We had the dubious honour of going to the opening of a garden centre's Christmas display, complete with mince pie and mulled wine reception. Yes, really. No film premieres, book launches or fashion shows for us. No lunches with the Beckhams, or wine and canapés with Elton and David. Oh no, we get the opening of a garden centre's grotto.
In the Midlands.
For those of you who aren't aware of England's geography - i.e. the Welsh - the Midlands are the bit in the middle. I spoil you with useful info' don't I? Basically, it's the part of England you have to go through to before you end up somewhere nice. And unfortunately The Boyf hails from that dull, grey part of the world, which means we have to visit now and again. I must admit though, that if you get off the motorway the countryside is rather nice, and I have even grown rather attached to Birmingham town centre. There's no hope for me.
We travelled back to London on Saturday, and the remainder of the weekend seems to have been spent trying to find my way out of my first Trade whilst not losing my friends. It was a bit like trying to herd cats through a labyrinth. In the dark. Drugged. Even a barman I asked had no idea how to get out. Still, we had fun. At least other people tell me I was grinning alot so I must have enjoyed it. I seem to recall stumbling, quite literally, across the main dance floor whilst looking for the toilets, having been dancing for four hours in a small backroom thinking it was the main floor. The only thing I clearly remember, apart from "Christ, they're playing Synth & Strings by Yomanda! In this day and age!", is falling flat on my face onto a knee-high podium, and then deciding it would be easiest to crawl the rest of the way. Actually, thinking about it, the reason they probably played "Synth & Strings" was because 1998 was the last time the DJ found their way out, and they've since had to play whatever records they took in with them all those years ago.
Can't wait for Trade's next birthday, which seems to be every two months or something. Never did quite work that one out.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
A View, For You - The Thames
Now I've worked out how to add photos I'm afraid you might well be deluged. Oh well, adds a bit of colour if nothing else.
Part of my journey to and from work is a rather lovely little walk along the Thames, which I live next to. Our little apartment doesn't have a garden, or even a balcony, but we can just step outside and sit or stand by the river and watch the world go by, often with a glass of wine or two.
So today's photo is from just outside our apartment, which is on the south bank of the river in the east end of London. It was taken last Tuesday as I left for work in the morning, and is facing west towards The City (the financial area of London). You can't see much specifically, but The Gherkin is visible right in the centre if you look closely. I'll give you a decent photo of The Gherkin another day.
Part of my journey to and from work is a rather lovely little walk along the Thames, which I live next to. Our little apartment doesn't have a garden, or even a balcony, but we can just step outside and sit or stand by the river and watch the world go by, often with a glass of wine or two.
So today's photo is from just outside our apartment, which is on the south bank of the river in the east end of London. It was taken last Tuesday as I left for work in the morning, and is facing west towards The City (the financial area of London). You can't see much specifically, but The Gherkin is visible right in the centre if you look closely. I'll give you a decent photo of The Gherkin another day.
Monday, October 30, 2006
The Monday Morning BlogBite
Well, I'm back! Yes, I know, it felt like ages didn't it? It's ok. No, really. I know you're pleased to see me but I'd rather if you stopped humping my leg like that. There's a place for such things, and it's called The Hoist.
Whilst I'm in the process of writing something about the last few days I thought I'd share this little find with you. I was trawling the internal on-line phonebook at work and found a rather funny name. Yes, it's a real name, and he really works in my building. Can't wait to find him.
Whilst I'm in the process of writing something about the last few days I thought I'd share this little find with you. I was trawling the internal on-line phonebook at work and found a rather funny name. Yes, it's a real name, and he really works in my building. Can't wait to find him.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Bye For A Bit
I'm sad to say that I'm going to be leaving you for a few days. I know, it's upsetting isn't it? Please don't cry, it's only a few days I promise. Yes, I know I said that about the dog, but I told you he's gone to live on a farm where he can play with the other animals.
The Boyf and I are heading north for a couple of days to see his family and friends, and when we get back it's going to be a long weekend of clubbing. No doubt out of that there should be something interesting to tell you about. That's if I can remember any of it.
So, I'll see you all next week. In the meantime I'll leave you with a saying: one good turn gets most of the blankets.
The Boyf and I are heading north for a couple of days to see his family and friends, and when we get back it's going to be a long weekend of clubbing. No doubt out of that there should be something interesting to tell you about. That's if I can remember any of it.
So, I'll see you all next week. In the meantime I'll leave you with a saying: one good turn gets most of the blankets.
Fresh, Like Morning Dew
I was stood at the bar in a well-reknowned club in London. A well-reknowned sex club in London, in fact. The Boyf has gone to the toilet, a new acquaintence of ours (in fact, it's The God. Dribble) has gone for a little walk round. We all know what that means, but he's told us not to go anywhere. Apparently he's not finished with us. The guy's insatiable, and frankly I'm not complaining.
So yeah, I'm at the bar, alone, drinking cider. The barman is leaving me be for a moment. Apparently he's had quite enough fun playing with my ears for a bit and has gone off to serve someone. (He has a thing about ears, took an immediate shine to mine, and then nearly wet himself when I revealed I can wiggle them).
So anyway, I'm at the bar, on my own. I think we all get that by now. I should add that it's very hot in The Hoist. Oops, named it. Oh well. Suddenly I can feel a very light shower hitting the top of my head and my bare shoulders. (No, I wasn't wearing that blue sequined halter-neck dress - I'd taken my t-shirt off). It feels like a very fine sprinkler system has been turned on, to cool the hot patrons at the bar. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to allow the mist to hit my face. I open my mouth and let out a very satisfied sigh.
At this moment The Boyf and The God both reappear (from opposite directions, I should add). They seem to be keeping a slight distance from me, and The Boyf is smirking. The God, looking vaguely disturbed, says to me, "You do know you're being pissed on, don't you?".
I back away from the bar and look up. On the mezzanine level lies a skinhead. Standing alongside is another skinhead, and he is pissing on the guy lying down, the spray from which I've just been standing under with my mouth open.
