I'm in such a foul mood right now. The run up to Christmas has been one stressful experience after another, most of which seems to be down to The Boyf.
Yet again his car broke down, and we have a lot of travelling to do this weekend so can't do without it. He said he couldn't believe his luck and moped around. I countered that it's been going wrong for weeks - no, months - and that perhaps he should have thought about getting it fixed earlier. So he got The Drag Queen to flirt with a mechanic at the local garage and hey presto! has managed to get it booked in today as a favour.
Yesterday afternoon he went Christmas shopping. And lost his wallet. He loses something at least once a month. Fortunately - incredibly - it was handed in in a bar he'd been in for a de-stressing drink. By the time he came home he was still stressed about spending an hour looking everywhere for said wallet before finally being reunited with it. "Oh well, at least you have it back and nothing is missing" said I, thinking it was a good thing. "Yeah, but I didn't need that stress right now! And I know it was definitely in my pocket!", he bit my head off with. "So, someone lifted it from your pocket and then handed it in, without stealing anything?", I asked. That got me a dirty look and he sloped off to the bedroom.
This morning the car was due to be at the garage for 8:30. I was going to have to bump start it for him so waited for him to finally be ready to leave (8:20). Then he couldn't find his car keys. They were nowhere to be found, so he's obviously dropped them shopping somewhere. After 10 minutes of shouting and swearing at himself he found the spare. I loaned him my house keys with a "Please don't lose those though otherwise we'll be locked out". "I don't lose things on f**king purpose you know!" he shouted. And then I had the good fortune of pushing his car to get it to start and then being late for work, with him refusing to speak.
We still haven't bought Our Best Mates a present so I phoned The Boyf with a solution. One of his presents seemed to have gone missing in the post so I'd ordered another, then the first one turned up. I'm still waiting for the second although it doesn't look like it's going to be with us for Christmas. So I suggested to The Boyf that I give OBM's the one that has turned up and then he could have the second when it arrives. But oh no! He immediately went into a mood, "But that's the one present that I've been looking forward to, and now I'll have to watch someone else open it and I won't have one!". "How old are you?", I asked, "Because you're acting like a spoilt 8 year old". "Oh, give it to them then. It's spoilt now anyway", he said. I put the phone down on him. That was 5 minutes ago, hence my mood.
Tomorrow we have a long drive up to the Midlands to see his parents, who he always moans about having to see, so that's going to be a bundle of laughs. Last week I was really looking forward to Christmas, but right now I wish it was already over. I've gone from having a big pile of presents I'm really pleased with to just wanting it all to go away. Oh, I'll be ok by Tuesday, but next year there are going to be some changes in my relationship, you mark my words...
Anyway, I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas. Thank you for being such a wonderful audience (when I can be bothered to write anything).
Friday, December 21, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "The Golden Compass"
We don't seem to have been to the pictures for ages. Not since OBM#2 and I sloped off to see Transformers for the second time at the IMAX. It wasn't as good the second time round I have to say. Oh well, I got to spend some time with my best friend on our own, which is always nice.
Anyway, The Golden Compass. Here's a quick synopsis (lots of spoilers included)...
We are introduced to Lyra, our heroine, by way of seeing her running through fields and climbing across rooves with the local ruffians, known as "Gyptians", which we assume is a shortening of "Egyptian" even though they look like the chimney-sweep kids from Mary Poppins. We are obviously being told, in a very ham-fisted way, that Lyra must be a free spirit and head-strong. We immediately don't like her, not because she's naughty, but simply because she's deeply annoying. Also, we don't like her Daemon, which is explained as being her soul in the body of an animal which follows her around. I immediately start to wonder what clubbing and sex would be like with a load of animals getting in the way. In fact, isn't everything going to be really difficult if you have an animal with you? Imagine Sainsburys on a Saturday! And supposing you end up with an elephant. You're not going to be able to go anywhere!
Anyway, then Daniel Craig appears with a beard and all thoughts of anything else disappear. Sigh. Christ that man's sexy, for some unfathomable reason.
Then there's a 10 minute section in which an awful lot of words are said which don't really mean anything in an attempt to shoehorn a large amount of plot into a short space of time, leaving us wondering what's actually going on. Some of these words may or may not have been borrowed from Harry Potter.
Then Lyra's best friend suddenly states that children are disappearing, and she promises to save him if he's taken. We wonder if his disappearance could have been set up in a way which didn't feel like you were having someone shout it in your face.
Nicole Kidman arrives, in a shot from behind as she sashays into a large dining room. She's lacking the hips to be wiggling like that, frankly. She's introduced to us as another free-spirited woman, and someone to be weary of. She does this by demonstrating that everyone is afraid of her, for reasons we don't understand. She is thus very enigmatic and we go "Ooooooo, enigmatic". She invites Lyra to come to the "north" with her - we presume she doesn't mean Sheffield - and although Lyra only met her 2 minutes ago she accepts, and therefore deserves any trouble she gets into.
Lyra is given the last remaining Golden Compass to look after. Christ knows why, as clearly she's not to be trusted. The Golden Compass is a device who's purpose was explained to us at the start of the film at breakneck speed and without detail, and whilst we were still trying to get comfortable and juggle our icecream, popcorn and jumbo Pepsi. We therefore have no idea what it does.
Lyra's best friend disappears. Shock! She doesn't seem to care and heads off with Nicole regardless.
By this time Daniel Craig has gone "north" and has been captured, and is not to be seen again until the final 5 minutes of the film. Thus for most of the duration of the movie we're left wondering how his capture has moved the plot on, even though it turns out it hasn't.
There is a sequence which goes a bit "My Fair Lady" where we're treated to shots of London with the buildings stretched and plumped via the wonders of CGI, and where Nicole tries to turn Lyra into a mini version of herself with the cunning use of a new dress and a brush through her hair. Something fishy is going on and we're not entirely sure it's going to be explained very well at any point during this movie.
Lyra runs away and is aided by the Gyptians, who now look like pirates and live on a boat, causing us further confusion. Lyra reveals to the Gyptians (rather too quickly, like everything else in this film) that she's in possession of the Golden Compass. The filmmakers, apparently aware that we weren't paying enough attention in the title sequence, decide to have a Gyptian explain the device again, withouth actually explaining it properly. Again. We are led to believe that the Compass is incredibly difficult to read and noone can do it anymore. Imagine our surprise when Lyra manages it first time!
They travel "north" to look for the captive children, which turns out to be somewhere inside the Artic Circle. Not sure how they know the children are up "north". Perhaps I blinked and missed that part, in the same way that I missed the relevance of a random witch turning up on the boat and then leaving again. Once north they have the fortune of running into both Sam Elliott (not looking as sexy as he used to) and a talking Polar Bear both of whom have nothing better to do than help them - I love it when that happens. Lyra helps the Bear to gain his rightful crown as the Polar Bear King, which involves a fight sequence, and this has nothing to do with the rest of the film. Lyra and the Bear head to where the children are being held but are separated using the age-old "bridge which is only strong enough for one person and thus collapses behind our hero(ine)" routine. Lyra continues on her own. I'm sure she would have frostbite by now and lost her fingers and toes, but never mind. Perhaps next time they could CGI her some stumps. On a vaguely related note; did you know that for years after seeing Forrest Gump I believed that Gary Sinise was actually an amputee?
Anyway, Lyra makes it to the captive children and figures out what's going on. We don't. We're still a bit confused as to why they're separating children from their Daemons. What's the point? Soulless children? Surely there are enough of those in Bermondsey as it is. And why are they only doing one child at a time rather than trying to do it on a much larger scale. However, we understand that it's all about puberty because they tell us in a particularly clunky way.
There's a big reveal in which Nicole turns out to be Lyra's mother - like we didn't see that one coming - and Daniel Craig is her Dad. I wonder aloud what it would be like to call Daniel "Daddy". Lyra escapes and frees the children and then there's a big-ish "Lord Of The Rings" style battle sequence where a load of witches turn up to help for no real reason. Presumably they have some time off between other fantasy movies. The children flee across the ice to what we presume is safety although we're not told. They could quite easily have succumbed to the cold or been picked off by various predators, fallen off cliffs etc, but we're not privvy to that information. Lyra and her Bear fly off with Sam Elliott and one of the witches in his airship thing, even though she barely knows them. Presumably they're heading off for another adventure at breakneck speed in which everyone knows what's going on in the blink of an eye, and during which there will be an awful lot of characters who don't really do anything to further the plot.
Oh, and I've entirely missed mentioning the Magisterium. I think they're only there so that we equate them with organised religion and thus go "Oooo, them bad!". And there's mention of "Gobblers" which we found very amusing.
Amazingly I did actually quite enjoy it, but it is hugely derivitive. It's like a little bit of Harry Potter, a smidgeon on Narnia, and a dollop of Lord Of The Ring. And a touch of Star Wars for good measure ("Lyra - I am your Mother"). There just doesn't seem to be any fresh ideas. And the pace is just ridiculous. It cracks along at such a speed we never feel like we know what's going on or why, and the characters don't have a chance to flesh our who they are. And if Lyra died at any stage I honestly wouldn't mind one bit. But until the next Narnia film comes out it's enough to keep us entertained for a couple of hours, even if you'd never want to see it again.
Anyway, The Golden Compass. Here's a quick synopsis (lots of spoilers included)...
We are introduced to Lyra, our heroine, by way of seeing her running through fields and climbing across rooves with the local ruffians, known as "Gyptians", which we assume is a shortening of "Egyptian" even though they look like the chimney-sweep kids from Mary Poppins. We are obviously being told, in a very ham-fisted way, that Lyra must be a free spirit and head-strong. We immediately don't like her, not because she's naughty, but simply because she's deeply annoying. Also, we don't like her Daemon, which is explained as being her soul in the body of an animal which follows her around. I immediately start to wonder what clubbing and sex would be like with a load of animals getting in the way. In fact, isn't everything going to be really difficult if you have an animal with you? Imagine Sainsburys on a Saturday! And supposing you end up with an elephant. You're not going to be able to go anywhere!
Anyway, then Daniel Craig appears with a beard and all thoughts of anything else disappear. Sigh. Christ that man's sexy, for some unfathomable reason.
Then there's a 10 minute section in which an awful lot of words are said which don't really mean anything in an attempt to shoehorn a large amount of plot into a short space of time, leaving us wondering what's actually going on. Some of these words may or may not have been borrowed from Harry Potter.
Then Lyra's best friend suddenly states that children are disappearing, and she promises to save him if he's taken. We wonder if his disappearance could have been set up in a way which didn't feel like you were having someone shout it in your face.
Nicole Kidman arrives, in a shot from behind as she sashays into a large dining room. She's lacking the hips to be wiggling like that, frankly. She's introduced to us as another free-spirited woman, and someone to be weary of. She does this by demonstrating that everyone is afraid of her, for reasons we don't understand. She is thus very enigmatic and we go "Ooooooo, enigmatic". She invites Lyra to come to the "north" with her - we presume she doesn't mean Sheffield - and although Lyra only met her 2 minutes ago she accepts, and therefore deserves any trouble she gets into.
Lyra is given the last remaining Golden Compass to look after. Christ knows why, as clearly she's not to be trusted. The Golden Compass is a device who's purpose was explained to us at the start of the film at breakneck speed and without detail, and whilst we were still trying to get comfortable and juggle our icecream, popcorn and jumbo Pepsi. We therefore have no idea what it does.
Lyra's best friend disappears. Shock! She doesn't seem to care and heads off with Nicole regardless.
By this time Daniel Craig has gone "north" and has been captured, and is not to be seen again until the final 5 minutes of the film. Thus for most of the duration of the movie we're left wondering how his capture has moved the plot on, even though it turns out it hasn't.
There is a sequence which goes a bit "My Fair Lady" where we're treated to shots of London with the buildings stretched and plumped via the wonders of CGI, and where Nicole tries to turn Lyra into a mini version of herself with the cunning use of a new dress and a brush through her hair. Something fishy is going on and we're not entirely sure it's going to be explained very well at any point during this movie.
Lyra runs away and is aided by the Gyptians, who now look like pirates and live on a boat, causing us further confusion. Lyra reveals to the Gyptians (rather too quickly, like everything else in this film) that she's in possession of the Golden Compass. The filmmakers, apparently aware that we weren't paying enough attention in the title sequence, decide to have a Gyptian explain the device again, withouth actually explaining it properly. Again. We are led to believe that the Compass is incredibly difficult to read and noone can do it anymore. Imagine our surprise when Lyra manages it first time!
They travel "north" to look for the captive children, which turns out to be somewhere inside the Artic Circle. Not sure how they know the children are up "north". Perhaps I blinked and missed that part, in the same way that I missed the relevance of a random witch turning up on the boat and then leaving again. Once north they have the fortune of running into both Sam Elliott (not looking as sexy as he used to) and a talking Polar Bear both of whom have nothing better to do than help them - I love it when that happens. Lyra helps the Bear to gain his rightful crown as the Polar Bear King, which involves a fight sequence, and this has nothing to do with the rest of the film. Lyra and the Bear head to where the children are being held but are separated using the age-old "bridge which is only strong enough for one person and thus collapses behind our hero(ine)" routine. Lyra continues on her own. I'm sure she would have frostbite by now and lost her fingers and toes, but never mind. Perhaps next time they could CGI her some stumps. On a vaguely related note; did you know that for years after seeing Forrest Gump I believed that Gary Sinise was actually an amputee?
Anyway, Lyra makes it to the captive children and figures out what's going on. We don't. We're still a bit confused as to why they're separating children from their Daemons. What's the point? Soulless children? Surely there are enough of those in Bermondsey as it is. And why are they only doing one child at a time rather than trying to do it on a much larger scale. However, we understand that it's all about puberty because they tell us in a particularly clunky way.
There's a big reveal in which Nicole turns out to be Lyra's mother - like we didn't see that one coming - and Daniel Craig is her Dad. I wonder aloud what it would be like to call Daniel "Daddy". Lyra escapes and frees the children and then there's a big-ish "Lord Of The Rings" style battle sequence where a load of witches turn up to help for no real reason. Presumably they have some time off between other fantasy movies. The children flee across the ice to what we presume is safety although we're not told. They could quite easily have succumbed to the cold or been picked off by various predators, fallen off cliffs etc, but we're not privvy to that information. Lyra and her Bear fly off with Sam Elliott and one of the witches in his airship thing, even though she barely knows them. Presumably they're heading off for another adventure at breakneck speed in which everyone knows what's going on in the blink of an eye, and during which there will be an awful lot of characters who don't really do anything to further the plot.
Oh, and I've entirely missed mentioning the Magisterium. I think they're only there so that we equate them with organised religion and thus go "Oooo, them bad!". And there's mention of "Gobblers" which we found very amusing.
Amazingly I did actually quite enjoy it, but it is hugely derivitive. It's like a little bit of Harry Potter, a smidgeon on Narnia, and a dollop of Lord Of The Ring. And a touch of Star Wars for good measure ("Lyra - I am your Mother"). There just doesn't seem to be any fresh ideas. And the pace is just ridiculous. It cracks along at such a speed we never feel like we know what's going on or why, and the characters don't have a chance to flesh our who they are. And if Lyra died at any stage I honestly wouldn't mind one bit. But until the next Narnia film comes out it's enough to keep us entertained for a couple of hours, even if you'd never want to see it again.
Friday, December 07, 2007
Where's The Bear?
In all the hoo-ha surrounding Gillian Gibbons naming the class Teddy "Muhammad" recently, noone seems to have asked how the bear is handling the sudden media intrusion, or indeed what has happened to it. Has anyone actually seen the bear in all of this? Not once was his plight televised by the media here in the UK, who were only interested in getting that woman back where she belongs (which, frankly, would appear to be Primark).
Is Muhammad still in the classroom, being looked after by the kids and the new teacher? Has he changed his name to avoid further trouble and to distance himself from further media speculation? Has he managed to flee from the Sudan? Or is he just laying discarded somewhere, lost and forlorn? I just pray that it hasn't been stoned to death or something.
Is Muhammad still in the classroom, being looked after by the kids and the new teacher? Has he changed his name to avoid further trouble and to distance himself from further media speculation? Has he managed to flee from the Sudan? Or is he just laying discarded somewhere, lost and forlorn? I just pray that it hasn't been stoned to death or something.
As so often happens in these situations it's the little people that get forgotten. Or, in this case, the little bears. We should not give up the fight for this bear, just because that teacher is back in the UK.
