danced ourselves silly)

All in all a great show, topped off by the 6 of us ending up in a karaoke bar afterwards. Ah, porn stars and karaoke, what a surreal combination.

OMO At The Movies: "The Dark Knight"

Now, if you want to see a dark movie this is the one for you. Considering the constraints of it being a superhero movie I think they've done a marvellous job of creating something with real depth and interest. Sure, you've got to have the chase scenes, and the explosions, and you've got to have lots of fighting, but it never feels like a film which is purely built around its set pieces. With so many films of this type you can see the ham-fisted ways of teeing up the fight scenes, but with this they feel properly integrated into the plot. It doesn't feel like a number of set pieces held together with flim-flam.

Believe everything you read about Heath Ledger as The Joker - he's truly outstanding. Utterly mesmerising, you find yourself drawn to him. He creates a Joker which is genuinely scary - a psychopath, totally unhinged but considered and reserved, he never camps it up or chews up the scenery, as so many actors would have done (hello, Jack Nicolson). He totally deserves an Oscar nom, if not the award itself. I really didn't rate him before, but then I'd not really watched many of his performances. In Brokeback Mountain I think he crossed over from being repressed to just looking a bit surly, but perhaps I need to reappraise that role, and that film in general, now that the hype's died down. Certainly he was evidently capable of far more than I ever gave him credit. Such an absolute shame.

The rest of the cast pale beside Heath, but Aaron Eckhardt holds his own, and the rest perform admirably. If anything one of the least interesting characters (aside from Maggie Gyllenhal's Rachel - who isn't really given anything to do) is Batman himself. His character is fleshed out more by what others say of him, but Christian Bale is always pretty watchable. He gets on with the job, mainly as the foil to Harvey Dent and The Joker, and he's certainly the best Batman to date, even if he does lack something. He seems a little bland, but then he would be up against The Joker, and that's one of the film's questionable issues.

What interests/bothers me is the films intentions regarding violence and the nature of terrorism. Sure, The Jokers actions are always stated as being reprehensible and wrong, but Heath manages to inject enough pathos into the character that you find yourself willing him on. Surely, out of every character in it he seems the most alive and true to himself. And there seems to be an overriding lesson in the inherant darkness of humankind, as if we need to be told that we're all evil and just need a little push.

The Boyf hated how unrelentingly dark the whole thing was, and in truth there was almost no let up from the depressing feeling that pervades it. Even the ending, which I won't give away (unusually) doesn't give even a glimmer of real hope, and sets us up nicely for a third instalment. I have to say that it looks like it will play out into a very good trilogy, but after that there are going to be problems.

Technically it's a marvel too. Wonderfully shot, with the CGI kept to a minimum where it would enhance rather than bludgeon the film to death. Oh, Spiderman 3, see how it's done?

Criticisms? It's too long, a common fault these days. They should start paying editors by the amount of stuff they cut out. Chop 30 minutes out of it (the visit to Hong Kong seems unnecessary) and it'd all be much punchier. As I've stated, The Boyf thinks it's all too grim, but in that we disagreed. It's certainly not The Fantastic Four, and thank fuck for that.

The overriding impression for me is that this is a real film, dealing (or at least highlighting) real issues, which just happens to have a man with a cape in it. If you go to see one film this year make it this one (but don't forget to take a cushion).

Why so serious?

Urgh! Friday!

I'm feeling utterly used, and not in a good way. It's been one long, hard week and I can't see a light at the end of the tunnel until our holiday (which is now only three weeks away, granted). Oh, what's that quote about light at the end of the tunnel? Oh yeah "I thought I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, but it was just some fucker with a torch bringing me more work".


So, I've not told you about this years holiday plans yet, huh?


Well, we're "doing" America again. If you want to be pedantic we're actually "doing" New York again, but hopefully this time I won't look and sound like an extra from "Dawn Of The Dead". A terribly English zombie though I may have been. You know how us Brits like to talk loudly in a posh English accent to get more attention. I always end up sounding like Prince Charles - in fact I probably sound like Dame Judy Dench - except for last time when I sounded like the Elephant Man. I looked like him too, but then I should probably consider not wearing a potato sack over my head every time I go out. It's a bugger to accessorise with.

Yes, we're off to New York for a couple of weeks, but we're actually also squeezing in a long weekend in Fort Lauderdale, courtesy of some friends of ours who have a holiday home there. Like you do. Now, I've not been to Fort Lauderdale before but judging from the photos every single person who lives there is well-built, tanned and utterly gorgeous. The whole place looks a bit "Stepford Bears" for my liking. Quite what they're going to make of me I don't know. Perhaps they'll take pity on the pale, chubby English guy. Any from what I've heard NY is going to be unbearably hot, so that'll be fun for my over-active sweat glands.