The Boyf and The God start to laugh, I complain that my pint tastes funny, and we all repair to a dark corner to give my poor knees another work-out.
So yeah, I'm at the bar, alone, drinking cider. The barman is leaving me be for a moment. Apparently he's had quite enough fun playing with my ears for a bit and has gone off to serve someone. (He has a thing about ears, took an immediate shine to mine, and then nearly wet himself when I revealed I can wiggle them).
So anyway, I'm at the bar, on my own. I think we all get that by now. I should add that it's very hot in The Hoist. Oops, named it. Oh well. Suddenly I can feel a very light shower hitting the top of my head and my bare shoulders. (No, I wasn't wearing that blue sequined halter-neck dress - I'd taken my t-shirt off). It feels like a very fine sprinkler system has been turned on, to cool the hot patrons at the bar. I close my eyes and tilt my head back to allow the mist to hit my face. I open my mouth and let out a very satisfied sigh.
At this moment The Boyf and The God both reappear (from opposite directions, I should add). They seem to be keeping a slight distance from me, and The Boyf is smirking. The God, looking vaguely disturbed, says to me, "You do know you're being pissed on, don't you?".
I back away from the bar and look up. On the mezzanine level lies a skinhead. Standing alongside is another skinhead, and he is pissing on the guy lying down, the spray from which I've just been standing under with my mouth open.
The Boyf and The God start to laugh, I complain that my pint tastes funny, and we all repair to a dark corner to give my poor knees another work-out.
Monday, October 23, 2006
Utterly Mortified
I'm standing outside a club with The Boyf, getting some air, when an acquaintance of his walks up to say hello. We've met on numerous occasions, and he's always been friendly, so I immediately greet him with a cheery "Hi".
He looks at me blankly.
I look at him, smiling, awaiting some sort of reaction.
He looks at me blankly.
I start to look puzzled.
The Boyf, realising that something odd is transpiring, says "You know my boyfriend, (insert name here)".
He looks at me blankly.
Then suddenly, "Oh yes, of course, sorry. You know, if you wasn't with The Boyf I'd never recognise you. You just don't stand out".
He looks at me blankly.
I look at him, smiling, awaiting some sort of reaction.
He looks at me blankly.
I start to look puzzled.
The Boyf, realising that something odd is transpiring, says "You know my boyfriend, (insert name here)
He looks at me blankly.
Then suddenly, "Oh yes, of course, sorry. You know, if you wasn't with The Boyf I'd never recognise you. You just don't stand out".
Farewell Schuey
I'm not ashamed to say I shed a tear at the end of the Grand Prix yesterday. I'd already started getting a bit emotional when Schuey set a fastest lap after his puncture, and had worked my way up from there.
It's very much the end of an era. As with most geniuses Schumacher was flawed, and his career has been tempered with controversy. But whether you like him or not you have to admit that he's going to leave a big hole in F1.
Personally I love the guy. I loved the way he could pull fastest lap after fastest lap out of the bag when he needed to, seemingly at will. I loved the way he always gave praise where it was due, and was always on the optimistic side of realistic. And I loved how he never gave up, as demonstrated again yesterday. He retires as the best driver currently in F1, the best of his generation, and arguably the best of all time.
I'm going to miss him, and now I have to find someone new to cheer for after all these years. Being a dedicated Ferrari fan since childhood I should start rooting for Kimi, but his complete lack of any discernible personality prohibits this, therefore I'm left with Massa to uphold my Ferrari allegiance. Other than that I guess I'm going to have to cheer for Button. If only Michael wasn't leaving.
It's very much the end of an era. As with most geniuses Schumacher was flawed, and his career has been tempered with controversy. But whether you like him or not you have to admit that he's going to leave a big hole in F1.
Personally I love the guy. I loved the way he could pull fastest lap after fastest lap out of the bag when he needed to, seemingly at will. I loved the way he always gave praise where it was due, and was always on the optimistic side of realistic. And I loved how he never gave up, as demonstrated again yesterday. He retires as the best driver currently in F1, the best of his generation, and arguably the best of all time.
I'm going to miss him, and now I have to find someone new to cheer for after all these years. Being a dedicated Ferrari fan since childhood I should start rooting for Kimi, but his complete lack of any discernible personality prohibits this, therefore I'm left with Massa to uphold my Ferrari allegiance. Other than that I guess I'm going to have to cheer for Button. If only Michael wasn't leaving.
Friday, October 20, 2006
An Experiment
For your delectation I will now endeavour to add a photo to one of my posts.
Drum roll please....
Drum roll please....
Et viola!
Oh, it's a bit small. Never mind, the thought was there.
Nice though, isn't it? I took it with my mobile phone (in panorama mode) whilst in Scotland this year. It's the Cairngorm mountain range taken from Loch Morlich.
Anyway, my experiment is a success, and I will now add random photos to my posts, most of which will probably bear no relation to what I'm writing about, just because I can.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Niqabs For Everyone!
I feel like I should jump on the "Muslim women shouldn't be allowed to wear veils" bandwagon. As usual I'm jumping on a bandwagon after it's already set off on its journey, and I'm likely to break the odd fingernail while I scramble aboard. I might graze a knee as well, which will give me a nice little scab to pick at later.
Anyway, I'd like to approach the argument from another direction. In fact, the opposite direction entirely. I think non-Muslim women should start wearing veils and full headscarves too. Why should non-Muslims be discriminated against by not being allowed to wear them? In this way we can bring some colour to them too. I know black's very slimming, and goes well with most colours (still not feeling black with brown no matter what anyone tells me, sorry), but it's a bit dull, especially in summer, and non-Muslims should be allowed to co-ordinate with their outfit. So, we should have veils in nice muted colours, nothing too bright cause they'll just look cheap. Maybe add a few sequins, or some nice slogans. You know, like "Motorhead" or something. And then designer labels can get in on the act, and sportswear brands too. We could have nice Nike veils with the big tick across where the mouth should be. Or Adidas veils with the stripes up the sides.