Also, someone really needs to tell Gillian Gibbons to do something with her hair before she instigates another international incident.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
All's Well That Ends
This weekend wasn't one of our best, all in all, although it was salvaged at the last moment, albeit not by a hairy muscular man on a horse, which is how I like all my weekends to end.
Er.
The Boyf hasn't been well. There seems to be a lot of chest infections going round and as usual I haven't caught it myself although I seem to be surrounded by sick people. My Boss, then two of my team, have been out of work and then finally The Boyf succumbed. He calls me "Typhoid Nelly" on account of my ability to pass germs from one person to another without being ill myself. Most usually chlamydia. Kidding.
I always berate women when they say that men are crap at being ill, but I have to say that The Boyf was a terrible patient. For two whole days communication almost completely broke down as all I could get were half-opened eyes and groans. It seemed a slow, agonising death of Oscar winning proportions right up until Sunday morning when he suddenly pronounced himself well again and then complained that the flat could do with a tidy round. Like I hadn't been busy enough mopping his brow.
Friday night had seen a World AIDS Day charity event at Tonka, with the return of the porn stars, and we'd been looking forward to it. The Boyf mumbled into my ear that I could go on my own if I fancied it, and then added that he'd be fine left all on his own as he had been all day whilst I was at work. I didn't go out. Instead I sat and watched The Boyf sleep for the entire evening until I carried him to the bed which didn't even rouse him from his slumber.
Saturday night was Megawoof!, and OBM#2 was pestering me to leave The Boyf at home and come out on my own, where we could both get up to no good (as OBM#1 was busy elsewhere). I mentioned it to The Boyf and again he mumbled that he didn't mind if I left him all alone. He'd be fine. As long as he didn't need anything urgently because he didn't have the strength to move. "No, go out and leave me and try not to worry about me whilst you're having fun", he added. Urgh! I didn't go out. He spent the evening asleep again.
Come Sunday morning I needed to get out of the flat. And then The Boyf bounced into the room pronouncing himself well again. A Christmas miracle no less! I'd made arrangements to visit my Mum which had been put on hold, but with The Boyf better he said he could do with getting out and would enjoy the trip out of London. So we set off. And then the car broke down. We'd managed about 6 miles. I tinkered about under the bonnet but it was only going to be a temporary measure - we certainly weren't going to get any further on our trip. So we headed home, having to make a couple of stops on the way to sort the car out.
Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, one of the stops put us in range of a seller of Christmas Trees, so we promptly bought one and stuffed it in the back of the car to give us something to do once we finally reached home. So now Christmas has officially arrived in our flat, courtesy of a beautiful 7 foot Nordic Pine which we decorated whilst drinking sherry and listening to Doris Day. It's a Christmas tradition now in our home.
And then I remembered that I had been given two tickets to see Mika in concert for my birthday by The God, no less. From seeing him at the gym that time and then, er, having a little fun in The Hoist, The God has turned into one of our better friends. With the Boyf newly recovered and the "end" part of "weekend" rapidly approaching we headed out to the gig, which was amazing. Mika's a truly talented lad, and puts on a brilliant show. We didn't even care that we only knew three songs (discounting the inspired cover of The Eurythmics' "Missionary Man"). To be honest Mika's songs are highly derivative, sounding largely like Elton John/Freddie Mercury/Scissor Sisters (who are incredibly derivative themselves), but this just means that you have a faint sense of deja vu with each song, like you've heard it somewhere before. Hence it seems easy to pick up the melodies and then drown out everyone around you with a faltering falsetto. Or maybe that's just me. And the encore was such a blast. Dancing bunnies, giant balloons, confetti cannons, the works! We both left with huge smiles on our faces and our weekend finished on a high.
Er.
The Boyf hasn't been well. There seems to be a lot of chest infections going round and as usual I haven't caught it myself although I seem to be surrounded by sick people. My Boss, then two of my team, have been out of work and then finally The Boyf succumbed. He calls me "Typhoid Nelly" on account of my ability to pass germs from one person to another without being ill myself. Most usually chlamydia. Kidding.
I always berate women when they say that men are crap at being ill, but I have to say that The Boyf was a terrible patient. For two whole days communication almost completely broke down as all I could get were half-opened eyes and groans. It seemed a slow, agonising death of Oscar winning proportions right up until Sunday morning when he suddenly pronounced himself well again and then complained that the flat could do with a tidy round. Like I hadn't been busy enough mopping his brow.
Friday night had seen a World AIDS Day charity event at Tonka, with the return of the porn stars, and we'd been looking forward to it. The Boyf mumbled into my ear that I could go on my own if I fancied it, and then added that he'd be fine left all on his own as he had been all day whilst I was at work. I didn't go out. Instead I sat and watched The Boyf sleep for the entire evening until I carried him to the bed which didn't even rouse him from his slumber.
Saturday night was Megawoof!, and OBM#2 was pestering me to leave The Boyf at home and come out on my own, where we could both get up to no good (as OBM#1 was busy elsewhere). I mentioned it to The Boyf and again he mumbled that he didn't mind if I left him all alone. He'd be fine. As long as he didn't need anything urgently because he didn't have the strength to move. "No, go out and leave me and try not to worry about me whilst you're having fun", he added. Urgh! I didn't go out. He spent the evening asleep again.
Come Sunday morning I needed to get out of the flat. And then The Boyf bounced into the room pronouncing himself well again. A Christmas miracle no less! I'd made arrangements to visit my Mum which had been put on hold, but with The Boyf better he said he could do with getting out and would enjoy the trip out of London. So we set off. And then the car broke down. We'd managed about 6 miles. I tinkered about under the bonnet but it was only going to be a temporary measure - we certainly weren't going to get any further on our trip. So we headed home, having to make a couple of stops on the way to sort the car out.
Deciding to make the best of a bad situation, one of the stops put us in range of a seller of Christmas Trees, so we promptly bought one and stuffed it in the back of the car to give us something to do once we finally reached home. So now Christmas has officially arrived in our flat, courtesy of a beautiful 7 foot Nordic Pine which we decorated whilst drinking sherry and listening to Doris Day. It's a Christmas tradition now in our home.
And then I remembered that I had been given two tickets to see Mika in concert for my birthday by The God, no less. From seeing him at the gym that time and then, er, having a little fun in The Hoist, The God has turned into one of our better friends. With the Boyf newly recovered and the "end" part of "weekend" rapidly approaching we headed out to the gig, which was amazing. Mika's a truly talented lad, and puts on a brilliant show. We didn't even care that we only knew three songs (discounting the inspired cover of The Eurythmics' "Missionary Man"). To be honest Mika's songs are highly derivative, sounding largely like Elton John/Freddie Mercury/Scissor Sisters (who are incredibly derivative themselves), but this just means that you have a faint sense of deja vu with each song, like you've heard it somewhere before. Hence it seems easy to pick up the melodies and then drown out everyone around you with a faltering falsetto. Or maybe that's just me. And the encore was such a blast. Dancing bunnies, giant balloons, confetti cannons, the works! We both left with huge smiles on our faces and our weekend finished on a high.
Friday, November 16, 2007
I Love November
I'm very aware that my posting has been, at best, sporadic of late. My profuse apologies Dear Reader. I've had stuff on my mind, mainly to do with my job, but also to do with my upcoming birthday. Yes, this Sunday (18th) I will be entering my early late-30's.
Just recently The Boyf and I have been chilling out alot. We've been spending a bit extra time in the gym and have been going for long autumnal walks, this being my favourite time of the year. The temperature suits me and I love the colours. And when we have gone out recently the gay scene seems very muted. Like everyone's waiting for something good to happen. I have to say that Tonka at The Eagle 349 on Fridays is a good night out though. I thoroughly recommend it.
Anyway, I have a big weekend planned for my birthday although it doesn't involve a great deal of clubbing. The Boyf and The Drag Queen are throwing me a little party with a winter Bar-B-Q and a very small collection of close friends. I intend to get very drunk and tell certain people I love them a little too often for comfort. And I have a feeling we'll end up at the RVT on Sunday where I'll get very drunk again and accept birthday kisses from all and sundry.
So, I hope you all have a lovely weekend and I'll report on my birthday shenanigans when I've stopped shaking enough to type.
Monday, November 12, 2007
The Monday Morning Blogbite - T-Rex
Unusually for me I got alot of sleep this weekend. Well, apart from Friday, where we had a very nice surprise visit by The God who wanted to tell us all about his new fella and various other things, and then suddenly said "So, do you mind if I fuck you both?". I laughed, thinking it a joke (after all, he had just said that he was in love with the new beau), but The Boyf, who is far more on the ball than me, quickly accepted the invitation and dragged us in the direction of the bedroom. Well, it's not often you get an offer like that...
Anyway, as I was saying, I got alot of sleep over the weekend so today I'm feeling unusually bright and alert for a Monday. Hence, when the office conversation turned from "The Kylie Show" to "Tyrannosaurus Rex" (don't ask) I decided to regale my work colleagues with some facts about it - that I made up off the hoof - and I thought I'd share them with you. Here they are...
1. The reason for the dinosaurs extinction was completely due to the fact that T-Rex couldn't type. His short arms and long claws made touch-typing a no-no, and he didn't have opposable thumbs meaning "Control, Alt, Delete" was something he could only dream about. When the asteroid was approaching Earth he took so long to type the email about it, it was already too late. Conversely, the mammals, due to their touch-typing skills, received the email on time and took cover. The rest, as they say, is natural history.
2. Although T-Rex was wiped out my a large asteroid, his fate had already been sealed when ham and corned beef were repackaged into tins with those little keys for opening. Also, he wasn't very good at opening jars and thus found meat paste a constant frustration.
3. The collective noun for a group of T-Rex's is a "raaaaarrrrr".
4. T-Rex's favourite TV programme was Ally McBeal, and they were known to congregate together to watch it in large raaaaarrrrrs. (Just demonstrating the collective noun for you).
5. Although blessed with big teeth, T-Rex's bark really was worse than his bite. His roar could be heard 300 miles away and could shatter all glass within 100 yards (making him somewhat unpopular among the dinner party set). However, the amount of force he could exert with his jaws was only equal to that of a small guinea pig, meaning that he was forced to suck most prey to death (like certain gentlemen I've met).
6. T-Rex's gym membership ran out sometime in the late Jurassic Period, and he didn't bother renewing it. This proved fortunate as he was extinct only 80 million years later.
7. Contrary to popular opinion (and most of the facts I've already presented), T-Rex's shortest limbs were actually his legs. The mistake came about when an office junior accidentally stuck the skull on the wrong end of the first skeleton discovered. In actual fact T-Rex had tiny legs and a short stubby tail, plus enormous arms and a long tapering neck which struggled to hold it's large head up. Unicycles were a no-go area.
8. T-Rex was completely colour-blind - or dichromatic, if you want to be fancy about it. This explains that nasty incident involving the green plaid trousers and the orange blouse during the mid-Cretaceous Period.
9. The height restriction at Blackpool Pleasure Beach meant that T-Rex never enjoyed the Pepsi Max Big One. Or Professor Burps Bubble Works at Chessington World Of Adventure.
10. T-Rex now dons a ginger wig and can be seen trying to keep up with the other members of Girls Aloud.
Anyway, as I was saying, I got alot of sleep over the weekend so today I'm feeling unusually bright and alert for a Monday. Hence, when the office conversation turned from "The Kylie Show" to "Tyrannosaurus Rex" (don't ask) I decided to regale my work colleagues with some facts about it - that I made up off the hoof - and I thought I'd share them with you. Here they are...
1. The reason for the dinosaurs extinction was completely due to the fact that T-Rex couldn't type. His short arms and long claws made touch-typing a no-no, and he didn't have opposable thumbs meaning "Control, Alt, Delete" was something he could only dream about. When the asteroid was approaching Earth he took so long to type the email about it, it was already too late. Conversely, the mammals, due to their touch-typing skills, received the email on time and took cover. The rest, as they say, is natural history.
2. Although T-Rex was wiped out my a large asteroid, his fate had already been sealed when ham and corned beef were repackaged into tins with those little keys for opening. Also, he wasn't very good at opening jars and thus found meat paste a constant frustration.
3. The collective noun for a group of T-Rex's is a "raaaaarrrrr".
4. T-Rex's favourite TV programme was Ally McBeal, and they were known to congregate together to watch it in large raaaaarrrrrs. (Just demonstrating the collective noun for you).
5. Although blessed with big teeth, T-Rex's bark really was worse than his bite. His roar could be heard 300 miles away and could shatter all glass within 100 yards (making him somewhat unpopular among the dinner party set). However, the amount of force he could exert with his jaws was only equal to that of a small guinea pig, meaning that he was forced to suck most prey to death (like certain gentlemen I've met).
6. T-Rex's gym membership ran out sometime in the late Jurassic Period, and he didn't bother renewing it. This proved fortunate as he was extinct only 80 million years later.
7. Contrary to popular opinion (and most of the facts I've already presented), T-Rex's shortest limbs were actually his legs. The mistake came about when an office junior accidentally stuck the skull on the wrong end of the first skeleton discovered. In actual fact T-Rex had tiny legs and a short stubby tail, plus enormous arms and a long tapering neck which struggled to hold it's large head up. Unicycles were a no-go area.
8. T-Rex was completely colour-blind - or dichromatic, if you want to be fancy about it. This explains that nasty incident involving the green plaid trousers and the orange blouse during the mid-Cretaceous Period.
9. The height restriction at Blackpool Pleasure Beach meant that T-Rex never enjoyed the Pepsi Max Big One. Or Professor Burps Bubble Works at Chessington World Of Adventure.
10. T-Rex now dons a ginger wig and can be seen trying to keep up with the other members of Girls Aloud.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Nothing For A Pair
Camelot has recently had to withdraw a Lottery Scratchcard game from sale over confusion from people as to whether they had won or not. The "Cool Cash" game relied on a player having to scratch off a panel to reveal a lower temperature than was shown on the front of the card, and because of its name and the time of year the given temperature was often a minus figure. Camelot apparently received dozens of complaints from people who couldn't understand how -5 is not a lower temperature than -6, for example.
But it's this quote, from a 23-year old named Tina Farrell in the Manchester Evening News which really gets me.
"On one of my cards it said I had to find temperatures lower than -8. The numbers I uncovered were -6 and -7 so I thought I had won, and so did the woman in the shop. But when she scanned the card the machine said I hadn't.
I phoned Camelot and they fobbed me off with some story that -6 is higher, not lower, than -8 but I'm not having it."
Hehehehe, marvellous!
But it's this quote, from a 23-year old named Tina Farrell in the Manchester Evening News which really gets me.
"On one of my cards it said I had to find temperatures lower than -8. The numbers I uncovered were -6 and -7 so I thought I had won, and so did the woman in the shop. But when she scanned the card the machine said I hadn't.
I phoned Camelot and they fobbed me off with some story that -6 is higher, not lower, than -8 but I'm not having it."
Hehehehe, marvellous!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Uh Oh! Not Good News
No, I know - not pretty, is he. But that's not why I'm here.
This fella, Dear Readers, is the Reverend Joel Edwards, General Director of the Evangelical Alliance. He once wrote a paper on "Faith, Hope and Homosexuality" where he explored the relationship between Christianity and Homosexuality. It's conclusion was particularly good reading. For example:
"We call upon evangelical congregations to welcome and accept sexually active homosexual people, but to do so in the expectation that they will come in due course to see the need to change their lifestyle in accordance with biblical revelation and orthodox church teaching. We urge gentleness and patience in this process, and ongoing care even after a homosexual person renounces same-sex sexual relations."
and...
"We commend the work of those organisations which seek to help homosexual Christians live a celibate life, and also commend those groups which responsibly assist homosexuals who wish to reorient to a heterosexual lifestyle."
Yeah, he's obviously a bit nuts. Naturally he's very against homosexual marriages.
Now, why am I introducing him to you, you may well be asking. Well, it's because he's just been appointed by our government as a commissioner to the new Equality and Human Rights Commission (EHRC), which is an amalgamation of three previous UK equality commissions, being the Commission for Racial Equality, the Equal Opportunities Commission and the Disability Rights Commission.
Yes, he's been appointed to look into equality and human rights!
Very recently he campaigned against a proposal for a crime of incitement to violence on the grounds of sexual orientation, and has said his views on homosexuality will inform his new roll in the EHRC.