I know, I sound like I'm complaining, when in actual fact I'm really looking forward to it.

Before then we have the British Motor Show to attend, which means I drag a bored-looking The Boyf round whilst I drape myself over various bits of machinery and get a bit over-excited. Then sometime next week we're going to see Kylie, and then we have Brighton Pride at the weekend. So all good fun for the next couple of weeks.

Have fun at the weekend, Dear Readers.

OMO At The Movies: "Mamma Mia!"

Yeah, so I was going to mention "Mamma Mia!". I do love it when they put an exclamation mark in the title of a film to remind us that we're all supposed to be having fun.

I'm going to go utterly against common public and critical feeling and say that this is one of the worst films I've ever had the misfortune to sit through.

Now, there are a lot of awful films out there. You know, the sort of thing that's shown on ITV on a Wednesday afternoon, invariably with a mother with a debilitating illness, or an athlete overcoming an accident to win a race. I don't count those as bad films because they know what they are - cheap. A bad film for me is one which has had a lot of money spent on it and then falls short of it's hype. Thus, "Sketch Artist II: Hands That See" is kinda watchable, whilst "Independence Day" is a load of old tripe.

So, "what's wrong with "Mamma Mia!" apart from the exclamation mark?", I hear you say. It's amateurish, for a start. Amateurish and lazy beyond belief. Where the stage version just about gets away with cornily shoe-horned in Abba songs because it's all a bit of a giggle and because you feel somewhat involved, the film version just comes across as ill-conceived and childish. And SO literal; "When the pretty birds have flown" (in "Take A Chance On Me") is accompanied by some doves taking off from a roof - I mean, COME ON! And the dance scene where the villagers join in just looks like a cheap Olivio advert.

The casting is awful. Only the daughter seems suitable for her part. It's oh so obvious that they've cast people for who they are, not for any discernible ability. "Oh, wouldn't it be nice to have Pierce Brosnan". "Can he sing?". "Who cares, it's Pierce Brosnan!". Even he admitted in an interview that he didn't realise he was going to have to sing. What, noone told him it was a musical when they cast him? He's the worst offender on the signing front, but Meryl Streep isn't far behind. She annihilates "The Winner Takes It All", and puts in an odd, manic performance in which she looks like the HRT has kicked in and she's forgotten her Tenna Lady.

Elsewhere, Julie Waters does exactly what it says on the tin. She puts on a Northern accent and stumbles about a lot, in a parody of every performance she's ever done before. I took to saying "Miss Babs" at the end of every line she uttered, and it fitted perfectly. Every other member of the cast appears ill at ease or seems to be phoning their performance in from the safety of their motorhome. Most of the song and dance routines have that same car crash feeling as when you're Mum and Dad get up to do "The Time Warp" at a wedding reception.

The whole thing looks cheap and childish, and the actors appear to just be mucking about in front of a camera whilst expecting us to enjoy it all. And no thought's gone into translating it from stage to screen - they obviously just found somewhere which looked like the stage scenery and plonked the whole lot there without any thought as to how to make it work on celluloid. Lazy, lazy, lazy. Oh, and the editing and sound are awful too.

Can you tell I didn't like it? It was only the second film I've nearly walked out of, the first being "Batman & Robin".

As a final indication of how bad it was, I can say one thing which I cannot forgive it for. I grew up listening to, and loving, Abba, but "Mamma Mia!" has crushed all that love and affection. I don't think I can stand listening to Abba for a while, and that angers me.

Little Suzy

The Boyf deals with stress by having sex.

I deal with stress by sleeping.

The two don't necessarily go together very well.

What with me having to sack one of my staff last week I was feeling rather stressed out, but unusually I opted for going out to get drunk, rather than locking myself away with some nice food and wine and then going to bed early. So, we went to Tonka, which is a great little Friday social event. You should try it. I'll be there again tonight should you feel like buying me a drink. You'll get a kiss for it, at the very least.

I got a text on Saturday from "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming (TPWWSC)" - also known as "The Groom I Slept With On His Wedding Night Before His New Husband" (The Boyf's been calling me "Little Suzy Home-Wrecker" ever since). Oops! They were just back from their honeymoon and wondered if we fancied a beer.

A few hours later all four of us were standing in a surprisingly busy Hoist. And there were actually a few very nice men hanging around. For those of you who haven't been to The Hoist I should explain.