And why stop at women? Let men wear them too. The gays can start this one off. You just know they'll be tight-fitting and, as seems to be the current vogue, have some slogan emblazoned in rhinestones across the front. Maybe a risqué little rip to expose a bit of nose, or backless headscarves like a pair of chaps for the head. And the bear scene can have ones in plaid with stick-on beards on the front, and then the fetish scene can get into it... oh, they already have gimp masks, sorry.
Then, as in everything, the straight men can get in on the act, probably with a Burberry pattern, or perhaps they'll invent a kind of hoodie with a front panel, or something to hang off the brim of a baseball cap.
And of course the Muslim women will start wearing the coloured ones, perhaps starting with something conservative like a Laura Ashley floral print and working their way up. And then it'll become a fashion thing and at some point will go out of favour, as these things have want to do, and Muslim and non-Muslims alike will put their veils in the back of their wardrobes and forget all about them, in a flares kinda way. And the Muslims will forget why they wore them in the first place, i.e. because the males are insecure and feel the need to suppress women, and we'll all live happily ever after.
Anyway, I'd like to approach the argument from another direction. In fact, the opposite direction entirely. I think non-Muslim women should start wearing veils and full headscarves too. Why should non-Muslims be discriminated against by not being allowed to wear them? In this way we can bring some colour to them too. I know black's very slimming, and goes well with most colours (still not feeling black with brown no matter what anyone tells me, sorry), but it's a bit dull, especially in summer, and non-Muslims should be allowed to co-ordinate with their outfit. So, we should have veils in nice muted colours, nothing too bright cause they'll just look cheap. Maybe add a few sequins, or some nice slogans. You know, like "Motorhead" or something. And then designer labels can get in on the act, and sportswear brands too. We could have nice Nike veils with the big tick across where the mouth should be. Or Adidas veils with the stripes up the sides.
And why stop at women? Let men wear them too. The gays can start this one off. You just know they'll be tight-fitting and, as seems to be the current vogue, have some slogan emblazoned in rhinestones across the front. Maybe a risqué little rip to expose a bit of nose, or backless headscarves like a pair of chaps for the head. And the bear scene can have ones in plaid with stick-on beards on the front, and then the fetish scene can get into it... oh, they already have gimp masks, sorry.
Then, as in everything, the straight men can get in on the act, probably with a Burberry pattern, or perhaps they'll invent a kind of hoodie with a front panel, or something to hang off the brim of a baseball cap.
And of course the Muslim women will start wearing the coloured ones, perhaps starting with something conservative like a Laura Ashley floral print and working their way up. And then it'll become a fashion thing and at some point will go out of favour, as these things have want to do, and Muslim and non-Muslims alike will put their veils in the back of their wardrobes and forget all about them, in a flares kinda way. And the Muslims will forget why they wore them in the first place, i.e. because the males are insecure and feel the need to suppress women, and we'll all live happily ever after.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Keira Knightly and Lindsay Lohan Get It On!
Like two stick insects with strap-ons, I should imagine.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Come And Play With My Asp
I'm having a good day at work.
One of the maintenance men is quite sexy, and he's just has to come and fiddle with my cupboard doors (not a euphemism, unfortunately). So I was able to do comedy licking motions behind him when he was bending over in front of me. Strangely satisfying, you know.
I've also found out the name of the Cute Guy. It's Luke. And I've found out where he works in my building. There's a little plain door leading from reception, which looks like it could be a cupboard but is actually a big open-plan office. And he's in it. Everything suddenly falls into place.
I knew he couldn't escape from me for long. So, all I have to do now is find a reason to go through that little door. Perhaps I could pretend to be delivering something. Or maybe their plumbing is broken. I'll just borrow a typically ridiculous opening gambit from a porn film. "Excuse me mister, I'm here to have a look at your back door, and I've got some lube to try to free it up", or something equally preposterous. And then we can have filthy bum sex over a photocopier after everyone has left for the day.
Oh joy! All my dreams come true. Well, not all of them, but it's unlikely that I'll ever have those gold things in my hair like Elizabeth Taylor in "Cleopatra", so I'll settle for the office bum sex.
One of the maintenance men is quite sexy, and he's just has to come and fiddle with my cupboard doors (not a euphemism, unfortunately). So I was able to do comedy licking motions behind him when he was bending over in front of me. Strangely satisfying, you know.
I've also found out the name of the Cute Guy. It's Luke. And I've found out where he works in my building. There's a little plain door leading from reception, which looks like it could be a cupboard but is actually a big open-plan office. And he's in it. Everything suddenly falls into place.
I knew he couldn't escape from me for long. So, all I have to do now is find a reason to go through that little door. Perhaps I could pretend to be delivering something. Or maybe their plumbing is broken. I'll just borrow a typically ridiculous opening gambit from a porn film. "Excuse me mister, I'm here to have a look at your back door, and I've got some lube to try to free it up", or something equally preposterous. And then we can have filthy bum sex over a photocopier after everyone has left for the day.
Oh joy! All my dreams come true. Well, not all of them, but it's unlikely that I'll ever have those gold things in my hair like Elizabeth Taylor in "Cleopatra", so I'll settle for the office bum sex.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Parents, honestly!
Today I'm going to have a little rant about parents. I'm qualified to talk about parenting because my ex-boyf was the biggest, surliest kid imaginable. Mentally, I mean. Obviously I don't go out with children, unless they happen to be inhabiting the body of a 38 year old mechanic. At least he's fully prepared me should I ever need to adopt a teenage girl.
So yeah, parents these days are crap. At least, the ones near my abode are. The Boyf, as you may recall, should you be paying the proper attention, is a teacher. Last week he had to have two mothers physically removed from the school for fighting. He also had to physically restrain one of the fathers because he was trying to punch another mother in the face because she forgot to meet his wife in BHS for lunch!!! It's not the children that are the problem you see, it's the parents. Ok, so one of the kids bought in an aerosol and a lighter and used them like a blowtorch to set another kid alight. Weren't you up to such high japes when you were 8 years old?