This is not good news.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
In Which Your OMO Aims For "Funny" But Hits "Offensive"
So, I hope you all had a good All Hallow's Eve, and a Happy Samhain to all Pagans.
The Boyf and I, plus The Drag Queen and Our Best Mates headed to the RVT for a Hallowe'en Brou-Ha-Ha comedy evening, and many people had dressed up for the ocassion. Unfortunately my plans of going as "Kate McCann: Child Minder" had been twarted by not being able to find a Kate mask anywhere. Apparently I'm a wee bit premature and such masks aren't available. Just wait til next year, they'll be everywhere you wait and see.
In the end the lack of a Kate mask blew everything out of the water, and even a last ditch attempt to go as Heather McCartney (with one of us as her leg, lost and searching for it's owner) fell flat, so we stuck with our old favourites - a group of ghostly Chinese winkle pickers, forever stuck in mud and trying to reach land. Tasteful I'm sure you'll agree.
Oh, just for the record, the Brou-Ha-Ha joke competition question was:
Q: What's the difference between Heather McCartney and a broom?
There was a large number of very funny answers, but the eventual winner was:
A: A broom didn't have a spaz-attack on GMTV this morning.
The Boyf and I, plus The Drag Queen and Our Best Mates headed to the RVT for a Hallowe'en Brou-Ha-Ha comedy evening, and many people had dressed up for the ocassion. Unfortunately my plans of going as "Kate McCann: Child Minder" had been twarted by not being able to find a Kate mask anywhere. Apparently I'm a wee bit premature and such masks aren't available. Just wait til next year, they'll be everywhere you wait and see.
In the end the lack of a Kate mask blew everything out of the water, and even a last ditch attempt to go as Heather McCartney (with one of us as her leg, lost and searching for it's owner) fell flat, so we stuck with our old favourites - a group of ghostly Chinese winkle pickers, forever stuck in mud and trying to reach land. Tasteful I'm sure you'll agree.
Oh, just for the record, the Brou-Ha-Ha joke competition question was:
Q: What's the difference between Heather McCartney and a broom?
There was a large number of very funny answers, but the eventual winner was:
A: A broom didn't have a spaz-attack on GMTV this morning.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Hard On
Last weekend saw my first visit to "Hard On", London's notorious once a month sex-club thingy. The Boyf and I have often talked about going, but now OBM#1 DJ's there sometimes, and with last Saturday also seeing the return of Buck Angel, all roads seemed to lead to "Hidden" (the venue).
Much of Saturday was spent trying to find something to wear. Hard On has a strict dress code, and as usual with these places sadly it isn't bustles or frock-coats. I eventually bought a new pair of combats, which seemed to just about fit with the "uniform" part of the dress code, and backed them up with rubber shorts, which seemed to fit in better with the attire I was expecting to see. Unfortunately that's all they did fit; once I'd returned home and managed to wriggle into them - removing a large amount of leg hair in the process - I closely resembled a sausage that'd been in a microwave too long and had burst out all over the place, with only a tightly restricted bit in the middle. The Boyf tried to calm me down, telling me that I wouldn't look any worse than a lot of the people that were likely to be there. Yeah, cause saying that really helped! So I peeled the shorts back off, taking with it another large patch of leg hair, and reverted to the combats.
On arriving at Hidden I found myself to be utterly over-dressed, even in the queue. People wandered around scantily clad, in and out of the building, to and fro the smoking area. Nudity seemed a popular option. I mean, it saves all that ironing doesn't it? Once inside we had a reasonable wait for the coat check, which I thought would be worse considering many where checking in every item of clothing they'd turned up in. I demurely shrugged off my coat and headed to the bar for a stiff drink. I was going to need it.
We'd arrived early so that we could, er, ease ourselves in gently. Get used to the surroundings before things got... well... rude. Needless to say it was quite a shock to wander through to another room to find someone already being fisted. "Blimey! Doesn't leave much for him to look forward to, does it?", I remarked to The Boyf in a too-loud voice, and we hastily headed back to the bar for more drinks. Finally Our Best Mates showed up, both in combats, making me not so conspicuously over-dressed anymore. Then The God appeared, in chaps - sigh - and looked very pleased to see us. The crowd was growing - full rubber was as popular a choice as nudity. There was a lot of squeaking. I worried about everyone being chaffed the next day.
Finally Buck made an appearance. Er, so, where's the rest of him/her? He/She's tiny! We where then treated to a "policeman" jumping on stage to try to stop the show. He struggled with Buck, who won out in the end and started to strip the "policeman". It was really tense there for a moment. (Rolls eyes). I won't go into gory details, because much of it I couldn't see anyway, being shorter than anyone else in my group. Needless to say, someone got shagged with a truncheon and it wasn't me. We took a quick straw-poll about who'd have sex with Buck, and it seems we all would, and not necessarily up the poop chute either. So she's obviously doing something right.
The rest of the evening was spent on the dancefloor, metaphorically clutching my housecoat around me. The music in the first room was great, I have to say. The second room started off brilliantly, then someone obviously decided that normal house music tempo was too slow, and upped it by a factor of 100%. The last time we went in it sounded like someone had turned a pneumatic drill on and left in a hurry. The lesbians seemed to love it. Couldn't quite work out why. Perhaps it's something to do with the vibrations.
So we danced our arses off and had a very fun night, apart from the time a guy in a gas mask scared the bejebus out of me by sitting in a dark corner in the toilets. I regained my composure and asked if he was my Mummy, but he didn't reply. Or couldn't, I guess. At around 4am The Boyf and I decided to finally venture into the third room to see what was happening. What was happening was that lots and lots of people were having the sex, sometimes not even confining themselves to one at a time. Dirty, dirty birdies! I would have watched slack-jawed but for the fact that I was worried about someone ramming something down my throat without bothering to ask me first. Any hole was obviously a goal. In some cases a large, open-mouthed goal. Along one side were a row of slings. Each was occupied and each occupant was also occupied. The symmetry pleased me. Just standing quietly to one side wasn't enough to deter some people, and before I knew it a hand had slammed down the back of my combats and my arse was slick with lube. The Boyf glared at the guy, I gave a faint smile and a "No thanks" and off he went again.
We left at chucking-out time, having done absolutely nothing naughty, and walked with OBM#1 back to his car, his DJ set over for another month, and then headed home to bed. All in all, we had a thoroughly enjoyable evening out and will repeat it next month I'm sure. In the meantime I'm going to try to lose the bit of weight I've put on over the last few month so that I can squeeze into my shorts without looking like Daffyd from Little Britain. Hopefully the leg hair will have grown back by then too.
Much of Saturday was spent trying to find something to wear. Hard On has a strict dress code, and as usual with these places sadly it isn't bustles or frock-coats. I eventually bought a new pair of combats, which seemed to just about fit with the "uniform" part of the dress code, and backed them up with rubber shorts, which seemed to fit in better with the attire I was expecting to see. Unfortunately that's all they did fit; once I'd returned home and managed to wriggle into them - removing a large amount of leg hair in the process - I closely resembled a sausage that'd been in a microwave too long and had burst out all over the place, with only a tightly restricted bit in the middle. The Boyf tried to calm me down, telling me that I wouldn't look any worse than a lot of the people that were likely to be there. Yeah, cause saying that really helped! So I peeled the shorts back off, taking with it another large patch of leg hair, and reverted to the combats.
On arriving at Hidden I found myself to be utterly over-dressed, even in the queue. People wandered around scantily clad, in and out of the building, to and fro the smoking area. Nudity seemed a popular option. I mean, it saves all that ironing doesn't it? Once inside we had a reasonable wait for the coat check, which I thought would be worse considering many where checking in every item of clothing they'd turned up in. I demurely shrugged off my coat and headed to the bar for a stiff drink. I was going to need it.
We'd arrived early so that we could, er, ease ourselves in gently. Get used to the surroundings before things got... well... rude. Needless to say it was quite a shock to wander through to another room to find someone already being fisted. "Blimey! Doesn't leave much for him to look forward to, does it?", I remarked to The Boyf in a too-loud voice, and we hastily headed back to the bar for more drinks. Finally Our Best Mates showed up, both in combats, making me not so conspicuously over-dressed anymore. Then The God appeared, in chaps - sigh - and looked very pleased to see us. The crowd was growing - full rubber was as popular a choice as nudity. There was a lot of squeaking. I worried about everyone being chaffed the next day.
Finally Buck made an appearance. Er, so, where's the rest of him/her? He/She's tiny! We where then treated to a "policeman" jumping on stage to try to stop the show. He struggled with Buck, who won out in the end and started to strip the "policeman". It was really tense there for a moment. (Rolls eyes). I won't go into gory details, because much of it I couldn't see anyway, being shorter than anyone else in my group. Needless to say, someone got shagged with a truncheon and it wasn't me. We took a quick straw-poll about who'd have sex with Buck, and it seems we all would, and not necessarily up the poop chute either. So she's obviously doing something right.
The rest of the evening was spent on the dancefloor, metaphorically clutching my housecoat around me. The music in the first room was great, I have to say. The second room started off brilliantly, then someone obviously decided that normal house music tempo was too slow, and upped it by a factor of 100%. The last time we went in it sounded like someone had turned a pneumatic drill on and left in a hurry. The lesbians seemed to love it. Couldn't quite work out why. Perhaps it's something to do with the vibrations.
So we danced our arses off and had a very fun night, apart from the time a guy in a gas mask scared the bejebus out of me by sitting in a dark corner in the toilets. I regained my composure and asked if he was my Mummy, but he didn't reply. Or couldn't, I guess. At around 4am The Boyf and I decided to finally venture into the third room to see what was happening. What was happening was that lots and lots of people were having the sex, sometimes not even confining themselves to one at a time. Dirty, dirty birdies! I would have watched slack-jawed but for the fact that I was worried about someone ramming something down my throat without bothering to ask me first. Any hole was obviously a goal. In some cases a large, open-mouthed goal. Along one side were a row of slings. Each was occupied and each occupant was also occupied. The symmetry pleased me. Just standing quietly to one side wasn't enough to deter some people, and before I knew it a hand had slammed down the back of my combats and my arse was slick with lube. The Boyf glared at the guy, I gave a faint smile and a "No thanks" and off he went again.
We left at chucking-out time, having done absolutely nothing naughty, and walked with OBM#1 back to his car, his DJ set over for another month, and then headed home to bed. All in all, we had a thoroughly enjoyable evening out and will repeat it next month I'm sure. In the meantime I'm going to try to lose the bit of weight I've put on over the last few month so that I can squeeze into my shorts without looking like Daffyd from Little Britain. Hopefully the leg hair will have grown back by then too.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Separated At Creation
I'm still trying to find images which back up my claim, but did anyone else notice the similarity between the Monster in ITV1's "Frankenstein" last night and Pete Doherty? Quite uncanny. All the Monster needed was a hat placed at a jaunty angle and a fag hanging out of it's mouth and Kate Moss would have come running. Of course, one is hideously ugly and not fit for society... and the other is the Monster. Boom, Boom! I than kewe.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
You Couldn't Make It Up
And "Comedy Headline Of The Year" award goes to...
http://www.metro.co.uk/news/article.html?in_article_id=72330&in_page_id=34
Yes, apparently Kate McCann wants a job in childcare, presumably so she can practise not going out and leaving them on their own. Ooops, lost another one! Better luck tomorrow. There are so many jokes here my mind is whirling.
If you were a parent would you really let her look after your children?
http://www.metro.co.uk/news/article.html?in_article_id=72330&in_page_id=34
Yes, apparently Kate McCann wants a job in childcare, presumably so she can practise not going out and leaving them on their own. Ooops, lost another one! Better luck tomorrow. There are so many jokes here my mind is whirling.
If you were a parent would you really let her look after your children?
Friday, October 05, 2007
My Favourite Rear
Did I ever mention I like cars? Well, yes, petrol runs through my veins. The Boyf says he finds it very attractive about me as it's very "normal blokey", in his words. What I think he means is that he was just glad I didn't turn out to collect Barbie dolls. Whilst finding it attractive in me he simultaneously seems to find it mind-numbingly boring, especially when I get excited in the street when I spot something rare or interesting. But then I'm sure I don't look terribly excited when he blathers on about Zygons and, er, those ones with the big heads. You know, rumoured to be in the next series. Sounds like Sultana.
So, moving swiftly to the point - finally - I would like to share with you my current favourite backside. It's a Lamborghini Reventon, it costs 1 million Euros, and only 1 is headed to the UK (out of a total production run of just 20). I won't bore you with all the details about who designed it etc. So if you happen to know who's bought that sole Lambo please let me know so I can prostrate myself before it. Thank you.
So, moving swiftly to the point - finally - I would like to share with you my current favourite backside. It's a Lamborghini Reventon, it costs 1 million Euros, and only 1 is headed to the UK (out of a total production run of just 20). I won't bore you with all the details about who designed it etc. So if you happen to know who's bought that sole Lambo please let me know so I can prostrate myself before it. Thank you.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Must Stay Strong
They're starting to organise the Christmas Office parties at work. Fortunately I still remember last years "do" and am holding firm in my conviction that I won't be attending this year, especially now the intended destination has been announced. How many things wrong can you spot in the following sentence (answers to the usual address at OMO Towers)?
"Office Christmas Party - food at Pizza Express, plus getting drunk in the Slug & Lettuce".
Classy.
Elsewhere, The Boss is still on about his engagement party. He's now told me how glad his intended fiance is that The Boyf and I will be attending because "she doesn't know any gays and can't wait to meet you". Urgh! Also, following on from the "YMCA" comment, another colleague said that they're going to request it and dedicate it to The Boyf and I, so that we can get up and show them how it's done. So it looks like we're simply going to be wheeled out for everyone's amusement - "Oh look, the gays have arrived! Aren't they stylish? And watch them dance!". I do love it when that happens.
"Office Christmas Party - food at Pizza Express, plus getting drunk in the Slug & Lettuce".
Classy.
Elsewhere, The Boss is still on about his engagement party. He's now told me how glad his intended fiance is that The Boyf and I will be attending because "she doesn't know any gays and can't wait to meet you". Urgh! Also, following on from the "YMCA" comment, another colleague said that they're going to request it and dedicate it to The Boyf and I, so that we can get up and show them how it's done. So it looks like we're simply going to be wheeled out for everyone's amusement - "Oh look, the gays have arrived! Aren't they stylish? And watch them dance!". I do love it when that happens.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Quotes From The Boss: No.2
In the office, 3.45pm this afternoon...
Boss: The DJ that was going to do my engagement party dropped dead at the weekend.
OMO: Christ!
Boss: Yeah, I feel so sorry for his wife. And I need to find a new DJ a bit quick. Don't know any do you? Mind you, I'd need one who doesn't just play "YMCA" and all that queer stuff.
OMO: *blink*
Boss: You know, I need someone to play normal music.
OMO: *blink, blink*
Boss: Which reminds me; I know I invited you and your boyfriend but could you make sure you don't kiss or anything cause there will be children and old people present.
OMO: I'm totally lost for words. Well done!
Boss: The DJ that was going to do my engagement party dropped dead at the weekend.
OMO: Christ!
Boss: Yeah, I feel so sorry for his wife. And I need to find a new DJ a bit quick. Don't know any do you? Mind you, I'd need one who doesn't just play "YMCA" and all that queer stuff.
OMO: *blink*
Boss: You know, I need someone to play normal music.
OMO: *blink, blink*
Boss: Which reminds me; I know I invited you and your boyfriend but could you make sure you don't kiss or anything cause there will be children and old people present.
OMO: I'm totally lost for words. Well done!
Wet Again
I'm standing at a bar with a pint. Cider, it's the only thing I drink. Well, not the only thing, of course, but it's my preferred "pint". Everyone I know seems to tell me that they didn't like lager/beer at all when they first tried it, but got used to it because everyone drank it. I just stuck with cider, which I knew I liked after I got a little tipsy on it as an 8 year old when my parents let me have some local scrumpy during a visit to Somerset in the 70's.
I'd just commented that I was really rather pleased that two guys we'd met last time didn't happen to be present. I still wasn't best pleased with one of them after he decided to piss all over me whilst standing at the bar, without any warning at all. We'd just been chatting away and suddenly I'd felt a wet warmth, so I looked down and realised that as he'd been chatting he'd got his cock out and was happily pissing away. I'd had to spend the rest of the evening in cold, damp jeans, reeking of urine. Perhaps it's a local custom.
