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.
Monday, September 17, 2007
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)
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
A Break Down
The Boyf called a little while ago to say his car has broken down. Again. He can't get it to start. I didn't remind him that he was supposed to get it fixed originally months ago, and then said he was going to get it done last week whilst school was out. I wanted to remind him, cause frankly I'm getting bored with having to rummage about under the bonnet to create a temporary solution - even though I look totally hot doing so - or having to push the car to get it started - panting behind a car isn't such a good look on me (unless I'm bent over the boot being taken roughly from behind by a trucker. But that's a whole other story).
Anyway, The Boyf sounded stressed, and was going to be late for a meeting, so I figured I'd just keep my mouth shut.
Whilst I've been writing this he's just called again to say a recovery man has turned up who doesn't seem to know where anything is under the bonnet. He's diagnosed a dodgy fuel pump when it's just a jammed starter motor, but when The Boyf told him such the guy said "Yeah, it might be but I don't know where that is". Helpful.
In other news, I've still not worked out what the tampons are for.
Anyway, The Boyf sounded stressed, and was going to be late for a meeting, so I figured I'd just keep my mouth shut.
Whilst I've been writing this he's just called again to say a recovery man has turned up who doesn't seem to know where anything is under the bonnet. He's diagnosed a dodgy fuel pump when it's just a jammed starter motor, but when The Boyf told him such the guy said "Yeah, it might be but I don't know where that is". Helpful.
In other news, I've still not worked out what the tampons are for.
Monday, June 04, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - "20 Questions"
Has anyone ever played 20 Questions on line? It's here, and it's as dumb as a box of hair. It hasn't managed to guess anything I've thought of within 20 questions, probably because it asks questions which it should already know the answer to.
For example, I thought of Noel Edmonds in the TV section. I told it that I was a person, so it asked whether it was rated G. Er... Then it asked whether I was a daytime TV show. No, you stupid fucking thing, I've already told you I'm a person.
Incredibly it did guess Noel after 23 questions, but then told me which answers I'd incorrectly answered. It had asked me whether I was brave (?) and I'd said "Unknown", but apparently the computer knows best and in fact Noel IS brave.
The funny thing is that it gives a list of similar objects at the end. So, what's similar to Noel Edmonds you ask? Well, apparently Sir Trevor McDonald, Jamie Lynn Spears, Teletubbies, Christina Aguilera and Bob The Builder. Now there's a porno I'd like to see!
Update: I've just tried it on San Francisco. It asked whether I was in California, then whether I was in New York, then whether I was in the Northern Hemisphere, then whether I was in Russia. Aren't the last three questions negated by my yes answer to the first one? Oh, and it later asked whether I was a State, so I said "no", but at the end it told me I was wrong cause SF is a State. Utterly infuriating.
For example, I thought of Noel Edmonds in the TV section. I told it that I was a person, so it asked whether it was rated G. Er... Then it asked whether I was a daytime TV show. No, you stupid fucking thing, I've already told you I'm a person.
Incredibly it did guess Noel after 23 questions, but then told me which answers I'd incorrectly answered. It had asked me whether I was brave (?) and I'd said "Unknown", but apparently the computer knows best and in fact Noel IS brave.
The funny thing is that it gives a list of similar objects at the end. So, what's similar to Noel Edmonds you ask? Well, apparently Sir Trevor McDonald, Jamie Lynn Spears, Teletubbies, Christina Aguilera and Bob The Builder. Now there's a porno I'd like to see!
Update: I've just tried it on San Francisco. It asked whether I was in California, then whether I was in New York, then whether I was in the Northern Hemisphere, then whether I was in Russia. Aren't the last three questions negated by my yes answer to the first one? Oh, and it later asked whether I was a State, so I said "no", but at the end it told me I was wrong cause SF is a State. Utterly infuriating.
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Drug That Likes To Say...
At the weekend I'd managed to insinuate myself on a rather chunky little hairy guy, who became more and more intent on locking his lips with mine as the evening wore on. We ended up dancing whilst locked in an embrace, our hands pawing at each other's sweaty body, our lips kissing neck and shoulders and lips, our fervour and ardour growing more intense.
That is until he started making odd moaning noises. At first I thought he was simply being vocal about his enjoyment, moaning as I gently bit his neck, but the volume increased and seemed to be joined with a gurgling noise, at which point I realised I was having to take more and more of his weight, until suddenly he slumped in my arms.
I looked over his shoulder at The Boyf, who was stood behind with a grin on his face.
The Boyf: "You thought he was in the throes of ecstasy. In fact it was a G-fit"
OMO: "Harumph"
GHB is SO not a good look. Why do people do it?
That is until he started making odd moaning noises. At first I thought he was simply being vocal about his enjoyment, moaning as I gently bit his neck, but the volume increased and seemed to be joined with a gurgling noise, at which point I realised I was having to take more and more of his weight, until suddenly he slumped in my arms.
I looked over his shoulder at The Boyf, who was stood behind with a grin on his face.