On breakfast tv this morning, the last bastion of high-brow informative programming (rolls eyes), we were treated to a parent complaining that his son was banned from eating his packed lunch. The 8 year old's lunch comprised a sandwich, a bag of crisps, an iced cake, a yoghurt and a bottle of water. I'm guessing the water was a concession to make it all look healthy should Jamie Oliver pop up from behind a static display of Meg & Mog. Anyway, the lunch broke school rules because it included three snacks when rules stipulated only two were allowed. So what had the Dad done? Yes, gone on national tv to complain. With the kid. Who should be in school, no? Half-term's next week. The Dad was fully aware of school rules but stated that if the yoghurt was poured over the cake it only counted as one snack. Ew! Still, judging by the look of him it was only to be expected.
When parents take their kids to a school they're made fully aware of the school rules. If they have an issue they should speak to the Head, not go on national tv with their petty grievances. I, for one, don't really give a shit if someone's kid isn't allowed a yoghurt AND a cake. I've got better things to worry about over my breakfast, like how I can gets lips like Angelina Jolie, and whether Katie Holmes gets to sleep with whatever man she wants to in her arrangement with Tom Cruise. Or perhaps she prefers women, which is why she's been hanging around with Victoria Beckham wearing similar outfits. Cause lesbians do that don't they? Dress the same I mean, not hang around with Posh.
So, if any whiney parents should be reading this, please stop moaning and let your kid get on with it's education. It'll thank you in the long-run. Unless you're from Bermondsey, in which case at least it'll be able to write you beautifully punctuated letters from prison.
So yeah, parents these days are crap. At least, the ones near my abode are. The Boyf, as you may recall, should you be paying the proper attention, is a teacher. Last week he had to have two mothers physically removed from the school for fighting. He also had to physically restrain one of the fathers because he was trying to punch another mother in the face because she forgot to meet his wife in BHS for lunch!!! It's not the children that are the problem you see, it's the parents. Ok, so one of the kids bought in an aerosol and a lighter and used them like a blowtorch to set another kid alight. Weren't you up to such high japes when you were 8 years old?
On breakfast tv this morning, the last bastion of high-brow informative programming (rolls eyes), we were treated to a parent complaining that his son was banned from eating his packed lunch. The 8 year old's lunch comprised a sandwich, a bag of crisps, an iced cake, a yoghurt and a bottle of water. I'm guessing the water was a concession to make it all look healthy should Jamie Oliver pop up from behind a static display of Meg & Mog. Anyway, the lunch broke school rules because it included three snacks when rules stipulated only two were allowed. So what had the Dad done? Yes, gone on national tv to complain. With the kid. Who should be in school, no? Half-term's next week. The Dad was fully aware of school rules but stated that if the yoghurt was poured over the cake it only counted as one snack. Ew! Still, judging by the look of him it was only to be expected.
When parents take their kids to a school they're made fully aware of the school rules. If they have an issue they should speak to the Head, not go on national tv with their petty grievances. I, for one, don't really give a shit if someone's kid isn't allowed a yoghurt AND a cake. I've got better things to worry about over my breakfast, like how I can gets lips like Angelina Jolie, and whether Katie Holmes gets to sleep with whatever man she wants to in her arrangement with Tom Cruise. Or perhaps she prefers women, which is why she's been hanging around with Victoria Beckham wearing similar outfits. Cause lesbians do that don't they? Dress the same I mean, not hang around with Posh.
So, if any whiney parents should be reading this, please stop moaning and let your kid get on with it's education. It'll thank you in the long-run. Unless you're from Bermondsey, in which case at least it'll be able to write you beautifully punctuated letters from prison.
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Weekend Arrives
It was my Mum's birthday on Wednesday. Her 72nd, and the first one she's had since my Dad passed away. I took time off work and went to visit in the afternoon/evening, and my sister turned up shortly after. My niece had already been to visit first thing in the morning. It seemed like, without actually talking about it, we'd all conspired to arrange our time so that Mum wouldn't be left on her own throughout the day, and I'd never seen her receive so many cards.
As usual I spent alot of my time at Mum's trying not to cry; the place feels so empty without Dad. And as usual my Mum was more than happy to talk about him, in this case about birthdays that they'd had in the past, seemingly without getting upset. She hasn't cried about my Dad at all, which she finds as strange as I do. Oh well, I've cried enough for the pair of us. Still do.
Everyone says that the first year after a loved one dies is the hardest. It's hitting all those landmarks - birthdays, Christmas etc - and not having them around. But I'm not finding those landmark days any harder than any other. Both Father's Day and what would have been my Dad's birthday were too close after he died for me to differentiate the pain on that day to any other. I guess the test will be my own birthday and then Christmas, but to be honest I can't imagine they'll hurt any more than any other day I don't get to hear my Dad tell me he loves me.
Have a good weekend, dear readers. I know I intend to.
As usual I spent alot of my time at Mum's trying not to cry; the place feels so empty without Dad. And as usual my Mum was more than happy to talk about him, in this case about birthdays that they'd had in the past, seemingly without getting upset. She hasn't cried about my Dad at all, which she finds as strange as I do. Oh well, I've cried enough for the pair of us. Still do.
Everyone says that the first year after a loved one dies is the hardest. It's hitting all those landmarks - birthdays, Christmas etc - and not having them around. But I'm not finding those landmark days any harder than any other. Both Father's Day and what would have been my Dad's birthday were too close after he died for me to differentiate the pain on that day to any other. I guess the test will be my own birthday and then Christmas, but to be honest I can't imagine they'll hurt any more than any other day I don't get to hear my Dad tell me he loves me.
Have a good weekend, dear readers. I know I intend to.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Ginger, We Salute You!
There is a new guy started in our office this week. He's BIG. As in 6 foot tall and plays rugby. But no, unusually he's not my type, which is a shame cause I've been looking forward to his first day for ages. I'd even douched especially. Sorry, TMI.
Anyway, all this brings to mind the guy he's replacing, who we'll simply refer to as "Ginger". (Look, he already had that nickname when I started. You know how unimaginative straight people are when dishing out nicknames).
Ginger had a habit of saying the most un-PC things imaginable to people he'd never met before, but I'll tell you just one of the snippets of joy to fall from his mouth.