So, I'd just commented that this guy and his boyfriend weren't around when The Boyf told me I'd spoken too soon. Shit! They wander over to say Hi. Now, I'd like to add that the boyfriend of Pisser - we'll call him Cigar I think - is really rather lovely. Not what you'd call good-looking, but very manly and attractive, and although he looks quite aggressive is actually very unassuming and pleasant. In contrast to Pisser, who never talks about anything other than who he's shagged recently, and how much he'd like to piss up my arse. Charmed, I'm sure.
Fortunately Pisser is paying a great deal of attention to two other guys, both dressed in leather.
Cigar: See that guy my boyfriend is talking to now?
OMO: Yeah...?
Cigar: Biggest cock in Birmingham
The Boyf: Yours isn't exactly small is it?
The Boyf catches my eye and motions downwards with his head. Cigar has his cock out (he's wearing chaps and a jock) and it's in The Boyf's hand. It's hard, and very large. As usual I'd been oblivious to the goings-on. Cigar smiles at me. I cop a feel, as you do.
Cigar then looks over at the guy with the apparently enormous cock, who see that Cigar has his own cock out and wanders over. Rather obviously the guy flops his cock out of his jock. Yes, it's possibly the largest cock I've ever seen in real life. At about 10 inches long I've seen longer, but it's as thick as a Coke can too, and comes accompanied with an enormous pair of balls. It all looks a little incongruous, like the whole lot fell off a small horse and has been surgically grafted on. My hoop involuntarily tightens in fear.
Horsey suddenly produces a condom - a HUGE condom, like a rubber support-stocking - and whips it onto his cock, then slathers in it lube. I notice The Boyf back up against the bar slightly. I do the same, and we shoot a look of fear at each other. And then, without so much as a By Your Leave, Cigar bends over, burying his face in my chest, and Horsey proceeds to force his cock up Cigar's arse. The Boyf and I look at each other in surprise, and Cigar lets out a huge moan as Horsey impales him, right up to the balls. He then proceeds to fuck him incredibly hard as Cigar braces himself against me.
I'm forced up against the bar, clinging to my pint and trying not to spill it everywhere, and to the side of me people are ordering drinks as if nothing is happening. I look over at The Boyf, who's mouth is open in amazement and awe as he leans round to get a better view of the action, like a small inquisitive child. My back's starting to hurt, being slammed back against the bar as I take the force of the pounding. Cigar manages to look up at me; he's a bit slack-jawed and his eyes are slightly crossed. I smile at him, partly out of reassurance and partly just because I'm polite and I can't quite work out the etiquette in such a situation.
Finally, Cigar lets out a roar, which I assume means he's cum, and Horsey pulls out of him. The person next to me orders two pints of bitter and some crisps. I help Cigar to stand up straight and he's looking rather weary, but in a contented kind of way.
Cigar: Christ, that's like being fucked by a rampant pony. It's ripped me apart.
Horsey: Anyone else want a go?
The Boyf (looking nervous): Er.... ahem.... I.... er...
OMO: Christ, look at the time already. Must be off I think. Things to do tomorrow, and all that.
On the way out The Boyf motions to my jeans.
The Boyf: So, that's a 100% record of walking out of that bar with stained jeans then.
I look down to see a huge load of spunk clinging to me...
I'd just commented that I was really rather pleased that two guys we'd met last time didn't happen to be present. I still wasn't best pleased with one of them after he decided to piss all over me whilst standing at the bar, without any warning at all. We'd just been chatting away and suddenly I'd felt a wet warmth, so I looked down and realised that as he'd been chatting he'd got his cock out and was happily pissing away. I'd had to spend the rest of the evening in cold, damp jeans, reeking of urine. Perhaps it's a local custom.
So, I'd just commented that this guy and his boyfriend weren't around when The Boyf told me I'd spoken too soon. Shit! They wander over to say Hi. Now, I'd like to add that the boyfriend of Pisser - we'll call him Cigar I think - is really rather lovely. Not what you'd call good-looking, but very manly and attractive, and although he looks quite aggressive is actually very unassuming and pleasant. In contrast to Pisser, who never talks about anything other than who he's shagged recently, and how much he'd like to piss up my arse. Charmed, I'm sure.
Fortunately Pisser is paying a great deal of attention to two other guys, both dressed in leather.
Cigar: See that guy my boyfriend is talking to now?
OMO: Yeah...?
Cigar: Biggest cock in Birmingham
The Boyf: Yours isn't exactly small is it?
The Boyf catches my eye and motions downwards with his head. Cigar has his cock out (he's wearing chaps and a jock) and it's in The Boyf's hand. It's hard, and very large. As usual I'd been oblivious to the goings-on. Cigar smiles at me. I cop a feel, as you do.
Cigar then looks over at the guy with the apparently enormous cock, who see that Cigar has his own cock out and wanders over. Rather obviously the guy flops his cock out of his jock. Yes, it's possibly the largest cock I've ever seen in real life. At about 10 inches long I've seen longer, but it's as thick as a Coke can too, and comes accompanied with an enormous pair of balls. It all looks a little incongruous, like the whole lot fell off a small horse and has been surgically grafted on. My hoop involuntarily tightens in fear.
Horsey suddenly produces a condom - a HUGE condom, like a rubber support-stocking - and whips it onto his cock, then slathers in it lube. I notice The Boyf back up against the bar slightly. I do the same, and we shoot a look of fear at each other. And then, without so much as a By Your Leave, Cigar bends over, burying his face in my chest, and Horsey proceeds to force his cock up Cigar's arse. The Boyf and I look at each other in surprise, and Cigar lets out a huge moan as Horsey impales him, right up to the balls. He then proceeds to fuck him incredibly hard as Cigar braces himself against me.
I'm forced up against the bar, clinging to my pint and trying not to spill it everywhere, and to the side of me people are ordering drinks as if nothing is happening. I look over at The Boyf, who's mouth is open in amazement and awe as he leans round to get a better view of the action, like a small inquisitive child. My back's starting to hurt, being slammed back against the bar as I take the force of the pounding. Cigar manages to look up at me; he's a bit slack-jawed and his eyes are slightly crossed. I smile at him, partly out of reassurance and partly just because I'm polite and I can't quite work out the etiquette in such a situation.
Finally, Cigar lets out a roar, which I assume means he's cum, and Horsey pulls out of him. The person next to me orders two pints of bitter and some crisps. I help Cigar to stand up straight and he's looking rather weary, but in a contented kind of way.
Cigar: Christ, that's like being fucked by a rampant pony. It's ripped me apart.
Horsey: Anyone else want a go?
The Boyf (looking nervous): Er.... ahem.... I.... er...
OMO: Christ, look at the time already. Must be off I think. Things to do tomorrow, and all that.
On the way out The Boyf motions to my jeans.
The Boyf: So, that's a 100% record of walking out of that bar with stained jeans then.
I look down to see a huge load of spunk clinging to me...
Friday, September 28, 2007
Losing My Virginity: Pt.1
I believe I’ve told you about losing my man-cherry before. It was with a tall, skinny, boss-eyed twink in my local cemetery. All quite a shock for me really as up until that point I’d imagined it would happen on a beach with Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds taking turns, and with Sean Connery playing with my nipples. (Never let it be said that I don’t go for a certain type). Anyway, the real event was a bit crap and unmemorable really, so often I try to pretend it didn’t happen, and that the first time my hoop was bludgeoned was some years later by a 6 foot hairy sailor in a deserted house, his rough, weathered hands pawing at me, as he had his way with me time and time again pushed up against the wall or on the bare floor boards. I went home with some odd bruises that night, I can tell you. Ah, good times…
Sigh.
Sorry, where was I....
Ah yes, what I want to tell you about is how I lost my virginity - WITH A GIRL! Shock, horror etc. Yes, for once upon a time I did indeed have a go at poking my pork sword up a girl’s squish mitten. And here's is how it happened…
(cue wobbly memory effect)
It was back in 1992. Saturday January 11th to be precise. I know because it was my friend's 21st birthday on the 8th and she threw a small party at her house the following Saturday. For the purposes of this story we'll call her "M", and just for the record I was also 21 years old.
The intended guests had received invites in the post some weeks before. It was to be a Murder Mystery evening, and everyone had a particular character assigned to them who they had to dress as and stay in character as for the duration of the evening. In her infinite wisdom "M" had decided that all intended invitees would be cross-dressing, and when I opened my invitation I found I was to be a fading Hollywood star, once a great actress but now pushed aside by younger upstarts. A Norma Desmond figure, if you will. I wonder why she picked me for this glamorous role...
In the intervening weeks I found all the items I needed, and on the afternoon of the party I collected my outfit and drove to "M"'s house where a team of girls were going to transform me. You know what girls are like when they get a sniff of being able to put make-up on a man.
Come 7pm and everyone was arriving. The girls were in a variety of male costumes. There was a farmer in wellies and on a toy tractor, a businessman in a suit and tie, a fisherman in waders and sowesta (with a fake hairy chest underneath), and assorted others. The men were all dressed as women; an old Miss Marple-style grandma, a power-dressed businesswoman, a harassed mother of three (complete with pram and "babies"), and various others.
And there was me; blue sequinned fishtail halter-neck gown (part of a Diana Ross costume I found in a fancy dress shop), big blond curly wig, 6-inch heels (courtesy of a friend's Mum who had big feet), suspenders and fishnet stockings, long, red (fake) nails, plenty of fake diamonds, and a face full of slap courtesy of my make-up team. The only thing I didn't do was shave my chest or legs - some things are sacrosanct! I waited until everyone had arrived and made a typically grand entrance down the stairs with a glass of champagne and a cigarette holder, darling.
So, for the entire evening we had to stay resolutely in character. We'd been given certain things to say, and "M", as the game's leader, had to reveal certain vital pieces of information. At some point someone guessed who the murderer was (I think), but the evening was about getting spectacularly drunk. We succeeded.
We'd all decided to stay at "M"'s house, so we'd all bought sleeping bag and changes of clothes. At some point a grand decision was made for us all to go to bed, so the sleeping bags were rolled out over sofas and floor, and people started getting ready for bed. Or in many cases - mine included - we simply collapsed as we were.
I'd drifted into the fitful sleep of the pissed, only to be woken by one of the girls. I should add that at this time I wasn't generally out to this group of friends - only three people present knew I was gay. Anyway, my sleeping bag was unzipped and in climbed a girl. The one dressed as the fisherman. With the fake chest hair, remember. We'll call her "H". I was still fully dragged-up, barring the wig and heels.
"H": Do you mind me coming in with you? My bag's not very comfortable.
OMO: Erm... no. I guess not. Gonna be tight in here with two though.
"H": That's ok. I don't mind being pressed up against you.
OMO: Er... erm... oh.
(To Be Continued...)
Sigh.
Sorry, where was I....
Ah yes, what I want to tell you about is how I lost my virginity - WITH A GIRL! Shock, horror etc. Yes, for once upon a time I did indeed have a go at poking my pork sword up a girl’s squish mitten. And here's is how it happened…
(cue wobbly memory effect)
It was back in 1992. Saturday January 11th to be precise. I know because it was my friend's 21st birthday on the 8th and she threw a small party at her house the following Saturday. For the purposes of this story we'll call her "M", and just for the record I was also 21 years old.
The intended guests had received invites in the post some weeks before. It was to be a Murder Mystery evening, and everyone had a particular character assigned to them who they had to dress as and stay in character as for the duration of the evening. In her infinite wisdom "M" had decided that all intended invitees would be cross-dressing, and when I opened my invitation I found I was to be a fading Hollywood star, once a great actress but now pushed aside by younger upstarts. A Norma Desmond figure, if you will. I wonder why she picked me for this glamorous role...
In the intervening weeks I found all the items I needed, and on the afternoon of the party I collected my outfit and drove to "M"'s house where a team of girls were going to transform me. You know what girls are like when they get a sniff of being able to put make-up on a man.
Come 7pm and everyone was arriving. The girls were in a variety of male costumes. There was a farmer in wellies and on a toy tractor, a businessman in a suit and tie, a fisherman in waders and sowesta (with a fake hairy chest underneath), and assorted others. The men were all dressed as women; an old Miss Marple-style grandma, a power-dressed businesswoman, a harassed mother of three (complete with pram and "babies"), and various others.
And there was me; blue sequinned fishtail halter-neck gown (part of a Diana Ross costume I found in a fancy dress shop), big blond curly wig, 6-inch heels (courtesy of a friend's Mum who had big feet), suspenders and fishnet stockings, long, red (fake) nails, plenty of fake diamonds, and a face full of slap courtesy of my make-up team. The only thing I didn't do was shave my chest or legs - some things are sacrosanct! I waited until everyone had arrived and made a typically grand entrance down the stairs with a glass of champagne and a cigarette holder, darling.
So, for the entire evening we had to stay resolutely in character. We'd been given certain things to say, and "M", as the game's leader, had to reveal certain vital pieces of information. At some point someone guessed who the murderer was (I think), but the evening was about getting spectacularly drunk. We succeeded.
We'd all decided to stay at "M"'s house, so we'd all bought sleeping bag and changes of clothes. At some point a grand decision was made for us all to go to bed, so the sleeping bags were rolled out over sofas and floor, and people started getting ready for bed. Or in many cases - mine included - we simply collapsed as we were.
I'd drifted into the fitful sleep of the pissed, only to be woken by one of the girls. I should add that at this time I wasn't generally out to this group of friends - only three people present knew I was gay. Anyway, my sleeping bag was unzipped and in climbed a girl. The one dressed as the fisherman. With the fake chest hair, remember. We'll call her "H". I was still fully dragged-up, barring the wig and heels.
"H": Do you mind me coming in with you? My bag's not very comfortable.
OMO: Erm... no. I guess not. Gonna be tight in here with two though.
"H": That's ok. I don't mind being pressed up against you.
OMO: Er... erm... oh.
(To Be Continued...)
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Non-iPodlessness
Finally, FINALLY, I got around to getting a new iPod today, after being without a soundtrack to my every movement since May 2006.
So, did I get an new iPod Touch? Nope. A cute little new Nano Video? Again, nope. Since neither had anywhere near the capacity I need I've gone for a new, silver 160Gb iPod Classic, and I can't want to go home and start loading music onto it.
I'll have to be more careful with this one so that some little shit doesn't steal it.
I know this isn't terribly exciting news for you, but I needed to share this with someone and you don't look terribly busy.
So, did I get an new iPod Touch? Nope. A cute little new Nano Video? Again, nope. Since neither had anywhere near the capacity I need I've gone for a new, silver 160Gb iPod Classic, and I can't want to go home and start loading music onto it.
I'll have to be more careful with this one so that some little shit doesn't steal it.
I know this isn't terribly exciting news for you, but I needed to share this with someone and you don't look terribly busy.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
My Guilty Secret
Apparently I’m not as good at hiding my little crushes as I thought. I mean, in Gayland I don’t bother. If I like someone I just giggle at them until The Boyf starts to rib me mercilessly, or until the object of my affection has either snogged me, or more likely, run away screaming.
In Heteroville I tend to be a little more discreet though. Or at least I thought I was.
I have a guilty secret at work, you see. There’s a guy sits not 10 feet away who I really shouldn’t like but struggle to keep my eyes off. He’s so not my type it’s unreal, but because of that I find him even more alluring. I guess I pay attention to him so much simply because I’m surprised I find him attractive and am trying to work out why.
Here’s a list of things about him I don’t like, any one of which wouldn't put my off, but together makes the whole thing rather difficult to fathom:
1. He’s in his 20’s. I like guys my age or older.
2. He’s blond. I like dark hair
3. He’s slim/muscular. I go for chunky/muscular
4. He’s tall. I prefer short
5. He’s smooth. I only go for hairy
6. He’s an Essex wide-boy/chav. I prefer everything other than that.
He smokes and swears like a trooper, has a tattoo of his favourite football club emblem on his bicep, talks about “birds” and “tits” constantly, and he regularly comes in to work on a Monday morning bruised and battered from bar fights over the weekend.
And I love him. Ok, “love” is WAY too strong. But certainly I lust after him. What I want to do is meet him in the showers at the gym and end up forced up against a wall while he brutalises me. I can imagine it being rather swift and aggressive and all about him, and I rather like that idea. It’s not a rape fantasy of course, because I wouldn’t be saying “no”. Anyway, I digress…Ahem.