The Hoist is located in a disused railway arch (what club in London isn't?), and consists of lots of black exposed brickwork and steel girders, and a pumping soundtrack which is supposed to be hard and dirty but seems to veer towards Abba or Madonna a little too often considering the nature of the place. Every Saturday they have a theme night (don't get exicted, the themes are never "My Little Princess" or "Mamma Mia!", although they probably should be), but in actual fact most people just turn up in leather. Black, natch. This years black is always black in Leatherland. Occasionally with a natty contrasting stripe. Last Saturday was rubber night, so naturally we wore jeans and leather waistcoats. The only people to actually wear rubber were those who really shouldn't have. Anyway, most people hang at the bar, and all groups send at least one member round every 15 minutes for a sortie through the "cruise maze" (anywhere else I believe this amount of scaffolding would be classed as a "jungle gym", the end result being largely the same, just darker and with nastier smells).

Eventually someone arrives already drunk and naked and proceeds to drape themselves all over everyone lasciviously, and this person isn't always me. By this time enough people are drunk that at least one person will be in a sling with a come-hither look on his face, whilst (and this seems to be an unwritten rule) the ugliest man in the building will invariably be standing on the balcony playing with himself at the assembled masses standing at the bar below. Again, this isn't always me. And there will always be a fisting video playing on a big screen, regardless of whether it's fisting night or not. My guess is that one of the staff is a big fan. Perhaps the one with the... no, I won't go there, you might be eating.

Just like spending a night in a forest there are the occasional screetches or roars from out of the darkness which makes you jump, and I always assume this means that someone's forgotten to trim their nails or something. You know that sound that cats make when they're mating...

By about 2am everyone in the building is having sex, or has had sex and is standing at the bar looking used and bragging to their friends whilst recovering enough for another go. Apart from me of course, as I'll be doing my Ice Maiden impression whilst propping up the bar and pretending it's all a bit beneath me. That's until someone gets me a tequila shot and then it all gets horribly messy.

Ok, so, last Saturday then. The four of us are stood at the bar. Newleywed R decides to go on a sortie, as does his husband (TPWWSC). The Boyf and I then notice that a rather stunning looking big hairy guy has wandered in and is standing at the bar looking at us. I flush and get the giggles and run off to the loo. When I return he's gone, but Newleywed R has returned looking rather worse for wear (already). I decide to wander through the jungle gym myself, ostensibly to look for the BigHairyGuy, but to be honest I'm hoping to bump into TPWWSC. And I do. We then spend the next 45 minutes doing nothing but snogging in a very dark corner whilst both his husband and The Boyf look for us. Finally The Boyf stumbles upon us - almost literally - and warns us that the husband is starting to get peeved. Again. We slink out of the shadows and take our place next to him at the bar, and are treated to disapproving looks. They then leave. Oops again.

The Boyf: "So… you had sex with him before his husband at his own wedding, and now you're the first person to have sex with him after the honeymoon. Hmmm."

OMO: "Oh look, there's that BigHairyGuy"

A nice deflection from the subject at hand, methinks.

As The Hoist is rather dark it's often easy to lose someone, and by the time we locate the BigHairyGuy he's already at it with someone else. Bugger! So we hang around to see what happens. We notice the other guy is wearing really bad underwear, and figure this alone should put BigHairyGuy off. It does, and they part. Then BigHairyGuys spots us and tips us a wink and we wander over and… well, you can guess the rest.

Afterwards at the bar we're all chatting and it turns out he's Greek (result! I love me some Greek) and seems rather smitten with us. I mean, who wouldn't be? (rolls eyes) So we'll be seeing him again when he's next over on business.

Just as we were about to leave another rather cute guy wanders past looking a bit forlorn. And hairy. Did I mention I like them hairy? He sits in a corner and starts to masturbate, whilst looking at us appreciatively. The Boyf comments that we should really help him as it's getting late and he doesn't have much time left, so we do our good deed for the night before finally heading off home.

A rather good night all round, I'm sure you'll agree. Now, I wonder if I can have sex with TPWWSC at Christmas, New Year and on his first wedding anniversary (I certainly wouldn't be complaining, although I'd rather not be cited when the divorce papers come through).

London Pride (finally)

So, I'm gonna finally tell you about Pride.

The sun certainly shone on London Pride this year. Mostly. After a damp start to the day the clouds parted and the gays took most of their clothes off to parade through the West End. Who were we to disappoint the assembled masses?

We wandered up to the start of the march, near Baker Street (cue saxophone), to have a look at the assembled floats and the flamboyant Pride regulars. You know gays, they’re a bit like magpies - anything shiny they pick up and carry around - and there were certainly plenty of peacocks strutting their stuff. (Two bird analogies in one sentence. Get me today!).

We stood near to the front of the march so we could watch it go past, but as the drums started The Boyf and I suddenly found ourselves caught up in the drama and thrust onto the front line. So there we were, marching with the rest, in the front line of the walkers directly behind the giant rainbow flag. And it was lovely. The sun shone, people cheered, the gays pranced, and we blew kisses at hot guys in the crowd (including a load of builders hanging off scaffolding and cheering us, which was rather nice). However we had to stop a potential problem when it turned out that Selfridges had a sale on and everyone wanted to detour in to have a look around.