Some of the lads went to Brighton for a stag "do". Yeah, Brighton, I know! There was much rolling of eyes by OMO when they announced it. I didn't go, thinking that at some point they'd make me take them to a gay bar and then something silly would happen. But even without me it transpired they tried to get into an establishment for those of us who like Kylie. The bouncer refused them, which is where Ginger pipes up with "I know I'm not gay but I do have ginger hair, so that makes me disabled too". Needless to say, they didn't get in.
So here's to you, Ginger, and your funny mouth. I'll forever miss being referred to as "the office faggot"...
Anyway, all this brings to mind the guy he's replacing, who we'll simply refer to as "Ginger". (Look, he already had that nickname when I started. You know how unimaginative straight people are when dishing out nicknames).
Ginger had a habit of saying the most un-PC things imaginable to people he'd never met before, but I'll tell you just one of the snippets of joy to fall from his mouth.
Some of the lads went to Brighton for a stag "do". Yeah, Brighton, I know! There was much rolling of eyes by OMO when they announced it. I didn't go, thinking that at some point they'd make me take them to a gay bar and then something silly would happen. But even without me it transpired they tried to get into an establishment for those of us who like Kylie. The bouncer refused them, which is where Ginger pipes up with "I know I'm not gay but I do have ginger hair, so that makes me disabled too". Needless to say, they didn't get in.
So here's to you, Ginger, and your funny mouth. I'll forever miss being referred to as "the office faggot"...
Monday, October 09, 2006
The Weekend - Post-Credits
It's now about 3am. We're still in the dark club, the music is still pounding, people are still having sex (wasn't that a song?). OMO and TB are at the bar. They're having a quiet-ish drink, post-The God Incident. They've had their egos stroked, along with other things. Now, earlier in the day TB had come up with a game to try to get OMO involved a bit more (!), and suddenly starts to count down...
"10... 9... 8..."
OMO is clearly astonished that this is going to happen. The plan is that OMO has a count of 10 to disappear into the club and cop off with someone. Once the countdown is finished TB would come looking, hopefully to find OMO in a "compromising" position and join in.
"7... 6... 5... "
OMO dashes off into the gloom. He's looking for one of the other guys they both liked from before The God Incident.
"4... 3... 2..."
OMO has found one of them. He's really rather lovely. OMO can't afford to waste time so walks straight up to him and says "Follow me".
"1... Zero. Coming to get you!"
20 minutes later (it took him that long to find me, hee hee) TB finally discovers OMO locked in the disabled toilet (so classy!), bent over with his face pushed up against the mirror. You can guess what was going on, and although it might have looked like leap-frog to a casual observer, it most certainly wasn't. Cue another very shocked look from TB, who's idea of "compromising" apparently hadn't stretched quite that far.
THE END.
"10... 9... 8..."
OMO is clearly astonished that this is going to happen. The plan is that OMO has a count of 10 to disappear into the club and cop off with someone. Once the countdown is finished TB would come looking, hopefully to find OMO in a "compromising" position and join in.
"7... 6... 5... "
OMO dashes off into the gloom. He's looking for one of the other guys they both liked from before The God Incident.
"4... 3... 2..."
OMO has found one of them. He's really rather lovely. OMO can't afford to waste time so walks straight up to him and says "Follow me".
"1... Zero. Coming to get you!"
20 minutes later (it took him that long to find me, hee hee) TB finally discovers OMO locked in the disabled toilet (so classy!), bent over with his face pushed up against the mirror. You can guess what was going on, and although it might have looked like leap-frog to a casual observer, it most certainly wasn't. Cue another very shocked look from TB, who's idea of "compromising" apparently hadn't stretched quite that far.
THE END.
Act 5
On reaching The God OMO immediately drops to his knees in front of him. There is a moment which feels like eternity where OMO think The God will push past and walk off. What OMO doesn't know is that a big grin has spread across The God's face and he's tipped TB a wink. The God then unzips his flies, reaches in an pulls out an enormous cock. There is an audible gasp from assembled on-lookers. Someone twitters "Oh, that lucky bitch". OMO thinks that the warming-up exercises with the banana earlier in the evening aren't going to be enough. He wishes he'd used a marrow. He sets to anyway. It's a tough job but gurgle, mumble, gurgle. Other men start to flock around. They all want a piece, and frankly there's enough to go around, but OMO is a greedy bitch and growls at anyone who comes near. You don't give a dog a bone and then try to take it away again, do you?
Suddenly hands are pulling OMO to his feet. It's The God, so it's allowed. He growls "There are too many people here. Come with me. I want you two all to myself". Our two main characters swap a look of utter incredulity. OMO scans the area for cameras. He has decided this is clearly a set-up and they will shortly be appearing on "You've Been Framed". With much canned laughter. They follow The God to a back room, the door of which is locked behind them. There ensues lots of the sex. And there was much rejoicing!
ROLL CREDITS.
(There is actually a little after-credits scene here for those of you who haven't turned off in disgust)
Suddenly hands are pulling OMO to his feet. It's The God, so it's allowed. He growls "There are too many people here. Come with me. I want you two all to myself". Our two main characters swap a look of utter incredulity. OMO scans the area for cameras. He has decided this is clearly a set-up and they will shortly be appearing on "You've Been Framed". With much canned laughter. They follow The God to a back room, the door of which is locked behind them. There ensues lots of the sex. And there was much rejoicing!
ROLL CREDITS.
(There is actually a little after-credits scene here for those of you who haven't turned off in disgust)
Act 4
A couple of hours have passed. People have lost their inhibitions and have started having lots of the sex very randomly throughout the club. OMO and TB wander around for a bit then return to the bar. They're still trying to pluck up the courage to jump on someone. Then they see The God, standing on his own in a corner. Apparently people are too nervous to go near him. Those that do are turned quickly away. Apparently he also appears to be staring very intently at our two main characters. OMO says to TB "What do you think?". TB appears frozen. He's had an attack of the nerves, which is most unlike him, as he's normally a brazen hussy. In a loveable way, of course. OMO, who now clearly has had enough cider (told you I was classy) to stop worrying about being shot down in flames by someone WAY out of his league, suddenly strides towards The God. TB, with a look of surprise that will be repeated later in the evening, realises what's going to happen and follows. He wants to catch OMO's hopes when they're dashed against the rocks of despair. Or, more likely, he wants to see The God's cock.