We actually get along fine, which surprises me considering how utterly different we are. We were on a night out last year and he was being typically loutish, even trying to pick a fight with a colleague over something ridiculous. Anyway, we ended up at the bar together and he turned to me and said, “You know, I used to hate queers until I met you. I think you’re cool and it’s completely changed my mind. Seriously”, and then he put his arm around me. I was quite touched. Also, I got a stiffy.
So at work I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what it is about him I find so attractive, and I thought I was being terribly discreet until a conversation on Friday turned to “Who in the office do you fancy?”. I said “No one. You’re all equally unattractive”, to which Michelle replied “That’s not entirely true is it? We’ve seen you looking”. Emma nodded her consent and they both stared at me. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Oh, really?” said Michelle and pointed over her shoulder to where my paramour sits. The girls giggled. I went red and hurried out of the office, mumbling something about files needing to be upstairs.
So my little guilty secret is out. How long before HE finds out, that’s the question. And what will happen? I shall hang around the gym showers expectantly.
In Heteroville I tend to be a little more discreet though. Or at least I thought I was.
I have a guilty secret at work, you see. There’s a guy sits not 10 feet away who I really shouldn’t like but struggle to keep my eyes off. He’s so not my type it’s unreal, but because of that I find him even more alluring. I guess I pay attention to him so much simply because I’m surprised I find him attractive and am trying to work out why.
Here’s a list of things about him I don’t like, any one of which wouldn't put my off, but together makes the whole thing rather difficult to fathom:
1. He’s in his 20’s. I like guys my age or older.
2. He’s blond. I like dark hair
3. He’s slim/muscular. I go for chunky/muscular
4. He’s tall. I prefer short
5. He’s smooth. I only go for hairy
6. He’s an Essex wide-boy/chav. I prefer everything other than that.
He smokes and swears like a trooper, has a tattoo of his favourite football club emblem on his bicep, talks about “birds” and “tits” constantly, and he regularly comes in to work on a Monday morning bruised and battered from bar fights over the weekend.
And I love him. Ok, “love” is WAY too strong. But certainly I lust after him. What I want to do is meet him in the showers at the gym and end up forced up against a wall while he brutalises me. I can imagine it being rather swift and aggressive and all about him, and I rather like that idea. It’s not a rape fantasy of course, because I wouldn’t be saying “no”. Anyway, I digress…Ahem.
We actually get along fine, which surprises me considering how utterly different we are. We were on a night out last year and he was being typically loutish, even trying to pick a fight with a colleague over something ridiculous. Anyway, we ended up at the bar together and he turned to me and said, “You know, I used to hate queers until I met you. I think you’re cool and it’s completely changed my mind. Seriously”, and then he put his arm around me. I was quite touched. Also, I got a stiffy.
So at work I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what it is about him I find so attractive, and I thought I was being terribly discreet until a conversation on Friday turned to “Who in the office do you fancy?”. I said “No one. You’re all equally unattractive”, to which Michelle replied “That’s not entirely true is it? We’ve seen you looking”. Emma nodded her consent and they both stared at me. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Oh, really?” said Michelle and pointed over her shoulder to where my paramour sits. The girls giggled. I went red and hurried out of the office, mumbling something about files needing to be upstairs.
So my little guilty secret is out. How long before HE finds out, that’s the question. And what will happen? I shall hang around the gym showers expectantly.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Why My Friends Think I'm Weird: Pt.5
When someone asks my age I use a little system where I don't have to say an actual number.
For example, I'm 36, but if someone asks I say "Oh, I'm in my late mid-30's".
Here's how you work it out...
30 = You're 30. Nothing more to say.
31 = early 30's.
32 = mid early-30's
33 = late early-30's
34 = early mid-30's
35 = mid-30's
36 = late mid-30's
37 = early late-30's
38 = mid late-30's
39 = late 30's
And so on.
It's so you can tell someone your age without giving yourself a heart-attack when you say the number out loud and the realisation dawns that you're too old to have gone out in pink hotpants and bunny-ears. Again.
For example, I'm 36, but if someone asks I say "Oh, I'm in my late mid-30's".
Here's how you work it out...
30 = You're 30. Nothing more to say.
31 = early 30's.
32 = mid early-30's
33 = late early-30's
34 = early mid-30's
35 = mid-30's
36 = late mid-30's
37 = early late-30's
38 = mid late-30's
39 = late 30's
And so on.
It's so you can tell someone your age without giving yourself a heart-attack when you say the number out loud and the realisation dawns that you're too old to have gone out in pink hotpants and bunny-ears. Again.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
I repeat, Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
My day didn't need to start this badly. I need a drink...
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
YMCA Anyone?
At the weekend The Boyf and I had a 5-some with two policemen and a biker.
The desire to dress up as a construction worker was almost too much to bare.
Also, I found out that The Boyf considers me to be passive. I'm not even entirely sure what that means. Is it the same as "bottom", or does it suggest a level of inactivity in bed? Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers, please.
The desire to dress up as a construction worker was almost too much to bare.
Also, I found out that The Boyf considers me to be passive. I'm not even entirely sure what that means. Is it the same as "bottom", or does it suggest a level of inactivity in bed? Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers, please.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
How To Make An Impression
On Thursday there was a "Porn Star Meet-And-Greet" in BarCode to promote AlphaMaleMedia, so we popped along to slaver over the men. To our amazement they actually turned out to be really nice (mostly) and we chatted away the evening, so when it drew to a close we agreed to meet up the following night.
Thus, Friday evening was spent with a large group of guys I'd have recognised better without clothes on. Also in attendance was my Doppelganger (there are three of us who are mistaken for brothers). This brother of mine and I had never discussed our similarity before ("Oh, so that's what I'm going to look like in 6 years", he said. "Not too bad I guess. It reminds me to get more sleep though"). Bastard.
So, in the company of beautiful men standing outside a very packed bar, talking and drinking in the fresh evening air I picked just the wrong moment to fall over whilst returning from the bar carrying a load of drinks. Flat on my face in the dirt next to a tree I sprawled, having also thrown the drinks all over me on the way down. A group of Angertwinks nearby pointed and laughed. I got up, brushed myself down and realised I was bleeding - I'd put a lovely graze up one of my arms. The porn stars looked faintly embarrassed, like they didn't quite know what the etiquette was. Luckily a friend burst into hysterical laughter, provoking the same in me, and the little bit of tension was immediately relieved.
Didn't end up in bed with a porn star that night, oddly.
Thus, Friday evening was spent with a large group of guys I'd have recognised better without clothes on. Also in attendance was my Doppelganger (there are three of us who are mistaken for brothers). This brother of mine and I had never discussed our similarity before ("Oh, so that's what I'm going to look like in 6 years", he said. "Not too bad I guess. It reminds me to get more sleep though"). Bastard.
So, in the company of beautiful men standing outside a very packed bar, talking and drinking in the fresh evening air I picked just the wrong moment to fall over whilst returning from the bar carrying a load of drinks. Flat on my face in the dirt next to a tree I sprawled, having also thrown the drinks all over me on the way down. A group of Angertwinks nearby pointed and laughed. I got up, brushed myself down and realised I was bleeding - I'd put a lovely graze up one of my arms. The porn stars looked faintly embarrassed, like they didn't quite know what the etiquette was. Luckily a friend burst into hysterical laughter, provoking the same in me, and the little bit of tension was immediately relieved.
Didn't end up in bed with a porn star that night, oddly.
Monday, September 17, 2007
A Real Lazy Bear
I'm very aware that I'm being totally crap with writing my blog at the moment, and I do apologise.
I have quite a little list of things to tell you about too. Let me see, there's...
1. San Francisco
2. How I hurt my arm
3. A Christening
4. A Wedding
5. London Zoo
Whilst I'm trying to compose the above topics into something readable, let me tell you about something little that happened last week.
We were doing a weekly shop the other day in a supermarket we don't often visit. On the way out a motorcycle courier was walking towards us in his leathers. Six feet tall, shaved head, goatee, sexy as fuck. The Boyf and I exchanged a glance, and as the guy walked past our eyes met, albeit briefly. We turned to check out his ass - like you do - and very nice it was too. He didn't turn round. No interest shown.
The next evening I was trawling the internet when I received a message on one of the better known bear chat sights. Yes, it was the courier asking whether it was me he'd passed in the supermarket, and telling me he had a package he'd like to deliver to me. Wink, wink.
And a very large package it was too...
I love this city.
I have quite a little list of things to tell you about too. Let me see, there's...
1. San Francisco
2. How I hurt my arm
3. A Christening
4. A Wedding
5. London Zoo
Whilst I'm trying to compose the above topics into something readable, let me tell you about something little that happened last week.
We were doing a weekly shop the other day in a supermarket we don't often visit. On the way out a motorcycle courier was walking towards us in his leathers. Six feet tall, shaved head, goatee, sexy as fuck. The Boyf and I exchanged a glance, and as the guy walked past our eyes met, albeit briefly. We turned to check out his ass - like you do - and very nice it was too. He didn't turn round. No interest shown.
The next evening I was trawling the internet when I received a message on one of the better known bear chat sights. Yes, it was the courier asking whether it was me he'd passed in the supermarket, and telling me he had a package he'd like to deliver to me. Wink, wink.
And a very large package it was too...
I love this city.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
LazyBear: Pt.2
The rest of the weekend was spent either gawping at beautiful men, or trying to fend off unwanted admirers. Or just being drunk, as is the English way.
Our little bit of fun was going up to very well known porn stars and pretending we didn't know who they were, then asking what they did for a living. Only one admitted to being in porn, and he then gave us a free DVD. Result! The others worked as "models", "artists" or as "realtors", which sounds so much better than "estate agent". The conversations ran something like this one...
OMO: "So, what is it you do?"
PornStar: "Er.... I'm a, er, model"
OMO: "Oh, nice. You don't look like catwalk to me so I'm thinking glamour or catalogue. Actually, you look a bit familiar. Have you done Littlewoods?"
PornStar (looking confused): "Er... no, I don't think so"
OMO: "Oh well, maybe it was Argos. Anyway, nice to meet you"
So, we hung out, we got drunk on Mudslides, I took too much sun, got really bad sunburn and felt sick, and we chatted to lovely men. Speaking of which; just about everyone we spoke to was charming and friendly, completely unlike the hot guys in London who often won't give you the time of day. How very refreshing we found that. Elsewhere, people said "Hi" in the street, and everyone we came into contact with (barmen, shopkeepers etc) were always friendly. By contrast; on our return to the UK The Boyf and I went shopping for a new suit (for him). The shop assistant managed the whole transaction without actually speaking a single word, not even telling us the price. As we walked off I gave a cheery "Thank you!". I got "Hmmm" as a reply. Someone in the US said the whole friendly bartender thing was simply for the tips. Well, I don't care whether it's false or not, it just makes things more pleasant. And certainly the guys who said Hi in the street were only doing it to be friendly.
Oh, can someone please tell me why there are so many different types of milk in the US? And why does everything come in a "Maple Flavor" variety? Or has peanuts in it? Thanks.
On the Monday after LazyBear The Boyf and I, plus the thruple, packed up our cases, threw them in the enormous SUV and drove into Guerneville to say goodbye to a few friends. The town was rapidly being evacuated by the bears, as if it had finally run out of food and beer, so by the time we got to the Triple R resort the place was almost empty. Still, the DJ was playing, and there were a handful of people chatting, so The Boyf and I, plus one of the thruple (the English one), started on the mudslides again. At about 1pm we decided to leave for SF, and on the way out of town we stopped at a rather lovely vineyard - Korbel - where we met Barbara.
Barbara is a goddess. She works in the tasting room, and confronted by 3 Englishmen who were already drunk on mudslides she was charming and helpful, offering to let us taste anything we wanted. Little did she know that we secretly had a list of all the wines produced by Korbel, which we'd consult when she wasn't looking, and then ask whether she had "a nice fruity red" or an "oaky white", knowing full well that she did. Thus we managed to try just about every wine they had. Lucky for us that the other two members of the thruple weren't drinking, as we have no recollection of the rest of the trip to SF. On waking the next morning though I found that I'd bought two bottles of red "champagne", one bottle of white "champagne", and a bottle of port, so Barbara was cleverer than we thought.
Overall then a big "Thumbs Up" for LazyBear. The Boyf and I are already talking about doing it again, possibly next year, although we'll make sure we arrive earlier next time to shake off the jet lag before the fun commences and do some touring of the local, beautiful, countryside. Oh, and to visit Korbel again. Wanna join us?
And so, on to San Francisco...
Our little bit of fun was going up to very well known porn stars and pretending we didn't know who they were, then asking what they did for a living. Only one admitted to being in porn, and he then gave us a free DVD. Result! The others worked as "models", "artists" or as "realtors", which sounds so much better than "estate agent". The conversations ran something like this one...
OMO: "So, what is it you do?"
PornStar: "Er.... I'm a, er, model"
OMO: "Oh, nice. You don't look like catwalk to me so I'm thinking glamour or catalogue. Actually, you look a bit familiar. Have you done Littlewoods?"
PornStar (looking confused): "Er... no, I don't think so"
OMO: "Oh well, maybe it was Argos. Anyway, nice to meet you"
So, we hung out, we got drunk on Mudslides, I took too much sun, got really bad sunburn and felt sick, and we chatted to lovely men. Speaking of which; just about everyone we spoke to was charming and friendly, completely unlike the hot guys in London who often won't give you the time of day. How very refreshing we found that. Elsewhere, people said "Hi" in the street, and everyone we came into contact with (barmen, shopkeepers etc) were always friendly. By contrast; on our return to the UK The Boyf and I went shopping for a new suit (for him). The shop assistant managed the whole transaction without actually speaking a single word, not even telling us the price. As we walked off I gave a cheery "Thank you!". I got "Hmmm" as a reply. Someone in the US said the whole friendly bartender thing was simply for the tips. Well, I don't care whether it's false or not, it just makes things more pleasant. And certainly the guys who said Hi in the street were only doing it to be friendly.
Oh, can someone please tell me why there are so many different types of milk in the US? And why does everything come in a "Maple Flavor" variety? Or has peanuts in it? Thanks.
On the Monday after LazyBear The Boyf and I, plus the thruple, packed up our cases, threw them in the enormous SUV and drove into Guerneville to say goodbye to a few friends. The town was rapidly being evacuated by the bears, as if it had finally run out of food and beer, so by the time we got to the Triple R resort the place was almost empty. Still, the DJ was playing, and there were a handful of people chatting, so The Boyf and I, plus one of the thruple (the English one), started on the mudslides again. At about 1pm we decided to leave for SF, and on the way out of town we stopped at a rather lovely vineyard - Korbel - where we met Barbara.
Barbara is a goddess. She works in the tasting room, and confronted by 3 Englishmen who were already drunk on mudslides she was charming and helpful, offering to let us taste anything we wanted. Little did she know that we secretly had a list of all the wines produced by Korbel, which we'd consult when she wasn't looking, and then ask whether she had "a nice fruity red" or an "oaky white", knowing full well that she did. Thus we managed to try just about every wine they had. Lucky for us that the other two members of the thruple weren't drinking, as we have no recollection of the rest of the trip to SF. On waking the next morning though I found that I'd bought two bottles of red "champagne", one bottle of white "champagne", and a bottle of port, so Barbara was cleverer than we thought.
Overall then a big "Thumbs Up" for LazyBear. The Boyf and I are already talking about doing it again, possibly next year, although we'll make sure we arrive earlier next time to shake off the jet lag before the fun commences and do some touring of the local, beautiful, countryside. Oh, and to visit Korbel again. Wanna join us?
And so, on to San Francisco...
Thursday, August 23, 2007
LazyBear: Pt.1
Hello?
Anybody still here?
Well, that was a busy few weeks. Since the last time I posted I've been to London Zoo, a christening, LazyBear, San Francisco, a wedding, and Soho Pride, in that order. So, what shall I tell you about first?
I may as well do the big one first; our holiday, and for starters, LazyBear.
LazyBear was alot of fun, although we were tired from our flight for the first couple of days. On the subject of our flight, please don't ever bother flying with British Airways. We got precious little for our hard earned dosh. The cabin crew smiled like sharks at us in, shhh, economy, and the food was awful. On the plus side we didn't die. Bonus.
Also, the entertainment system didn't work for the first three hours of the flight. There was a typically terse announcement from a stewerdess who said that the system would need re-booting and would take 20 minutes. After an hour we joked that she was probably in the hold somewhere trying to reconnect loads of cables, make-up and hair still immaculate even under a welders helmet.