After the march we wandered over to Trafalgar Square for a while, where we rather randomly bumped into the hot Middle-Eastern guy that I'd seen - ok, fell in lust with - at the Black Party. For some reason The Boyf was feeling brave so we went over to say Hi, and of course he turned out to be lovely. The Boyf had to drag me away, dribbling, in case I embarrassed myself with a mis-timed "I love you", as is my way. In fact he had to drag me as far as Soho Square before I stopped begging to go back, and whilst there we had a little dance and perv before heading back to Old Compton Street, and then home for the season finale of Dr Who (crap, just so you know).

We couldn't make up our minds where to go for Pride night, so ended up in our local (XXL) with a couple of new friends of ours (the lovely Iraqi and his boyfriend), but it was, well, shit actually, so we all headed to Megawoof where I got very drunk and tried to make everyone suck my lollipop (not a euphemism, oddly).

And that was our Pride. A lovely day from start to finish. Looking forward to Brighton now...

A Quick Hello

Today is my second blogiversary. Amazing. I never thought I'd think of enough things to write about. In fact, I guess I haven't, what with my purely intermittent ramblings. Anyway, thank you to anyone who's actually been paying attention. You're too kind.

I've a post about last weeks London Pride to complete (so you'll probably get to read that in, oh, December I should think), and I'd like to tell you all about this years summer holiday.

This week's been rather tough, and I've had to terminate the employment of one of my staff today - not a pleasant job, especially for a softie like me - so things have been a little tense.

So, I hope you all have a nice weekend - if you see me I could really do with a cider. Until next week...

If you are, then continue to do so and don't even think of stopping.


Oh, before I forget; if you happen to fancy going to see a movie this weekend can I stress how important it is that you don't get lured in to see "Mamma Mia!". It's abysmal, truly. If you must, save up the money and see it on the stage. You'll regret it otherwise...

Do You Take This Man?

We attended our second gay wedding on Saturday. (I'm refusing to call it "civil ceremony" - to all intents and purposes it's a marriage, and thus I'm sticking to "wedding").

We had to travel into the wilds of Essex… hang on…sorry, a little bit of sick just came up into my mouth. I have to admit that our friends live in a particuarly nice part of that grotty little county, far away from the spray-tanned, peroxide-maned masses (I'm talking about the Essex Male, obviously). I've mentioned our friends before, and if you've paid any attention to this story you'll probably have an incling of what was on their mind when they decided to invite a small group of filthy-minded homosexuals to their wedding, forcing them to mingle with their families, and then getting them spectacularly drunk.

We were on the gay table (quite literally later on, but more of that in a bit), with an incredibly gregarious northerner who we'd see around once or twice before, and three other guys who we'd not met, including a "just out" 20 year old cousin who wanted deperately to mix with the "old queens". Harumph! The wedding itself was terribly proper, and very formal. In fact, it followed the typical straight model, apart from having two (hilarious) best man speeches.

After the food the disco started, and someone had obviously told the DJ it was a gay event as he wheeled out one cliched anthem after another. YMCA? Check. Dancing Queen? Check. The Time Warp? Check. The list goes on, trust me. In fact, it became apparent that he only had wedding reception music, as he brought out the big guns - the Grease Megamix, Saturday Night, and Love Shack. Kylie, Madonna and Cher also made at least one appearance each.

So, we got drunk, we danced, we mingled, and then the evening guests started to arrive, including a very tall, well-built Scot, who seemed to be some sort of octopus in disguise, judging by the roving hands.

Finally I got to the point where I needed a break from being sociable (being the natural born loner that I am), so I headed out into the quiet part of the garden on the other side of the house, found the furthest corner to be desserted, and sat in a garden chair looking at the stars. I was soon joined by one of the grooms (formerly known as "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming"). I consider him to be one of the sexiest guys I know, and one of the nicest. We spent a lovely 10 minutes chatting before being interrupted by the Gregacious Northerner, who said that My Favourite Groom's husband was looking for him. So off he went, but not before telling me I wasn't to go anywhere.

That left me in a quiet corner of the garden with the Gregarious Northerner, who promptly whipped out his (very excited looking) member and presented it to me. Well, what's a boy to do?
A short while later I wandered back in to the marquee that was home to the reception, to a knowing look from The Boyf. "Everyone's talking about you", he whispered. "I think word's got round". So I spent the next couple of hours being terribly well behaved.

Finally, the guests started to leave, until we were left with just both grooms, The Boyf and myself, the Gregarious Northerner, and the Scottish Octopus. And then it got really messy. My Favourite Groom and I made a quiet exit into the garden, but not before witnessing the Scottish Octopus being stripped and thrown onto a table, the decoration and assorted items crashing to the floor.