(Act 5)
(Act 5)
Act 3
It's later that night and we're in a dark club. Pounding music plays to a crowd largely dressed in leather. They're not interest in dancing. They're interested in only one thing, and tonight it's not "Kylie: The Showgirl Princess", for a change! OMO and TB are at the bar, surveying the scene. They're trying to decide on tonight's plaything(s). They're also trying to ignore the guy wandering around in only a rubber vest, his cock tucked up inside it so only his balls dangle out of the bottom, and the guy in a jock-strap who hasn't realised that one ball is poking out the side. Anywho, they have two, er, victims in mind already when suddenly the door opens and in walks... The God. He is dressed in jeans with chaps and a leather waistcoat. OMO has a spontaneous hot flush, TB starts to dribble (again). As The God strides past he does a slight double-take and growls "Hello". He clearly recognises OMO and TB from the slack-jawed staring. And the slightly too high-pitched giggling. TB manages a surprisingly butch "Hello" in return. OMO just stares. The God strides off. OMO runs off to the toilet to splash cold water on his face and regain his composure.
(Act 4)
(Act 4)
Act 2
Our main characters have moved to the locker-room. They have showered but seem in no hurry to leave. They know that the gym closes in 10 minutes and a certain someone still needs to have a shower. The God walks in and starts to undress. OMO and TB lurk around in front of the mirrors, pretending to do their hair. This looks stupid as they both have shaved heads. They're gay, after all. OMO in particular seems to be spending far too much time looking at his beard, so TB decides to physically herd him out of the door. OMO protests, whispering that he wants to see what The God looks like wet, but TB is conscious that they're starting to look like perverts. And their dribbling is now forming puddles. They've had their little excitement for the day.
(Act 3)
(Act 3)
Act 1
London. A strangely warm October afternoon. People are confused and dress seems to vary from shorts and t-shirts to full overcoats, gloves and scarves. One guy is particularly confused and is wearing shorts WITH an overcoat and scarf (I know, honestly! And it wasn't even co-ordinated properly).
We enter a gym. Only a handful of guys are working out, including our two main characters, OMO and The Boyf (who'll we'll refer to as TB from now on). The door opens and in walks a god. THE God. Six feet tall, huge hairy chest, thick arms, shaved head, stubble. Arse to die for, or possibly in. His face suggests not much going on upstairs (he has the Ug-Factor, as we call it). He is built to look good. And to have rampant sex. Nothing more. OMO and TB burst into spontaneous flirtatious giggling, and basically go very unnecessary. There is much whispering behind hands, and bending over to pick up weights that they don't need whilst wiggling their behinds in The God's general direction. The God appears able to bench-press weights that our two main characters normally struggle to heave out of the way as a team. Or more likely just step over on the way to something lighter. Much grunting issues forth from him, soliciting more giggling.
(Act 2)
We enter a gym. Only a handful of guys are working out, including our two main characters, OMO and The Boyf (who'll we'll refer to as TB from now on). The door opens and in walks a god. THE God. Six feet tall, huge hairy chest, thick arms, shaved head, stubble. Arse to die for, or possibly in. His face suggests not much going on upstairs (he has the Ug-Factor, as we call it). He is built to look good. And to have rampant sex. Nothing more. OMO and TB burst into spontaneous flirtatious giggling, and basically go very unnecessary. There is much whispering behind hands, and bending over to pick up weights that they don't need whilst wiggling their behinds in The God's general direction. The God appears able to bench-press weights that our two main characters normally struggle to heave out of the way as a team. Or more likely just step over on the way to something lighter. Much grunting issues forth from him, soliciting more giggling.
(Act 2)
The Weekend - Pre-Credits
Saturday night was one of those evenings that don't happen too often. You know, the ones where you NEED to tell someone afterwards. It's a bit of a long story, and please don't think that I'm bragging, but I need to tell someone who can't butt in and say "Oh HIM. Yeah, I've already had him". And who better than you, who are always here, and can't get away quickly enough. So I'm going to break it into easy-to-digest parts, so you can read a little chapter in bed every night. With your Horlicks. Shall I come and tuck you in? I won't take advantage, honest.
It was straight out of a film really. Something low-rent, but a film nonetheless. Think "You've Got Mail" crossed with "Anal Cum Farts 2". Or something. "You've Got Nailed" perhaps. Is that a real porn film? Anyway, picture the scene...
(cue wobbly memory effect)
(Act 1)
It was straight out of a film really. Something low-rent, but a film nonetheless. Think "You've Got Mail" crossed with "Anal Cum Farts 2". Or something. "You've Got Nailed" perhaps. Is that a real porn film? Anyway, picture the scene...
(cue wobbly memory effect)
(Act 1)
Friday, October 06, 2006
Last Night's Dinner
...was chicken in a honey and tomato sauce with fragrant jasmine rice (all made from scratch by The Boyf, as is his way). It included many ingredients which I won't bother telling you about, primarily because I have no idea what they were. Look, it's not my job to cook in our relationship. I just sit around looking foxy (stop sniggering) and The Boyf places a plate of food in front of me at some point during the evening. My job is then to eat it, compliment him on how wonderful it was (because it always is), and then DO THE WASHING UP! Urgh! I wish I could cook.
Anyway, shame you didn't pop in for dinner cause it was rather lovely. Maybe tonight then eh?
Bring some wine, there's a love.
Anyway, shame you didn't pop in for dinner cause it was rather lovely. Maybe tonight then eh?
Bring some wine, there's a love.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Brou-Ha-Ha
Quote of last night was "I am colouring the rainbow of truth with the crayons of denial".
Oh, and "I walked into a disabled toilet the other day. You know, just because I can. To show off."