After dealing with the BA cabin crew even the SF Immigration seemed friendly. Oh, also, when you arrive at SF International don't use the SuperShuttle to travel into the city. It takes bloody ages and doesn't cost that much less than a cab. Our driver got out to argue with someone, seemingly at random. My rudimentary Spanish suggests that it was about Mutya's new album, a turtle breeding programme in the Bahamas, and the long-term viability of hydrogen powered family transport. I think there was also something about a monkey on a bicycle, but I may have mis-translated the whole thing.
Anyway, back to LazyBear; for those of you who don't know what this is I guess I should explain. Every year bears from all around the world decend on a small resort town in Northern California, called Guerneville. It's set in beautiful countryside in Sonoma County on the Russian River. So about 5,000 bears turn up and turn the town into a weekend orgy of fur, beer and, well, sex. As it's a resort town most days are spent dividing time up between drinking by the pool and chatting, or drinking in the pool and chatting. Or having sex. The evenings are spent drunk in a bar or in the "club", a term I use loosely, where you ending up snogging someone you wouldn't normally just because you've had too much sun and it's made you feel queer(er). Or you go to the large campfire and takes turns either being too cold or having your hair singed, as there doesn't seem to be a happy medium. Whilst there you drink too much and make eyes at people through the flames. It would be awfully romantic were you not in a group of a couple of hundred slavering guys. There is also a constant stream of people going in and out of the bushes, but I'm not sure what was in there. Possibly some sort of shop, or more likely a StarBucks, as you can't fall over in the US without ending up with a Latte.
LazyBear generally seemed far more relaxing than last time I was there, perhaps because I had a partner with me this time. Yes, even though he's like a dog with two dicks most of the time. We were sharing a house with a thruple - a voracious man-eating open thruple - which was an experience. The fact that the house was a couple of miles outside of town limited the amount of men that tramped in and out, which I counted as a blessing, otherwise it would have been a constant procession of men with those three. Ha! Listen to me and my high moral standards...
And the "Easiest Shag Ever" award goes to:
It was Friday evening and The Boyf and I had decided to stay in and sleep off our jet lag so that we'd feel fine for the rest of the weekend (we'd arrived late on Thursday evening). So we're laying in bed whilst The Thruple prepare themselves for a night out, and then a guy arrives who's going to be staying in the house for a night on the sofa-bed. He's an ex of one of The Thruple. The Boyf and I could hear everyone chatting and then there's a knock on our door and this guy pokes his head round. We're introduced. He's cute. He sits on our bed and asks us about our flight, where we come from etc and then leaves us to our peace whilst he takes a shower and gets ready to go out for the evening. Except that between the shower and dressing he pops his head round our door again to see if we're still awake. He's naked. It's a good look on him. We invite him in and there is much sex. He leaves. And we didn't even have to get out of bed!
Anybody still here?
Well, that was a busy few weeks. Since the last time I posted I've been to London Zoo, a christening, LazyBear, San Francisco, a wedding, and Soho Pride, in that order. So, what shall I tell you about first?
I may as well do the big one first; our holiday, and for starters, LazyBear.
LazyBear was alot of fun, although we were tired from our flight for the first couple of days. On the subject of our flight, please don't ever bother flying with British Airways. We got precious little for our hard earned dosh. The cabin crew smiled like sharks at us in, shhh, economy, and the food was awful. On the plus side we didn't die. Bonus.
Also, the entertainment system didn't work for the first three hours of the flight. There was a typically terse announcement from a stewerdess who said that the system would need re-booting and would take 20 minutes. After an hour we joked that she was probably in the hold somewhere trying to reconnect loads of cables, make-up and hair still immaculate even under a welders helmet.
After dealing with the BA cabin crew even the SF Immigration seemed friendly. Oh, also, when you arrive at SF International don't use the SuperShuttle to travel into the city. It takes bloody ages and doesn't cost that much less than a cab. Our driver got out to argue with someone, seemingly at random. My rudimentary Spanish suggests that it was about Mutya's new album, a turtle breeding programme in the Bahamas, and the long-term viability of hydrogen powered family transport. I think there was also something about a monkey on a bicycle, but I may have mis-translated the whole thing.
Anyway, back to LazyBear; for those of you who don't know what this is I guess I should explain. Every year bears from all around the world decend on a small resort town in Northern California, called Guerneville. It's set in beautiful countryside in Sonoma County on the Russian River. So about 5,000 bears turn up and turn the town into a weekend orgy of fur, beer and, well, sex. As it's a resort town most days are spent dividing time up between drinking by the pool and chatting, or drinking in the pool and chatting. Or having sex. The evenings are spent drunk in a bar or in the "club", a term I use loosely, where you ending up snogging someone you wouldn't normally just because you've had too much sun and it's made you feel queer(er). Or you go to the large campfire and takes turns either being too cold or having your hair singed, as there doesn't seem to be a happy medium. Whilst there you drink too much and make eyes at people through the flames. It would be awfully romantic were you not in a group of a couple of hundred slavering guys. There is also a constant stream of people going in and out of the bushes, but I'm not sure what was in there. Possibly some sort of shop, or more likely a StarBucks, as you can't fall over in the US without ending up with a Latte.
LazyBear generally seemed far more relaxing than last time I was there, perhaps because I had a partner with me this time. Yes, even though he's like a dog with two dicks most of the time. We were sharing a house with a thruple - a voracious man-eating open thruple - which was an experience. The fact that the house was a couple of miles outside of town limited the amount of men that tramped in and out, which I counted as a blessing, otherwise it would have been a constant procession of men with those three. Ha! Listen to me and my high moral standards...
And the "Easiest Shag Ever" award goes to:
It was Friday evening and The Boyf and I had decided to stay in and sleep off our jet lag so that we'd feel fine for the rest of the weekend (we'd arrived late on Thursday evening). So we're laying in bed whilst The Thruple prepare themselves for a night out, and then a guy arrives who's going to be staying in the house for a night on the sofa-bed. He's an ex of one of The Thruple. The Boyf and I could hear everyone chatting and then there's a knock on our door and this guy pokes his head round. We're introduced. He's cute. He sits on our bed and asks us about our flight, where we come from etc and then leaves us to our peace whilst he takes a shower and gets ready to go out for the evening. Except that between the shower and dressing he pops his head round our door again to see if we're still awake. He's naked. It's a good look on him. We invite him in and there is much sex. He leaves. And we didn't even have to get out of bed!
Friday, July 27, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "Transformers"
Transformers,
Girls toys in disguise...
So, last night The Boyf and I, plus OurBestMates, went to a preview showing of Transformers at the new O2 Vue cinema at the Dome, where we mingled with rather alot of bears who were in the vicinty for the Scissor Sisters concert. I was once mistaken for BabyDaddy you know. It was in a bar in Birmingham (as unlikely as that is), and everyone seemed to be treating me very oddly. There was lots of whispering and furtive glances, and finally one of the barmen asked The Boyf whether I'd mind being pestered for my autograph. I've never gone out again in that red satin jumpsuit. In any case, it was a bit of a nightmare to accessorise with, and I couldn't wear underwear with it cause of the VPL, so going to the toilet when drunk was always a dangerous operation, what with that zipper.
So, Transformers then. I really rather liked it. Sure, I couldn't really discern any particular plot rather than goodie vs baddie (there was something about a Cube but it was never explored in too much detail lest it get in the way of the kick-ass action). Basically it boiled down to; Decepticons get Cube = Bad, Autobots get Cube = Good. Who cares about anything else, let the CGI begin!
Speaking of which, the CGI was very good. The robots seemed to have real weight to their movements and seemless integration into the shots, unlike Spiderman who always looks like he's been superimposed. Badly.
What else can I tell you? Well, it's actually quite funny in places, much more so than I would have imagined, some of the shakey camera work, although not a new idea, was surprisingly gritty and reminded me of "Children of Men", and the action is pretty relentless, as befits something with a flimsy plot and no real character development. But hey, we're not here to see "Notes On A Scandal". We want explosions, and we get them.
On the downside it's too long, as seems to be the way with everything this year. In particular the final action piece should have been cut down some, good though it is. Also, someone please tell me why the military, whilst being chased by the Decepticons, would decide to stage the final battle in the middle of a densely populated city, rather than staying in the desert? Oh yeah, it's because there's more chance for kick-ass CGI. Silly me.
All in all, I loved it. If you love Boys Toys, lots of explosions and don't feel like using your brain I thoroughly recommend it. OBM#2 and I are going to see it again, and that doesn't happen very often.
Girls toys in disguise...
So, last night The Boyf and I, plus OurBestMates, went to a preview showing of Transformers at the new O2 Vue cinema at the Dome, where we mingled with rather alot of bears who were in the vicinty for the Scissor Sisters concert. I was once mistaken for BabyDaddy you know. It was in a bar in Birmingham (as unlikely as that is), and everyone seemed to be treating me very oddly. There was lots of whispering and furtive glances, and finally one of the barmen asked The Boyf whether I'd mind being pestered for my autograph. I've never gone out again in that red satin jumpsuit. In any case, it was a bit of a nightmare to accessorise with, and I couldn't wear underwear with it cause of the VPL, so going to the toilet when drunk was always a dangerous operation, what with that zipper.
So, Transformers then. I really rather liked it. Sure, I couldn't really discern any particular plot rather than goodie vs baddie (there was something about a Cube but it was never explored in too much detail lest it get in the way of the kick-ass action). Basically it boiled down to; Decepticons get Cube = Bad, Autobots get Cube = Good. Who cares about anything else, let the CGI begin!
Speaking of which, the CGI was very good. The robots seemed to have real weight to their movements and seemless integration into the shots, unlike Spiderman who always looks like he's been superimposed. Badly.
What else can I tell you? Well, it's actually quite funny in places, much more so than I would have imagined, some of the shakey camera work, although not a new idea, was surprisingly gritty and reminded me of "Children of Men", and the action is pretty relentless, as befits something with a flimsy plot and no real character development. But hey, we're not here to see "Notes On A Scandal". We want explosions, and we get them.
On the downside it's too long, as seems to be the way with everything this year. In particular the final action piece should have been cut down some, good though it is. Also, someone please tell me why the military, whilst being chased by the Decepticons, would decide to stage the final battle in the middle of a densely populated city, rather than staying in the desert? Oh yeah, it's because there's more chance for kick-ass CGI. Silly me.
All in all, I loved it. If you love Boys Toys, lots of explosions and don't feel like using your brain I thoroughly recommend it. OBM#2 and I are going to see it again, and that doesn't happen very often.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Double Standards
My weekends right now are rather quiet. We've been doing a fair bit in the gym recently, and staying in to save a few pennies, in preparation for LazyBear. I know the implication is that the bears with be lazy, but from experience I know this not to be the complete story. There's just as much preening and muscle-bear attitude as at a Leather Megawoof.
Or Miss World.
Of course, we got a little stir-crazy on Saturday night so ended up at XXL once more. We're still not sure why we go there, but it's close to home and there's always plenty of people we know to chat to. Last Saturday was no exception; I finally plucked up the courage to talk to one of the more beautiful men in London and his equally lovely partner, and finally found out where his exotic looks come from - he hails from Iraq. So we had an unusual discussion on the dancefloor revolving around Saddam and gay culture in the Middle East, during which he kept pulling me to him to make himself heard, causing little shivers up my spine with every touch. Sigh.
Now, I don't "do" darkrooms. I just prefer being able to see what's going in my mouth. Before you question my double-standards, I don't really "do" The Hoist either, I just go because I can stand at the bar and chat whilst certain people go a-roaming. Sure I join in from time to time, but I have to be in the right mood. Anyway, The Boyf had noticed a rather lovely fellow going in and out of the XXL darkroom, apparently unable to find someone to his requirements. So with a cry of "Start exercising your mouth" The Boyf grabbed me and dragged me in after him. Unfortunately we were too late; a friend of ours - Tattoo - had grabbed the lovely man and was pawing at him. The Boyf, not to be disuaded, leaned in and said to Tattoo "Your boyfriend's looking for you".
"Shit! Really? He can't find me in here!", said Tattoo and bolted for the door.
Mr Lovely turned to The Boyf and thanked him for interrupting - he'd not been too keen on Tattoo, as it turned out - and with that locked lips with The Boyf, paying me and my limbered up mouth no attention at all.
During this time a small Greek tried to force himself upon me, and I was just deciding whether to let him have his way when Mr Lovely suddenly came up for air, looked round, realised I was there too and with a "Hmmmm. Yum!" pushed me back against a wall and snogged my face off. Sometime later I ended up on my knees (as ever) and then the man came. After a bit more snogging he bid me farewell and left.
The Boyf was stood close by.
OMO: "Where were you?"
The Boyf: "I didn't get a look in. You were locked together. I had to make do with a small Greek chap..."
As we walked out of the darkroom we bumped into Mr Lovely getting his coat.
OMO: "Fancy coming back to ours for some more?"
Mr Lovely: "Sorry, I need to get home and get some sleep. I'm going to see Barbra Streisand tomorrow".
And with that he left.
"You know," I said to The Boyf, "he's just completely ruined my illusion. Although of course I'd like to see Barbra too. Anyway, that trick with Tattoo was rather mean".
"Yeah, especially since his boyfriend is down the end of the darkroom getting fucked by all and sundry".
Ah, double standards...
Or Miss World.
Of course, we got a little stir-crazy on Saturday night so ended up at XXL once more. We're still not sure why we go there, but it's close to home and there's always plenty of people we know to chat to. Last Saturday was no exception; I finally plucked up the courage to talk to one of the more beautiful men in London and his equally lovely partner, and finally found out where his exotic looks come from - he hails from Iraq. So we had an unusual discussion on the dancefloor revolving around Saddam and gay culture in the Middle East, during which he kept pulling me to him to make himself heard, causing little shivers up my spine with every touch. Sigh.
Now, I don't "do" darkrooms. I just prefer being able to see what's going in my mouth. Before you question my double-standards, I don't really "do" The Hoist either, I just go because I can stand at the bar and chat whilst certain people go a-roaming. Sure I join in from time to time, but I have to be in the right mood. Anyway, The Boyf had noticed a rather lovely fellow going in and out of the XXL darkroom, apparently unable to find someone to his requirements. So with a cry of "Start exercising your mouth" The Boyf grabbed me and dragged me in after him. Unfortunately we were too late; a friend of ours - Tattoo - had grabbed the lovely man and was pawing at him. The Boyf, not to be disuaded, leaned in and said to Tattoo "Your boyfriend's looking for you".
"Shit! Really? He can't find me in here!", said Tattoo and bolted for the door.
Mr Lovely turned to The Boyf and thanked him for interrupting - he'd not been too keen on Tattoo, as it turned out - and with that locked lips with The Boyf, paying me and my limbered up mouth no attention at all.
During this time a small Greek tried to force himself upon me, and I was just deciding whether to let him have his way when Mr Lovely suddenly came up for air, looked round, realised I was there too and with a "Hmmmm. Yum!" pushed me back against a wall and snogged my face off. Sometime later I ended up on my knees (as ever) and then the man came. After a bit more snogging he bid me farewell and left.
The Boyf was stood close by.
OMO: "Where were you?"
The Boyf: "I didn't get a look in. You were locked together. I had to make do with a small Greek chap..."
As we walked out of the darkroom we bumped into Mr Lovely getting his coat.
OMO: "Fancy coming back to ours for some more?"
Mr Lovely: "Sorry, I need to get home and get some sleep. I'm going to see Barbra Streisand tomorrow".
And with that he left.
"You know," I said to The Boyf, "he's just completely ruined my illusion. Although of course I'd like to see Barbra too. Anyway, that trick with Tattoo was rather mean".
"Yeah, especially since his boyfriend is down the end of the darkroom getting fucked by all and sundry".
Ah, double standards...
Thursday, July 19, 2007
A Night At The Beach
Friday night we went to the beach. I wasn't really dressed for it as I was still in my work clothes i.e. a suit.
You see, there's a fake beach in The O2 (which is what we're now supposed to call The Millenium Dome) made from 1,000 tons of sand and some fake palm trees. We'd gone over with a party of The Boyf's work colleagues, ostensibly to have a drink and a look around. However, as is usually the case with the girls from his work, they esconced themselves in the first bar they came to, rapidly got paraletic and refused to move. Hence after a couple of hours I was bored and managed to coax The Boyf away for a wander.