And then My Favourite Groom and I found ourselves back in our quiet corner of the garden, naked and intertwined, looking at the stars and at the first paling of the sky signalling the impending dawn. And a very lovely hour or so it was too. And do you know? Nothing happened between us, apart from the cuddling and the talking, and that suited us both just fine. It was one of those times I'll never forget.

OMO At The Movies: "The Incredible Hulk"

Frankly, a pleasant surprise. I really wasn't expecting anything, and I guess therein lies the reason I enjoyed it so much.

I mean, I fucking hate the last Hulk film, and this one didn't look any better from the trailers. But actually it's better paced, nicer to look at and the CGI is better, although still not great (especially The Abomination, which looks like it was drawn on by a child, blind-folded. With Parkinson's Disease. Sitting on a washing machine during its spin-cycle).

Still, the Hulk is totally hot. I'd so do him, especially when he's sitting on that rock in the rain. And he's obviously a bottom. You can just tell. Those big Americans are all the same. All gruff and muscular when you meet and then as soon as you get them home they fall face first onto the bed and flutter their eye-lashes at you.

So, all in all, a surprising thumbs up. Again, don't go expecting to have to use your brain. You knew that already, right?

Oh, and make sure you watch Iron Man first, that's all I'm saying...

Yazoo

Well, I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be watching Yazoo in concert, but that's exactly what happened last night.

They were marvellous, as I expected them to be. Alison has such an incredible voice, and you can't fail to fall in love with her. It was all like a little trip back to the 80's. Certainly some people in the audience looked like they were stuck in that particular decade. Oh, speaking of the audience; how gay was it?! And how sexy?! The Boyf and I both remarked that we'd never seen so many sexy guys at one gig before, and they were all very friendly. Unfortunately for The Boyf a girl a few seats away took a shine and wouldn't leave him alone, although she was very nice.

Anyway, back to the music. They played almost everything they'd recorded together. I flicked through both albums this morning on my iPod and think there are only about 4 songs missing from the gig. Plus we had a very odd little musical interlude whilst both went off to "have a fag". Alison also drank Cognac throughout, and had some witty banter with the audience. And danced really badly.

Highlights for me were "Goodbye 70's", "Situation", "Don't Go", "Nobody's Diary", "Ode To Boy", "Bring Your Love Down [Didn't I]", and of course "Only You", which was their encore, but to be honest it's a bit like picking your favourite child.

I wish I could see them again. Once is certainly not enough, and I wish we'd gone to Brighton last Sunday too (we actually had tickets and decided not to go as we were seeing them in London anyway). Fingers crossed they get together again sometime. If you have a chance to see them at one of their remaining gigs don't pass it up.

Oh, the London gigs have been recorded for a live CD to be released, so I'm rather looking forward to that.

The Hustlaball

The Boyf and I had been looking forward to The Hustlaball for weeks, even though we didn't seem to know anyone that was going.

We've been having a quiet few weeks, and I'll admit that I've not been enjoying clubbing when we've been recently. It was no surprise then to find that I didn't really enjoy The Hustlaball. However, I was very much in the minority.

For reasons best known only to himself The Boyf had decided to fork out on VIP tickets, at £70 a pop. For that you got an exclusive 10pm start with a champagne reception to meet the pornstars etc, a VIP cloakroom, and a special reserved area when when it was all getting too much.

We arrived at 10 to make the most of that first hour, but then had to queue til nearly 10.30, and then had a further 10 minute wait for the VIP cloakroom. To say it was badly organised is to seriously underplay it. Then we were refused the free champagne as we didn't have a token, but we cajoled the barman enough that he finally relented anyway.

By this time the doors were opening to the general hoi-polloi, and the place was rapidly rammed. At least it would have been if the cloakrooms were organised enough. I don't know what it is with London club cloakrooms - they're almost universally shambolic.

So, let me tell you about the layout. Area's main floor was the usual long, very dark room, but with a stage built at the far end for the "performances", of which we saw none. The music was pretty dark, and leant towards what I consider to be circuit party music. The smaller room was more hands-in-the-air, and the from Embankment Bar was playing a mixture of commercial house and electro. It was also the busiest room and where we spent most of the night. Depot was taken over by Hard On, with the front bar acting as a mini-dancefloor, complete with dancers on podiums and the bar itself, and the back room (what used to be Crash's main dancefloor) was an interestingly decked out playroom (and was very popular).

As for the men, they were a very pleasant mixture of Megawoof! crowd, Hard On regulars and general club bunnies, and it was nice to see such disparate factions mixing and enjoying themselves together. Generally, there were some very hot men around, and not one of them - ok, perhaps one - was one of the much publicised porn stars.