Brou-Ha-Ha last night was funny as fuck. Four of us went along; OMO, The Boyf, The Drag Queen, and Our Big Mate #2. OBM#2 was picked on by the compare, bless him, for looking like he was carved from solid oak. He does have a certain solidity about him. He also belies his looks (manly and vaguely unapproachable) by doubling over with the giggles at every available opportunity.
All three acts were good in their own right, although the middle one didn't quite fit between the other two. The style of humour was completely different, whilst the other two complemented each other rather well.
Compared with Comedy Camp, Brou-Ha-Ha has a lovely comfortable feel about it. It feels warm and inviting. So if you get the chance, try it.
I'll try not to write a review of anything tomorrow, which should be easy as The Boyf and I are planning at night at home. Unless you want a review of something that's on TV tonight. Let's see, what's on?
Er...
On reviewing the schedules I think I'll treat you to a review of my dinner instead. Not sure what we'll be having yet, so it'll be a nice surprise for me tonight, and for you tomorrow.
Oh, and "I walked into a disabled toilet the other day. You know, just because I can. To show off."
Brou-Ha-Ha last night was funny as fuck. Four of us went along; OMO, The Boyf, The Drag Queen, and Our Big Mate #2. OBM#2 was picked on by the compare, bless him, for looking like he was carved from solid oak. He does have a certain solidity about him. He also belies his looks (manly and vaguely unapproachable) by doubling over with the giggles at every available opportunity.
All three acts were good in their own right, although the middle one didn't quite fit between the other two. The style of humour was completely different, whilst the other two complemented each other rather well.
Compared with Comedy Camp, Brou-Ha-Ha has a lovely comfortable feel about it. It feels warm and inviting. So if you get the chance, try it.
I'll try not to write a review of anything tomorrow, which should be easy as The Boyf and I are planning at night at home. Unless you want a review of something that's on TV tonight. Let's see, what's on?
Er...
On reviewing the schedules I think I'll treat you to a review of my dinner instead. Not sure what we'll be having yet, so it'll be a nice surprise for me tonight, and for you tomorrow.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Wilkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!
"Cabaret" was bloody excellent, I have to say.
I seem to be one of the only gays not to have seen the film (I know, it's shocking isn't it. I mean, Liza's in it and everything!), so I had no idea of what it was about really. The Boyf once played Clifford in a production of it somewhere up north (which apparently used the old sets from the last West End production, some years ago now), so I relied on him to tell me what's new etc. What was quite interesting was that we both agreed on who played their characters well, or not so well, considering he knew how the characters should be whilst I was watching for the first time. Anyway, enough of all this, let me share with you some thoughts about it...
Firstly, there is nudity. We were quite shocked at the sudden arrival of a naked, and kinda cute, guy on stage, penis happily flopping around. Later on there was a lot of bottoms (not wobbly), a rather muscular young man dressed as a sailor (dribble), breasts (yikes), more willies (hurrah!), some lady gardens (ew!), a gay snog (phwoar), and some vaguely sado-masochistic sexual writhings on a bed (makes notes for later). All very tasteful of course, but it was quite amusing to hear some older members of the audience complaining about it in the interval.
Secondly, Anna Maxwell Martin is surprisingly good, James Dreyfus surprisingly isn't. The latter, playing the Master of Ceremonies (Emcee), just didn't seem bold enough as a character. The former, playing Sally Bowles, won me over. She managed to pull off being silly without being annoying, and although not the best singer (she's obviously been picked for her BAFTA winning acting credentials), I still found myself utterly mesmerised by her rendition of the title song.
Thirdly, the dance routine with the chair isn't in it. We all know that routine, right? Even those of us who haven't seen the film. Liza's look from the film is very iconic, and they appear to have deliberately avoided trying to emulate it. Good for them I reckon.
Fourthly, Sheila Hancock (playing the landlady, Fraulein Schneider) is a goddess. More pineapples for her!
Fifthly, they've crammed ALL the songs in, both those from the film and the original stage production, which means they've had to shoe-horn some of them in as snippets. But all the main songs are present and correct.
Sixthly, I stood next to Simon Shepherd at the bar during the interval. He was alone and looked rather bored. We think perhaps he really IS James Dreyfus' boyfriend.
And finally, the ending is rather shocking, and left the audience in a stunned silence, wondering whether to clap. I won't give it away, but it's dark. And bold for a West End show.
So, all in all, go and see it, I say! I really enjoyed it, as did The Boyf, and the friend we took along. It's funny, it's moving, it's thought provoking. The gays are gonna love it!
I seem to be one of the only gays not to have seen the film (I know, it's shocking isn't it. I mean, Liza's in it and everything!), so I had no idea of what it was about really. The Boyf once played Clifford in a production of it somewhere up north (which apparently used the old sets from the last West End production, some years ago now), so I relied on him to tell me what's new etc. What was quite interesting was that we both agreed on who played their characters well, or not so well, considering he knew how the characters should be whilst I was watching for the first time. Anyway, enough of all this, let me share with you some thoughts about it...
Firstly, there is nudity. We were quite shocked at the sudden arrival of a naked, and kinda cute, guy on stage, penis happily flopping around. Later on there was a lot of bottoms (not wobbly), a rather muscular young man dressed as a sailor (dribble), breasts (yikes), more willies (hurrah!), some lady gardens (ew!), a gay snog (phwoar), and some vaguely sado-masochistic sexual writhings on a bed (makes notes for later). All very tasteful of course, but it was quite amusing to hear some older members of the audience complaining about it in the interval.
Secondly, Anna Maxwell Martin is surprisingly good, James Dreyfus surprisingly isn't. The latter, playing the Master of Ceremonies (Emcee), just didn't seem bold enough as a character. The former, playing Sally Bowles, won me over. She managed to pull off being silly without being annoying, and although not the best singer (she's obviously been picked for her BAFTA winning acting credentials), I still found myself utterly mesmerised by her rendition of the title song.
Thirdly, the dance routine with the chair isn't in it. We all know that routine, right? Even those of us who haven't seen the film. Liza's look from the film is very iconic, and they appear to have deliberately avoided trying to emulate it. Good for them I reckon.