The O2 now houses a number of bars and restaurants, along with an 11 screen digital cinema and two concert venues. Quite how they've fitted it all in is beyond me, but I had a good look and it does indeed seem to all be in there.
Here's a picture of the inside of the entrance, complete with illuminated balls. Not sure why, but they're pretty so who cares.
And here's a (blurry, sorry (bloody camera phone)) picture of the beach, which we discovered on our travels and phoned The Drag Queen to come and have a look at. We then spent the next few hours drinking cocktails, building sandcastles, doing silly dances, and generally behaving like children whilst a DJ span the latest hip tunes from the hit-parade. Well, ok, he played "Umbrella".
After that we spent a short while laying on the floor in the chill-out lounge - a sort of blow-up igloo with mood lighting where you can plug headphones into sockets located in the floor and listen to relaxing music whilst you look at the changing colours on the walls. Or, as in my case, you get blasted with Gloria Estefan and leave in a hurry. Well, she'd urged me to get on my feet...
After this we found the karaoke machine and The Drag Queen managed to cajole a friend of hers in for a rendition of the suitably camp "I Will Survive", before we all dragged our carcasses out into the night and home, worn out from all the fun and laughter.
Just in case you're interested there are various activities available at the beach including volleyball and exercise classes. And twice a week they're going to show a classic movie on a big screen so you can lay on the sand with a drink and watch it. All good fun. It's only open til the end of August however, after which it'll make way for an ice rink which opens throughout the winter.
You see, there's a fake beach in The O2 (which is what we're now supposed to call The Millenium Dome) made from 1,000 tons of sand and some fake palm trees. We'd gone over with a party of The Boyf's work colleagues, ostensibly to have a drink and a look around. However, as is usually the case with the girls from his work, they esconced themselves in the first bar they came to, rapidly got paraletic and refused to move. Hence after a couple of hours I was bored and managed to coax The Boyf away for a wander.
The O2 now houses a number of bars and restaurants, along with an 11 screen digital cinema and two concert venues. Quite how they've fitted it all in is beyond me, but I had a good look and it does indeed seem to all be in there.
Here's a picture of the inside of the entrance, complete with illuminated balls. Not sure why, but they're pretty so who cares.
And here's a (blurry, sorry (bloody camera phone)) picture of the beach, which we discovered on our travels and phoned The Drag Queen to come and have a look at. We then spent the next few hours drinking cocktails, building sandcastles, doing silly dances, and generally behaving like children whilst a DJ span the latest hip tunes from the hit-parade. Well, ok, he played "Umbrella".
After that we spent a short while laying on the floor in the chill-out lounge - a sort of blow-up igloo with mood lighting where you can plug headphones into sockets located in the floor and listen to relaxing music whilst you look at the changing colours on the walls. Or, as in my case, you get blasted with Gloria Estefan and leave in a hurry. Well, she'd urged me to get on my feet...
After this we found the karaoke machine and The Drag Queen managed to cajole a friend of hers in for a rendition of the suitably camp "I Will Survive", before we all dragged our carcasses out into the night and home, worn out from all the fun and laughter.
Just in case you're interested there are various activities available at the beach including volleyball and exercise classes. And twice a week they're going to show a classic movie on a big screen so you can lay on the sand with a drink and watch it. All good fun. It's only open til the end of August however, after which it'll make way for an ice rink which opens throughout the winter.
Monday, July 16, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - Science Exam
Good morning!
As is usually the case with me I'm going to steal someone else's good idea. But never let it be said that I don't give credit where it's due, so today I'm doffing my hat to The Farmboyz (once again) and bringing you an 8th Grade Science Test.
Obviously I wouldn't have said anything had I failed, but rather surprisingly I got an 80, which is a B-, so I thought I'd make a song and dance about it. Now all I need to do is find out how old 8th Grade equates to. If it turns out to be under 10 years old I may not feel so clever and this post will mysteriously disappear.
Have a go by clicking on the banner, above. Go on, knock yourself out...
As is usually the case with me I'm going to steal someone else's good idea. But never let it be said that I don't give credit where it's due, so today I'm doffing my hat to The Farmboyz (once again) and bringing you an 8th Grade Science Test.
Obviously I wouldn't have said anything had I failed, but rather surprisingly I got an 80, which is a B-, so I thought I'd make a song and dance about it. Now all I need to do is find out how old 8th Grade equates to. If it turns out to be under 10 years old I may not feel so clever and this post will mysteriously disappear.
Have a go by clicking on the banner, above. Go on, knock yourself out...
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
My Blog's Birthday
Today my Blog is 1 year old. As is usual with a toddler's birthday it seems more intent on playing with the box rather than the toy that was in it. I don't know why I bothered buying it a present at all - it's not been a particularly good Blog this year. Oh well, whatever, it's going to have a few friends round later and I've baked a cake.
You might have noticed that my Blog has been reasonably quiet of late. Quite frankly it needs to stay home long enough to actually write anything, the dirty trollop. Also, it's getting rather excited about the impending holiday to San Francisco, now that the hotel has been booked (finally).
So, Dear Reader, a big THANK YOU for reading this past year. I hope you've had as good a year as I have...
You might have noticed that my Blog has been reasonably quiet of late. Quite frankly it needs to stay home long enough to actually write anything, the dirty trollop. Also, it's getting rather excited about the impending holiday to San Francisco, now that the hotel has been booked (finally).
So, Dear Reader, a big THANK YOU for reading this past year. I hope you've had as good a year as I have...
Wednesday, July 04, 2007
London Pride...
... was a bit wet. In fact it was a lot wet. Having spent rather longer out drinking on Friday night than we wanted (til 4:30 am) we got up late, drank our traditional Pride bottle of champagne, and headed out into town somewhat later than we'd wanted to. It was lovely to see Trafalgar Square so busy considering the weather, and we spent time watching a couple of the acts and mingling with the very enthusiastic crowd.
One of the guests was Freema Agyeman, currently the Doctor's companion in "Dr Who", and we were lucky enough to be standing by the exit she used next to the stage. Needless to say The Boyf got very excited and grabbed her for a photo and she was as pleasant and charming as we'd been led to believe. Of course, I didn't want him hogging the limelight so moved in for my own photo.
Here is a photo of the strange juxtaposition of The Sheilas (from the Sheila's Wheels advert) alongside Nelson's Column. I'm sure Nelson would have approved of their rendition of "It's Raining Men" and then the song from their car insurance advert (!).
After that we toddled off to Old Compton Street to have a look around the street party and chat to a few friends, at which point the heavens opened sending everyone scurrying for cover. We decided to run up to The King's Arms and found it pleasantly busy, but with the rain still falling heavily we made up our minds to go home to watch the season finale of Dr Who rather than watching it on the big screen in Trafalgar Square. And good job we did too, as there was some sort of problem and it wasn't shown to the assembled throng.
All in all we had a good afternoon out, but it was a shame that the rain decided to spoil the party even though the threat of bombs hadn't.
Speaking of the bombs; we found out whilst there from a policeman we know that the second car bomb, which had been found in a police compound after being towed away from it's original parking place, was originally right outside "Halfway to Heaven", a popular gay bar just off Trafalgar Square. The police had decided not to release it's exact location for fear of spoiling Pride.
And that's it for our Prides this year as we're not going to any of the others around the country. The one we love the most - Brighton - is whilst we're in San Francisco. Did I tell you we're going to San Francisco...?
One of the guests was Freema Agyeman, currently the Doctor's companion in "Dr Who", and we were lucky enough to be standing by the exit she used next to the stage. Needless to say The Boyf got very excited and grabbed her for a photo and she was as pleasant and charming as we'd been led to believe. Of course, I didn't want him hogging the limelight so moved in for my own photo.
Here is a photo of the strange juxtaposition of The Sheilas (from the Sheila's Wheels advert) alongside Nelson's Column. I'm sure Nelson would have approved of their rendition of "It's Raining Men" and then the song from their car insurance advert (!).
After that we toddled off to Old Compton Street to have a look around the street party and chat to a few friends, at which point the heavens opened sending everyone scurrying for cover. We decided to run up to The King's Arms and found it pleasantly busy, but with the rain still falling heavily we made up our minds to go home to watch the season finale of Dr Who rather than watching it on the big screen in Trafalgar Square. And good job we did too, as there was some sort of problem and it wasn't shown to the assembled throng.
All in all we had a good afternoon out, but it was a shame that the rain decided to spoil the party even though the threat of bombs hadn't.
Speaking of the bombs; we found out whilst there from a policeman we know that the second car bomb, which had been found in a police compound after being towed away from it's original parking place, was originally right outside "Halfway to Heaven", a popular gay bar just off Trafalgar Square. The police had decided not to release it's exact location for fear of spoiling Pride.
And that's it for our Prides this year as we're not going to any of the others around the country. The one we love the most - Brighton - is whilst we're in San Francisco. Did I tell you we're going to San Francisco...?
Friday, June 29, 2007
Pride Bomb?
We're just hearing the news this morning that a suspected car bomb has been found in The Haymarket, near Picadilly. Experts have dismantled it. Details seem a little sketchy at the moment but it's being described as a "big device" and a "real and substantial threat".
The Haymarket is on tomorrows London Pride parade route. I hope I'm jumping to conclusions but all the signs are pointing to a terrorist attack on our Pride. At the very least the area is now cordoned off, so the parade may have to take a different route.
Whatever happens we'll be there of course. The weather might dampen our spirits but a bomb plot won't.
UPDATE: I've just had this conversation with The Boyf...
OMO: Have you heard about the bomb?
The Boyf: Yeah, and the weather's awful.
OMO: I know. It's totally going to muck up my "do".
The Boyf: So a bomb then. We'll have to make sure we wear our best underwear, just in case.
OMO: Yeah, we want to look nice for the emergency services.
UPDATE 2: As further details emerge it looks unlikely that it was aimed at Pride. It seems that it was a Mercedes packed with gas canisters and nails and was due to go off in the early hours of this morning. For what ever reason it didn't ignite, and it was ever-vigilant ambulancemen who spotted the smoking car and alerted the authorities. I think London's very lucky not to have awoken to a tragedy this morning.
The Haymarket is on tomorrows London Pride parade route. I hope I'm jumping to conclusions but all the signs are pointing to a terrorist attack on our Pride. At the very least the area is now cordoned off, so the parade may have to take a different route.
Whatever happens we'll be there of course. The weather might dampen our spirits but a bomb plot won't.
UPDATE: I've just had this conversation with The Boyf...
OMO: Have you heard about the bomb?
The Boyf: Yeah, and the weather's awful.
OMO: I know. It's totally going to muck up my "do".
The Boyf: So a bomb then. We'll have to make sure we wear our best underwear, just in case.
OMO: Yeah, we want to look nice for the emergency services.
UPDATE 2: As further details emerge it looks unlikely that it was aimed at Pride. It seems that it was a Mercedes packed with gas canisters and nails and was due to go off in the early hours of this morning. For what ever reason it didn't ignite, and it was ever-vigilant ambulancemen who spotted the smoking car and alerted the authorities. I think London's very lucky not to have awoken to a tragedy this morning.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
OMO's Album Review - Erasure
Now, as you may be aware from my movie reviews I don't tend to provide the most in-depth and eloquent observations, preferring to give an overall feel and thumbs up or down. So you won't be surprised to find that my album reviews are going to be largely the same. Which takes us swiftly on to...
Erasure's "Light At The End Of The World"
Erasure's "Light At The End Of The World"
I love this album. In fact I cried when I first played it, more than once. I've always bought Erasure singles and albums on the day they were released, ever since "Sometimes" and "The Circus". I can remember the first time I ever became aware of their existence too; they played "Who Needs Love Like That" on Cheggars Plays Pop when it came out (which would make it 1985) and I loved it. When I started buying records in 1986 "Heavenly Action" was the 6th 12 inch I bought (from an early age I had Size Queen tendencies and wouldn't touch a 7 inch). It was in a bargain bin and I remembered liking them from seeing that tv appearance. It was quickly followed by me finally buying the singles I'd missed and then the LP "Wonderland".
Anyway, moving on; Erasure, along with Depeche Mode, became the soundtrack to my teenage years and my 20's. It helped that my first proper boyfriend (we'll call him Chippy) was a big fan too and we always went to see them live on each tour. "Cowboy" was the last album and tour we shared as a couple, and I've always felt that Erasure's albums took a turn at the same time as my life. Both seemed to go downhill.
During this time, although I still bought the Erasure albums as they came out, they didn't hold my attention. "Loveboat" in particular I felt was a bit flat. It was lacking in flair and fun, just like my life. And then came "Other People's Songs" - Erasure by numbers. In my life too I was going through the motions.
The new album was the first since "The Circus" that I didn't rush out and buy on the day of release. Instead I ordered it off the internet a week later then had to wait for it to turn up. I wasn't really expecting much. Sure, "I Could Fall In Love With You" is a good single, but one good song doesn't make a good album. "Light At The End..." is a sparkling return to form though, and as I sat and listened to it all I thought was that my old partner would love it. It reminds me so much of the Erasure albums of the 80's and 90's, of the happy times I spent driving along with Chippy on a summers day, windows down and singing our hearts out. And that's why I cried; because of all the happy memories it invoked, and because both Erasure and my life are in a happy place again.
I won't do a track by track account, needless to say that Erasure's sound never really moves on much, but this time the song writing seems back on a par with their best work. Personal favourites are "Sunday Girl" and "Storm In A Teacup".
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Chips And Fish
Friday night saw the re-opening of "Chunk", which has now moved venue from South Central to Area. Apparently there was a big falling out between the promoters of Chunk and South Central over the Bar-B-Q (food - a typically "bear" thing to fall out over) which means that Fridays at SC are now called Bloke, whilst Chunk is a 5 min walk down the road. We popped into Bloke on the way but nobody was there, so we had one drink and walked to Chunk.
They say that Paris Hilton would attend the opening of a crisp packet (although recently I would imagine the only opening she's attended has been that of her cell-mate), and with bears this is also true, quite literally. Bears have never seen a buffet they don't like. So the bears had flocked to the opening of Chunk and were rewarded with big plates of chips. Very nice chips too. I didn't have any of course, I'm watching my weight. At least, I didn't have any when people were watching.
There seemed to be a large group of guys over from Atlanta, and I vaguely recognised one from chatting on the internet. Needless to say we snogged, then asked each other's name, then The Boyf cut in with a "Shouldn't we all be in bed somewhere?". So off we went to take turns biting the pillow. Good old Southern hospitality.
I don't think I'd ever tire of hearing "Go on Boy, take that big cock" in a Southern drawl.
We spent Saturday doing quiet things as we needed to be up early on Sunday for a drive to the Midlands (again) for The Boyf's Dad's birthday meal. To try to make something of the day we stopped by at Birmingham Sea-Life Centre on the way as I like me some fish. I don't know why I torture myself though. Every time I come away from such a place I berate myself for not following through with my childhood desire to be a Marine Biologist. Perhaps when I retire I can move somewhere and spend my days diving and helping the underwater environment. It's a dream at any rate...
They say that Paris Hilton would attend the opening of a crisp packet (although recently I would imagine the only opening she's attended has been that of her cell-mate), and with bears this is also true, quite literally. Bears have never seen a buffet they don't like. So the bears had flocked to the opening of Chunk and were rewarded with big plates of chips. Very nice chips too. I didn't have any of course, I'm watching my weight. At least, I didn't have any when people were watching.
There seemed to be a large group of guys over from Atlanta, and I vaguely recognised one from chatting on the internet. Needless to say we snogged, then asked each other's name, then The Boyf cut in with a "Shouldn't we all be in bed somewhere?". So off we went to take turns biting the pillow. Good old Southern hospitality.
I don't think I'd ever tire of hearing "Go on Boy, take that big cock" in a Southern drawl.
We spent Saturday doing quiet things as we needed to be up early on Sunday for a drive to the Midlands (again) for The Boyf's Dad's birthday meal. To try to make something of the day we stopped by at Birmingham Sea-Life Centre on the way as I like me some fish. I don't know why I torture myself though. Every time I come away from such a place I berate myself for not following through with my childhood desire to be a Marine Biologist. Perhaps when I retire I can move somewhere and spend my days diving and helping the underwater environment. It's a dream at any rate...
Monday, June 25, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - The Dome
After a big(ish) Friday night out The Boyf and I decided to go for a walk on Saturday afternoon to get some air, so we jumped on the Tube and made our way over to the Dome (now know at The O2) to see what it looks like now it's been turned into a concert venue and 11-screen cinema. What we didn't realise was that the world and his wife had also headed there for some sort of open day, which we didn't have tickets for.