A few hours in The Boyf pointed across the room and said "Oh my God! Look at that guy!". Yes, he was lovely. Very, very lovely. Egyptian, with piercing brown eyes and a perfect hairy chest. He was also heading our way. I turned back to The Boyf to wait for him to pass us by, but then suddenly found very large hairy arms encircling my waist. The Boyf's mouth had dropped open. Shit, no, it couldn't be. I felt lips on the back of my neck and then a whispered "Hello" in my ear. I turned, and it was indeed him. We pawed at each other and kissed, then started to dance, his hairy torso pressed against me, his eyes boaring into mine. (Sorry, this is turning into a Mills & Boon novel). Suddenly coming to my senses I thought I ought to introduce him to The Boyf - like, if I must! - and we all exchanged pleasantries. And then he danced with us for the rest of the night, which meant that as far as I was concerned I had the best view in the place.

So why didn't I enjoy myself? Well, thank you for asking. It was because it became very apparent that the Egyptian was doing a certain drug, one which The Boyf and I refuse to touch, and that made me worried. To be honest I'd have preferred it if we'd had a little grapple and then he'd moved on, but the longer he stayed with us the more I started to worry that we was going to drop at some point, and it was making me nervous. In the end he didn't, and by the time we made our way home (at 6am) he was still fine and dandy, so I'd worried for nothing. But still, I've seen this drug cause too many problems, and I'll always be wary of people who are on it.

So, all in all, it was actually a better evening in retrospect than it was at the time. I'd certainly go to another if they do one. Just don't bother with the VIP tickets.

OMO At The Movies: "Iron Man"

The Boyf and I have been to see three films in quick succession, so I'm only going to do a very small review of each.

First up it's "Iron Man"...

Ok, so I have a "thing" for Robert Downey Jr and I don't know why! There, I said it. Again. I know he's not all that, but I like his cheeky charm, and even forcing myself to (partly) sit through "A Scanner Darkly" didn't detract from it. Never did manage to get all the way through that film...

I really enjoyed "Iron Man". And yes, I know I like superhero movies. Ok, ok, give me a break. When I go to the pictures - a phrase which sounds like the films could very well be in black and white and come accompanied by a guy rising from the floor on a Whirlitzer - I go to be entertained. I go to eat chocolate, suspend disbelief and relax for a couple of hours. I generally don't go to see films which are going to be hard work. Those I reserve for when I'm at home.

So, with that in mind; was I entertained? Unreservedly yes.

Was it all a bit ham-fisted? Oh yes.

Was the plot so thin it resembled Paris Hilton on hunger strike? Indeed.

Well thought out, three dimensional characters? Er... no.

Does Gwyneth Paltrow possess any discernible talent? Absolutely not.

If you like your movies fast-paced, fun to look and like to not have to think for 90 minutes at a time then you'll like it.

One question though. How on Earth did Tony Stark manage to build the original Iron Man suit whilst imprisoned a cave, using bits of old scrap, without anyone noticing even though he was under constant surveillance, and utilising technology he couldn't get to work in a lab? Oh, and why did he have the plans for the suit on him in the first place?

Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers...

OMO At The Movies: "Sex And The City"

Fuck me, this film seems to go on forever. Wouldn't they have been better just making a 2 part mini-series? Oh no, of course that wouldn't have made as much money. Silly me.

One good thing's come out though; I've now taken to flying to New York to hire a fabulously gauche new hand-bag every week rather than having to constantly buy them to keep up with the latest fad.

We went on a Thursday night, and I honestly can't remember the last time I saw our local cinema completely packed out mid-week. The only problem was that in an audience of a fair few hundred only 4 of us were men. The place resembled a massive hen-night. A cheap hen-night at that. You know, the sort of hen-night that attracts that type of girl you often see hanging out of a limo' sunroof near Piccadilly Circus - invariably wearing bunny-rabbit ears and/or angel-wings - screaming obscenities at unsuspecting men on the pavement, with the sound of 10 drunk girls within wailing along to "I've Had The Time Of My Life" from Dirty Dancing only barely muffled by the thankfully blacked-out windows.

In short, it was the type of hyped-up crowd which I imagine you get just before the Chippendales come on stage. You could quite literally smell the oestrogen in the air. A hush descended over the crowd as all heads swung round in our direction. I'd read about this with sharks; they could smell blood for miles and would come to investigate, circling the prey. As soon as one finally went for the kill a huge feeding frenzy would begin, with anything in the vicinity likely to be eaten. The Boyf and I eyed each other nervously. "Act camp", I whispered, "it's the only way we'll get out of here alive".

The Drag Queen - who we'd taken along as cover and body-guard - pushed us up the aisle and into some seats, where we had to scramble over discarded accessories. I don't think I've ever seen so many bags and coats and jumpers in my life before. What is it with women and having to have everything with them all the time? And shoes! Why had they all taken their shoes off?