Fourthly, Sheila Hancock (playing the landlady, Fraulein Schneider) is a goddess. More pineapples for her!
Fifthly, they've crammed ALL the songs in, both those from the film and the original stage production, which means they've had to shoe-horn some of them in as snippets. But all the main songs are present and correct.
Sixthly, I stood next to Simon Shepherd at the bar during the interval. He was alone and looked rather bored. We think perhaps he really IS James Dreyfus' boyfriend.
And finally, the ending is rather shocking, and left the audience in a stunned silence, wondering whether to clap. I won't give it away, but it's dark. And bold for a West End show.
So, all in all, go and see it, I say! I really enjoyed it, as did The Boyf, and the friend we took along. It's funny, it's moving, it's thought provoking. The gays are gonna love it!
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Throbbing Heads
I think I might be allergic to my office you know. Everyday I gaily skip to work, swinging my umbrella and singing along to the birds which line the fences en route. As you do. But no sooner than I set foot in the building where I work than my nose fills up with mucus, my head starts to throb and I get a tickly cough.
So, am I allergic to the building, the work I do, or the people I'm surrounded with every day? Many of the latter wear far too many man-made fibres, so this could be the answer. Also, I do often have a funny reaction when I see someone wearing a floral-print blouse with a striped skirt, as happened yesterday. It's like a deep shudder, to the core of my very gayness. Yes, see, it's making you shudder too, isn't it?
Anyway, I shall have to perform some tests, and as with anything scientific I shall have to do it within a controlled environment, tackling each possible hazardous substance individually. I have already decided to find the cute guy and have him rub himself against me to see what the reaction could be, although I have a fair idea of how I will react already. I'll likely take an eye out. I guess the rest of the test will have to involve me running about naked in the office, rubbing myself up against the walls, windows and floors. Nothing I haven't done before if truth be told.
Oh, speaking of the Cute Guy (I think it's time we gave him those lovely capital letters that denotes a regular cast member); I only ever seem to see him in the reception area of our building. I think he must just walk in and out all day, making the place look attractive to us gays. That was up until yesterday afternoon, anyway. Oh yes! We had our AGM, the "A" of which apparently stands for "Arduous". Anyway, who should sit not 3 seats away from me? You don't need those 3 guesses do you? Yes, only 3 seats away. That's nearly throwing distance for us gays. In mean, in a hall of 500-odd people - sorry, that should be 500-odd odd people and he and I - he chose to sit near me, apparently nowhere near anyone else he works with. Although, if his sole employment is to wander around reception maybe he has no colleagues. Ah, it all clicks into place. He's been employed to make the place look better, and to specifically help with my morale (but apparently not my morals).
This place suddenly isn't so bad after all. In fact, I think my headache's gone.
So, am I allergic to the building, the work I do, or the people I'm surrounded with every day? Many of the latter wear far too many man-made fibres, so this could be the answer. Also, I do often have a funny reaction when I see someone wearing a floral-print blouse with a striped skirt, as happened yesterday. It's like a deep shudder, to the core of my very gayness. Yes, see, it's making you shudder too, isn't it?
Anyway, I shall have to perform some tests, and as with anything scientific I shall have to do it within a controlled environment, tackling each possible hazardous substance individually. I have already decided to find the cute guy and have him rub himself against me to see what the reaction could be, although I have a fair idea of how I will react already. I'll likely take an eye out. I guess the rest of the test will have to involve me running about naked in the office, rubbing myself up against the walls, windows and floors. Nothing I haven't done before if truth be told.
Oh, speaking of the Cute Guy (I think it's time we gave him those lovely capital letters that denotes a regular cast member); I only ever seem to see him in the reception area of our building. I think he must just walk in and out all day, making the place look attractive to us gays. That was up until yesterday afternoon, anyway. Oh yes! We had our AGM, the "A" of which apparently stands for "Arduous". Anyway, who should sit not 3 seats away from me? You don't need those 3 guesses do you? Yes, only 3 seats away. That's nearly throwing distance for us gays. In mean, in a hall of 500-odd people - sorry, that should be 500-odd odd people and he and I - he chose to sit near me, apparently nowhere near anyone else he works with. Although, if his sole employment is to wander around reception maybe he has no colleagues. Ah, it all clicks into place. He's been employed to make the place look better, and to specifically help with my morale (but apparently not my morals).
This place suddenly isn't so bad after all. In fact, I think my headache's gone.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Tantrums and BJ's
So, another weekend has been and gone, and I'm feeling very alert today, which is a nice change for a Monday.
You don't need to know about the huge argument I had with The Boyf on Friday night, other than to say that alcohol is a very dangerous thing if you have something bothering you. Oh well, we woke up the next morning and apologised to each other for various things, talked it through in the way we should have the night before, and we now have a better understanding of how each other feels because of it. And we've made a strict agreement that we'll never have another argument like it. You can remind me of that some day.
You also don't need to know about what we got up to on Saturday night, especially as I can see you're still trying to recover from the weekend yourselves. We'll just say that my jaw aches and my knees are sore and we'll leave it at that. Concrete floors are a killer aren't they? The Hoist should supply knee pads.
Got a couple of fun things to do this week - "Cabaret" on Tuesday, "Brou-Ha-Ha" on Wednesday - so I guess I'll have plenty to tell you about this week.
You don't need to know about the huge argument I had with The Boyf on Friday night, other than to say that alcohol is a very dangerous thing if you have something bothering you. Oh well, we woke up the next morning and apologised to each other for various things, talked it through in the way we should have the night before, and we now have a better understanding of how each other feels because of it. And we've made a strict agreement that we'll never have another argument like it. You can remind me of that some day.
You also don't need to know about what we got up to on Saturday night, especially as I can see you're still trying to recover from the weekend yourselves. We'll just say that my jaw aches and my knees are sore and we'll leave it at that. Concrete floors are a killer aren't they? The Hoist should supply knee pads.
Got a couple of fun things to do this week - "Cabaret" on Tuesday, "Brou-Ha-Ha" on Wednesday - so I guess I'll have plenty to tell you about this week.
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