Whatever, I was quite impressed with the Dome and North Greenwich is now my favourite Tube station, what with it's blue mosaic tiling, stainless steel and blue mood lighting. We decided to walk around the outside of the Dome, and at the half way point got caught in a torrential downpour and were soaked through, being dressed in just t-shirt and jeans. Still, it woke us up.
Just looking forward to actually going there for a concert sometime.
Friday, June 22, 2007
OMO's Gig Review - INXS
Last night The Boyf and I headed over to the Hammersmith Apollo to see one of his favourite groups, INXS. He's been a fan for 20-odd years and this was the second time we've seen them since the new lead singer, JD, joined (or I should say "was found").
I hate the way that old theatres are turned into concert venues but don't seem to be cared for. I know faded grandeur can be appealing, but in the case of the Apollo I just felt sorry for the place. It really could do with a good lick of paint, a bit of TLC. It looked sad.
The Boyf has something about him which draws people in. Some sort of magnetism. It worked last night on JD, who spotted him immediately and came over during the first song to hold his outstreached hand. After than he kept coming over and singing directly to him, or taking his beer off him to have a drink, or even at one point bringing over the bottle of champagne he was swigging from to let The Boyf drink straight from it. He largely ignored everyone else at our end of the stage, and certainly noone else got the same level of treatment. Afterwards The Boyf was all smiles and clearly his head was several hat sizes larger than on entering the building.
As for the actual music; well, this was everything that George Michael wasn't. JD has clearly grown into a credible front man and held the audience in the palm of his hand. They delivered all the major hits - Suicide Blond, Never Tear Us Apart, Devil Inside, Need You Tonight etc - with flair and precision, and were obviously enjoying themselves a great deal. And of course when the band are so obviously having fun this translates to the crowd.
If you like live music (even if, like me, you're not a big INXS fan) I can highly recommend going to see them.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
I hate the way that old theatres are turned into concert venues but don't seem to be cared for. I know faded grandeur can be appealing, but in the case of the Apollo I just felt sorry for the place. It really could do with a good lick of paint, a bit of TLC. It looked sad.
The Boyf has something about him which draws people in. Some sort of magnetism. It worked last night on JD, who spotted him immediately and came over during the first song to hold his outstreached hand. After than he kept coming over and singing directly to him, or taking his beer off him to have a drink, or even at one point bringing over the bottle of champagne he was swigging from to let The Boyf drink straight from it. He largely ignored everyone else at our end of the stage, and certainly noone else got the same level of treatment. Afterwards The Boyf was all smiles and clearly his head was several hat sizes larger than on entering the building.
As for the actual music; well, this was everything that George Michael wasn't. JD has clearly grown into a credible front man and held the audience in the palm of his hand. They delivered all the major hits - Suicide Blond, Never Tear Us Apart, Devil Inside, Need You Tonight etc - with flair and precision, and were obviously enjoying themselves a great deal. And of course when the band are so obviously having fun this translates to the crowd.
If you like live music (even if, like me, you're not a big INXS fan) I can highly recommend going to see them.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Why My Friends Think I'm Weird: Pt.4
Most kids pray for something; a new bike, the ability to fly, a pass in an exam. But when I was a kid I always prayed for the same thing; that I wouldn't be over 5 feet 10 inches when I grew up.
I'd always been fascinated with cars from an early age - my first drawing wasn't Mummy and Daddy, it was a car - and I'd read that anyone over 5 feet 10 couldn't fit comfortably in a Lamborghini Countach - my favourite car since the age of 6 when my Dad bought me home a set of Supercar Top Trumps. Convinced that one day I would own one I was frightened that I'd end up too big to fit in it, hence I prayed to be a short arse every night.
Unfortunately I forgot to also pray for the Lamborghini, hence I've ended up being 5 feet 8 and driving a Honda. Bollocks!
I'd always been fascinated with cars from an early age - my first drawing wasn't Mummy and Daddy, it was a car - and I'd read that anyone over 5 feet 10 couldn't fit comfortably in a Lamborghini Countach - my favourite car since the age of 6 when my Dad bought me home a set of Supercar Top Trumps. Convinced that one day I would own one I was frightened that I'd end up too big to fit in it, hence I prayed to be a short arse every night.
Unfortunately I forgot to also pray for the Lamborghini, hence I've ended up being 5 feet 8 and driving a Honda. Bollocks!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Me? Bitter?
Apparently we're back "on clubbing", at least we were last weekend.
OBM#1 was DJing again at Juicy (at Fire) so a group of us went along to support him. The place seems a little lacking in atmosphere at the moment (after it was raided a few weeks ago), although the new "chill out" area was a big surprise, and very nice. After OBM#1 finished his set we went through to the main room to find the music uniformly dreadful. Someone had turned on a drum machine and then left in a hurry by the sound of it. Anyway, there was a big enough group of us to have a good time and we finally left at around 7am.
Sunday was the RVT, of course, and what a handsome crowd had turned out. The Most Beautiful Man In London, Possibly In The UK (TM) was there, with his boyfriend (boooo!) but as usual I couldn't get him to acknowledge my existence. I shall persist until the scales fall from his eyes, or at least until my internet order of chloroform has turned up.
Now, earlier in the week there had been a discussion about Sunday night. The Boyf and The Drag Queen both had Monday and Tuesday off work this week and had decided to go to DTPM after the RVT. The tried to encourage me to have a days holiday and join them but I figured it was better to save the day off for a better time. Little did I know that during the week the number of people deciding to take time off and go along had swelled, such that come Sunday evening I appeared to be the only one in the RVT not staying out. Still they tried to encourage me to phone in sick, but I couldn't. So at around 11pm there was a mass migration - The Boyf heading off with OBM's - leaving me and a few messy stragglers at the RVT. At that time of the evening the RVT is filled with smoke with just random people flailing their limbs around, looking lost and bewildered. Many of them resemble early life-forms swimming through a primordial soup. Needless to say I left in a hurry when a bug-eyed monster took a shine to me and started to lumber over, dribbling. I did, of course, give the Sexy Spaniard a kiss or two on the way though.
When I got home I followed the usual routine. Undress and shower, check internet for messages, turn on vacuum cleaner, get into bed, fall asleep. I think I missed something off the list between getting into bed and falling asleep but you don't need to know about that.
And that, Dear Reader, was my weekend. A quiet one this week, methinks, in preparation for London Pride the following weekend.
OBM#1 was DJing again at Juicy (at Fire) so a group of us went along to support him. The place seems a little lacking in atmosphere at the moment (after it was raided a few weeks ago), although the new "chill out" area was a big surprise, and very nice. After OBM#1 finished his set we went through to the main room to find the music uniformly dreadful. Someone had turned on a drum machine and then left in a hurry by the sound of it. Anyway, there was a big enough group of us to have a good time and we finally left at around 7am.
Sunday was the RVT, of course, and what a handsome crowd had turned out. The Most Beautiful Man In London, Possibly In The UK (TM) was there, with his boyfriend (boooo!) but as usual I couldn't get him to acknowledge my existence. I shall persist until the scales fall from his eyes, or at least until my internet order of chloroform has turned up.
Now, earlier in the week there had been a discussion about Sunday night. The Boyf and The Drag Queen both had Monday and Tuesday off work this week and had decided to go to DTPM after the RVT. The tried to encourage me to have a days holiday and join them but I figured it was better to save the day off for a better time. Little did I know that during the week the number of people deciding to take time off and go along had swelled, such that come Sunday evening I appeared to be the only one in the RVT not staying out. Still they tried to encourage me to phone in sick, but I couldn't. So at around 11pm there was a mass migration - The Boyf heading off with OBM's - leaving me and a few messy stragglers at the RVT. At that time of the evening the RVT is filled with smoke with just random people flailing their limbs around, looking lost and bewildered. Many of them resemble early life-forms swimming through a primordial soup. Needless to say I left in a hurry when a bug-eyed monster took a shine to me and started to lumber over, dribbling. I did, of course, give the Sexy Spaniard a kiss or two on the way though.
When I got home I followed the usual routine. Undress and shower, check internet for messages, turn on vacuum cleaner, get into bed, fall asleep. I think I missed something off the list between getting into bed and falling asleep but you don't need to know about that.
And that, Dear Reader, was my weekend. A quiet one this week, methinks, in preparation for London Pride the following weekend.
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Monday Morning Blogbite
They appear to be demolishing this building from the ground up (whilst leaving all the windows intact), leaving this strange hanging office space looming over the street. It never ceases to put the willies up me - and not in a way that I enjoy. Judging by the number of people who look up and then cross the street I'm not the only one who doesn't like the look of it.
As usual I don't know anything about it - what it was or what they're going to put in its place. The usual dearth of useful information you've come to expect.
As usual I don't know anything about it - what it was or what they're going to put in its place. The usual dearth of useful information you've come to expect.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Again, With Less Feeling
On Saturday The Boyf and I joined the massive George Michael fan that is The Drag Queen, plus another friend of hers, to go to the new Wembley Stadium to see the first ever concert played there - rather obviously George Michael. As you may recall we'd already been to see him last year so weren't really worried about seeing him again, but we like to support The DQ in all she does, and we were rather looking forward to seeing Wembley and being among the first inside.
So, here's what Wembley looks like now.
So, here's what Wembley looks like now.
Quite nice, but it doesn't seem to have any real individual character, unlike the old one. It could be a sports stadium anywhere, and doesn't really seem all that modern or innovative.
But the biggest surprise was inside. It actually feels smaller than the old one even though it's alot bigger. It seems to be more circular and thus wider but shorter than before, plus it's alot taller. Also, it feels incredibly enclosed. The closable roof was open, yet only a square in the middle is open to the elements, meaning a lack of air movement. It feels like a closed space with a little hole cut in the roof. And you can't see the arch from inside 'cause it's too far over to one side.
Overall I'd say we were underwhelmed by it, although it's obviously a great improvement over the old stadium in so many ways, such as with its hospitality suites.
As for George - he underwhelmed us too. In fact, he did more than that - he managed to annoy us. He had an area in front of the stage christened the "Circle Of Faith" (rolls eyes) with limited access at £150 a pop. We were actually in the front row of the next section, so very close to the action. Anyway, at one point he walked out and addressed the "Circle"...
George (to the Circle of Faith): "So, you people are my real fans".
70,000-odd others: "Booooooooooooooooooooo!"
Apparently only paying £60 to go and see him didn't class us as fans. It's so nice that he rewarded his "true fans" by making them pay so much more.
He was in good voice, as always, although again we noted that he didn't go for one single high note, opting instead to hold the microphone out for the audience to sing them. I have no doubt that he could probably hit the notes just fine, I think he was just being lazy. All in all his performance was like something he phoned in rather than putting any effort in. He seemed bored, and as a result so were we. Oh, and where was the "Very Special Guest" exactly? And why did he perform "Freedom 90" twice - once in the second half and once as an encore, with no difference between them?
All in all we had a great day out though. The weather was nice, we made new friends in the queue, we checked out the hot security guards, and a sexy cameraman went "Woof!" when we walked past. And afterwards The Boyf and I shimmied our arses over to XXL where we grabbed the first available man, dragged him back to ours and shagged him senseless. So all's well that ends well.
Monday, June 11, 2007
The Monday Morning(ish) Blogbite - Holiday Update
The Boyf and I managed to sort out one more thing to do with our holiday - we're now fitting in LazyBear weekend during our holiday in San Francisco, courtesy of a friend of ours who's offered us the sofa-bed in his cabin for the weekend.
LazyBear actually means quite a lot to me. I've been once before a couple of years ago on my own. I'd been out of a long-term relationship for about 6 months, and was still finding my feet and some self-confidence, when I forced myself to book up for it. I figured it'd do me some good. I then spent another 6 months trying to gear myself up for it mentally. And it did me the world of good. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming, and I had such a great time, that I'd changed fundamentally by the time I returned. I didn't hide in the corner of a bar anymore. I opened up and started talking to people, and that's when I met The Boyf.
So I'm looking forward to going back and showing The Boyf, and meeting up with some friends I made last time. No doubt I'll end up chasing around trying to keep The Boyf out of trouble, but that'll be half the fun. Only 7 weeks to go and I can't wait.
LazyBear actually means quite a lot to me. I've been once before a couple of years ago on my own. I'd been out of a long-term relationship for about 6 months, and was still finding my feet and some self-confidence, when I forced myself to book up for it. I figured it'd do me some good. I then spent another 6 months trying to gear myself up for it mentally. And it did me the world of good. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming, and I had such a great time, that I'd changed fundamentally by the time I returned. I didn't hide in the corner of a bar anymore. I opened up and started talking to people, and that's when I met The Boyf.
So I'm looking forward to going back and showing The Boyf, and meeting up with some friends I made last time. No doubt I'll end up chasing around trying to keep The Boyf out of trouble, but that'll be half the fun. Only 7 weeks to go and I can't wait.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Normality Reigns
We're currently "off clubbing", which means that we actually remember what we did over the weekends. We also get to see daylight. Bonus!
It was The Boyf's Nan's 100th birthday at the weekend. She's had a colourful life, that one. I can totally see where The Boyf gets his genes from. She ran away to London when she was 16 and ended up dancing at the Folies Bergere. Got pregnant out of wedlock at an early age (not the done thing at all in those days), and was sexually active up until about 6 years ago (she had an affair with a 60 year old gardener - and she was 94! Go girl!). Anyway, it meant that we travelled up to the Midlands for another weekend to go to her party, and The Boyf decided to take me to Coventry for an afternoon as I'd never been before.
Coventry was a lovely town, by all reports. Very Shakespearean. This is a photo of what the town used to look like (this is one of few original buildings still remaining)...
It was The Boyf's Nan's 100th birthday at the weekend. She's had a colourful life, that one. I can totally see where The Boyf gets his genes from. She ran away to London when she was 16 and ended up dancing at the Folies Bergere. Got pregnant out of wedlock at an early age (not the done thing at all in those days), and was sexually active up until about 6 years ago (she had an affair with a 60 year old gardener - and she was 94! Go girl!). Anyway, it meant that we travelled up to the Midlands for another weekend to go to her party, and The Boyf decided to take me to Coventry for an afternoon as I'd never been before.
Coventry was a lovely town, by all reports. Very Shakespearean. This is a photo of what the town used to look like (this is one of few original buildings still remaining)...
However, during WWII Coventry was heavily bombed (many of the ammo makers were located in this region), and afterwards the town had to be rebuilt. It now looks like this...
Unsympathetically done, I'm sure you'll agree. Apparently it used to look even worse, but it's recently been modernised. The term "modernised" seems to mean something else entirely up north.
This is the remains of Coventry Cathedral, again destroyed by bombs in the war...
And this is what they built to replace it (the looming monstrosity in the background)...
If I were God I wouldn't be best pleased. Being decidedly non-religious I always find it perplexing yet wonderful that so many people spent so long building beautiful temples to God(s) who's existence is unproven. When I visit a beautiful church or cathedral I marvel at the workmanship and dedication, all in the name of a fictitious being. I applaud their dedication whilst deriding their conviction. The new Coventry Cathedral appears to have been slapped together from pre-fabricated chunks of concrete in a couple of weeks, much in the way a new McDonald's Drive-Thru can appear over a weekend. I think it shows the state of the Christian church when something that would have taken 10's of years to lovingly craft by hand is now just cobbled together. Speaks volumes. I have to say though that some of the details were quite interesting. The sheer size of the space is amazing, but Lord knows why they bothered making the ceiling so high up. It must be a right pain when they need to give it a slap of fresh wood-stain.
My favourite bit was the stained glass wall, although more glass and less concrete would have been better.
Pretty, isn't it?
I also liked the depiction of the Devil on the wall outside. He has quite a large penis, which made us giggle. He'd do well at The Hoist.
On the way out of the Cathedral a beggar was harassing some blue-rinsed women for change, allegedly for a coffee. They refused prompting him to shout "Not very Christian are you!". He looked at me. I looked at him. He said, glumly "You're not Christian, are you", to which I replied "No. We were just inside to make fun of the devout". I looked up at the Devil and decided to give the beggar some change. Hopefully he got drunk and had a good evening. The Christians wouldn't agree of course, but bringing the Devil out always seems like so much more fun...
(PS - sorry the photos aren't great - I took them with my phone)
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