The women talked all of the way through the trailers, so much so that I couldn't hear the trailer for The Dark Knight, which I'd been looking forward to. The Drag Queen also chatted throughout - to us and any girl in the vicinity, as girls have want to do. Apparently trailers are a boy thing.

Then the film started, which I thought would be a mercy until I began to realise how long it was going to be, and that the audience were going to cheer/sob/laugh/applaud etc at every unfolding event. I say "unfolding event" like it had a plot. Basically it's this (here come the spoilers); Carrie and Big are getting married, Steve cheats on Miranda and they split up, Big jilts Carrie at the altar, Carrie implores Miranda to learn the meaning of forgiveness thereby learning it herself and forgiving Big, Big and Carrie get married. Between these major events are Samantha's reluctance to get old (still), and Charlotte being pregnant, which apparently has had the same effect on her as a frontal lobotomy. The whole forgiveness thing is given a further push by Jennifer Hudson's character, which is shoe-horned into the proceedings with little to do other than labour the point, just in case the Miranda/Steve situation wasn't already obvious enough.

Interspersing the whole thing is a veritable cornucopia of hideous frocks, bags and shoes.

And was it even filmed in New York? We get to see precious little of the city they so love (apart from the steps up to Carrie's apartment). I guess the title doesn't actually state which city, so perhaps they thought they'd film any outdoor scene which didn't involve Central Park in Vancouver.

So, my conclusion? Yes, amazingly I did actually enjoy it, but only because I liked the series in the first place. Ok, Sex And The City never set the world alight, but it was always an easy watch, and the film's exactly the same. It's the movie equivalent of Heat magazine. No reason to catch it on the big screen, but if you are a fan then no doubt you'll want to see it at some point.

…Or Are You Just Pleased To See Me?

We went to Hard On on Saturday, for the first time this year if I'm not very much mistaken.

Oh, hang on, I've not told you about Friday yet.

So, Friday evening I jumped on a train after work and met up with The Boyf in Brighton. Being a school holiday he'd gone down for the day to make the most of the nice weather they were suddenly having, and to meet up with an old college friend. I went straight to the friend's house and he and his boyfriend cooked us a light meal before we headed out to some bars.

I like Brighton. It has a more laid-back feel compared to London, but there's still plenty to do, although it all has that slight provincial feel to it. We started our evening in The Star (the local bear bar) but not much was happening, so we quickly moved to Legends. For a Friday - with good weather - it seemed a little quiet, so we moved to GBH (a club for "blokes"). It was dead, the only saving grace being a very cute doorman. But then a few people started to turn up and among them was a cute guy I'd spotted earlier in the evening. The drinks flowed, we dragged the table-cloths from the tables and ran about the place with them as capes, and at some point or other managed to get very drunk. Then the cute guy made a pass at us. He was incredibly forward and chatty, which I greatly admired (being the wall-flower that I am). It must get him laid pretty regularly, and it was certainly working tonight.

He dragged us to another bar, and The Boyf's friends called it a night, obviously realising what was in the offing. During the course of our chatting it transpired that we knew a lot of people in common (surprise, surprise), and the flirting got more and more intense, until The Boyf finally said "So, let's go to your house".

It turned out he lived only 100 yards away from The Boyf's friends, which was handy, and once we got back to his house he proceeded to show us (ok, bore us) with lots of things on his computer. Again The Boyf came to the rescue with an abrupt "Look, why don't you just get your cock out".

He did. And there was much rejoicing. Just for the record - for the voyeurs among you - it was almost as thick as a coke can, although not especially long, and came served with a matching pair of very large balls. As The Boyf would say "It's better to be stretched than probed". Luckily I have no gag reflex and often resemble a python dislocating its mouth to swallow something larger than itself. We finally dragged ourselves back to the friend's house at 6am, feeling rather worse for wear.

Amazingly we were up again at 10.30, and I felt fine. No hangover or anything. The four of us headed out for breakfast by the beach, by which time the sun was blazing, so we headed onto the beach for a few hours before The Boyf and I headed home. It was only when we got back to a very grey London that I realised how sun-burnt I was, just in time for Hard On...

The Boyf persuaded me to wear the rubber shorts, but I'm still very aware that I look like an over-cooked sausage in them. Still, I do actually like my legs and they were commented on (in a good way, I hasten to add) which made me feel a bit more relaxed.

As you may have noticed I'm not particularly into public displays of group sex. Huh? No, really, I'm not. Honest. Anyway, the drinks flowed (again) and I relaxed a bit more, and then the little muscley guy on the podium dancing with his cock out suddenly started to look more attractive. Certainly, his cock bobbing about at eye-level was having the same effect as when you dangle a ball of wool in front of a cat. Finally I pounced. And then it all started to escalate. I'm not going into details but it probably wasn't a pretty sight to be honest. To tell the truth there are a lot of not-pretty sights at Hard On anyway, so I'm sure we fitted right in.

