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...
Monday, June 23, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
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.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
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.
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...
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...
Thursday, June 12, 2008
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.
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.
Friday, June 06, 2008
…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?
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?
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
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.
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.
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