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?
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, July 21, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, July 18, 2008
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).
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).
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
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...
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...
Friday, July 11, 2008
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...
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...
Friday, July 04, 2008
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.
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.
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