We ended the night in Chariots Sauna (Vauxhall) - my first visit. I was just thankful for being able to finally peel the rubber shorts off, which contained what appeared to be enough sweat to fill a small paddling pool. Whoever first thought of wearing rubber for clubbing was obviously a mental.

Chariots was actually quite amusing, but then I usually think that about saunas. I have trouble taking most supposedly highly-charged sexual situations seriously - if you ever hear anyone with a fit of the giggles in a dark-room it's likely to be me. I mean, everyone takes it all so seriously. I just don’t get it. Yeah, yeah, I know that there are times when you get into a groove and it all gets heated, but generally I prefer to be able to smile or laugh when I'm enjoying myself, and sex is to be enjoyed, isn't it? Certainly the best nights sex I've had have all included interludes of uncontrollable giggling.

So, Chariots was ok for a chill-out, and The Boyf disappeared for a little while whilst I sat in the lounge watching Sky News. And therein lies the difference in how we relax.

All in all a fun Saturday night out. We're now building up to the Hustlaball. Who's coming?

The Bank Holiday Round Up (Finally)

Yet again I write something then forget to post it. So, what's been happening...

We had a lovely Bank Holiday weekend, as it turned out. The Boyf's back is well on the mend, so we made the most of it and went out.

Friday night was Tonka, which was quieter than we assumed it was going to be. Always a good social event though.

We went to the gym for the first time in I don't know how long on Saturday, then wandered along the South Bank to have lunch at Brown's (I can thoroughly recommend the Elderflower Mojito - absolutely gorgeous), and to have a look at the Telectroscope, which looks like a giant camera that has crash-landed outside of the Mayor's building. For those of you who don't know, the story goes that they've dug a top-secret tunnel through the Earth between London and New York, and then placed a magnifying device at both ends (the Telectroscope) which enables people to see straight through from either end. It's a lovely idea and had a huge queue of people vying for a look. Although I've not actually read how they've done it I'm assuming that there's simply a camera at either end transmitting images to the opposing city. This is what modern art should be about - something to get involved in and make people talk. Certainly I could hear people in the queue completely taken in by the tunnel story.

We went to the theatre on Saturday evening to see "Wicked", finally. Kerry Ellis (as Elphaba) is amazing. She has such a lovely, non-theatre, singing voice, and I can see why she's leaving to reprise the role on Broadway next month. Apparently she's back in the London production in December, and we're planning on going again to see her. On the whole I thoroughly enjoyed it, even (almost) managing to suspend disbelief. If you haven't seen it already I recommend it, but try to go before Kerry leaves.

Sunday was "I Love Vauxhall" - basically Vauxhall Pride, and thankfully it stopped raining and dried out for the duration. It was a good little event, and certainly a good starting place for an annual affair. We went with the inevitable Drag Queen and OBM's, and then bumped into My Big Little Sister and his lovely husband. And of course, we can't go to Vauxhall on a Sunday without stopping by at the Tavern, but on this occasion it was only a short interlude before we headed home to get ready for XXL Fusion.

We almost never made it. At our age we've started to feel the need for a disco-nap before venturing out, and I forgot to set the alarm. I woke up at 12.30am in a panic, and we jumped up, showered and arrived at XXL just in time for StoneBridge to start his set at 1. His set was patchy, at least to start, and he didn't seem to be able to decide whether to play tribal, electro or very hands-in-the-air stuff. I quite enjoyed the mixture, but the crowd were unsure. Certainly he played some blinding songs, many of which I'd not heard before. XXL was actually pretty quiet; I guess a lot of people had stayed away because of the crush last time. But also I'm guessing that the pull of StoneBridge wasn't as strong as the Freemasons and a lot of people just decided to stay in Vauxhall. A shame, cause it had all the ingrediants of a good night. You know, I was there!

The weather was awful on Monday so we spent most of it in bed, only venturing out to have lunch with The Drag Queen and a mutual friend (who The Boyf and I have always… admired) and who has just moved into a flat down the road from us. Fancy having him so close by? We're now diverting slightly past his place in case he's wandering around in his pants. Or naked, of course. Does that make us stalkers? Oh well...

And then I had Tuesday off work to finally get my car back on the road. As some of you may recall (by which I mean noone, obviously), some little shit broke into it back in 2006 and since then it's been parked at my Mum's house. What with The Boyf's car being a shit heap (technical term), I finally decided to get mine back home and prepare it for an MOT etc. And now I realise how much I missed it. Not that it's anything special, but it's mine, and that means alot. You will be seeing me roaring up to the Tavern with the stereo blaring, I can assure you.