The Boyf: "You thought he was in the throes of ecstasy. In fact it was a G-fit"
OMO: "Harumph"
GHB is SO not a good look. Why do people do it?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "Zodiac"
Going to the movies alot recently, huh? We made the most of Orange Wednesday and dragged along OBM's to our local cinema. What we saved on the 2 for 1 offer we ended up spending on food - OBM#2 managed to get through a hotdog, large popcorn, nachos, drink and a large tub of Ben & Jerry's all by himself. He's a big lad though. I limited myself to only a large tub of Ben & Jerry's, which, true to form, I immediately threw down myself. Luckily OBM#2 also threw ice-cream down him, and then stepped in the nachos tray he left on the floor, catapulting salsa over his trainers and up his legs. We looked like we'd had a food fight. Hmmm, there's a thought....
Sigh.
Anyway, about the film. It's long. Very long. Like 2 hours 40 or something. Have all the Hollywood editors gone on holiday at the moment? Are they all on a beach somewhere laughing at their dastardly plan to bore everyone in the world to death with over-long movies?
It's a pretty good film, especially if you're into a ridiculous amount of details, in a way similar to JFK (although that film didn't hold my attention as well as Zodiac). I'd suggest taking a notepad. The central performances are good, even if Mark Ruffalo seems to be a cross between Columbo and Poncherello from CHiPs. As usual I found myself strangely drawn to Robert Downey Jr (who plays Paul Avery). He's SO not my type, but I SO would.
I'd suggest waiting til it's out on DVD rather than enduring a numb arse down the local Multiplex. Definitely worth a look though.
By the way, this is my 150th post. Who'da thought it?
Sigh.
Anyway, about the film. It's long. Very long. Like 2 hours 40 or something. Have all the Hollywood editors gone on holiday at the moment? Are they all on a beach somewhere laughing at their dastardly plan to bore everyone in the world to death with over-long movies?
It's a pretty good film, especially if you're into a ridiculous amount of details, in a way similar to JFK (although that film didn't hold my attention as well as Zodiac). I'd suggest taking a notepad. The central performances are good, even if Mark Ruffalo seems to be a cross between Columbo and Poncherello from CHiPs. As usual I found myself strangely drawn to Robert Downey Jr (who plays Paul Avery). He's SO not my type, but I SO would.
I'd suggest waiting til it's out on DVD rather than enduring a numb arse down the local Multiplex. Definitely worth a look though.
By the way, this is my 150th post. Who'da thought it?
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "28 Weeks Later"
I actually went to see this a few weeks ago, but completely forgot to tell you about it and spoil the plot for you. I say "plot" like it has one worth spoiling. I mean, in a nutshell, lots of people get eaten. The end.
So, what happens? Well, it goes a little something like this. Er, this contains the entire plot, so if you don't want it utterly ruined I'd stop reading.
Dad and Mum hide in house. The infected get in. Dad runs away and leaves Mum to get eaten. Charming. Some week later - 28 in fact - all of the infected have died of starvation so the Americans turn up to start the clean-up and re-population. With lots of guns, as per usual. They create a safe zone, and we are treated to aerial shots of Canary Wharf, which looks like the start of The Apprentice. We spot our home in one of the shots and point at the screen so that the whole audience know where we live.
(This is where I really start to spoil things)
The Dad's two Children are allowed back into the country to be re-united with him (they were away when the outbreak occurred). Dad tells Children that Mum was dead before he ran away. He lies. Children want keep-sake to remember Mum by so venture out of heavily guarded safe zone perimeter (have you noticed that guards NEVER pay enough attention in films) and go to their old home. Mum's there, clearly not as dead as everyone thought. Americans turn up and drag everyone back to base.
Mum turns out to be a carrier of the virus. Dad goes to see her to say sorry for leaving her to get eaten, like you do. She kisses him, he gets the virus and goes on a biting spree. Civilians are herded into a basement (apparently there are 15,000 people in the safe zone, although it looks like only a couple of hundred at most), where Dad breaks in and starts to chow down. The lights conveniently go into "strobe mode" - apparently this basement is normally used as a nightclub - so you don't get to see much of the action. Epileptics in the audience start to froth at the mouth. Civilians break free and flee, chased by a growing number of the infected. Americans decide to just kill everyone and be done with it. Like in Vietnam. A small group of civilians, including the Children, manage to flee into Central London, where they're picked off one by one in the most gory fashion that the film's makers could think up. There are lots of chases, and the Dad turns up in lots of improbably coincidental places. The shakey camera work is starting to make me want to puke. We get to see parts of London looking deserted that we didn't get to see in the first film. "Cabaret" is on in the West End, we note. The Boyf and I have a quick chat about how good it was whilst the characters continue to run around screaming.
Eventually everyone is dead apart from the two Children, who are finally rescued by an American with a helicopter. Apparently they let him into the army after he got out of Oz. And he can walk again! The Boyf hasn't seen Oz so didn't understand this reference at all. They fly to France where the Children, who are obviously carrying the virus, infect the locals. Clearly they've forgotten that they told us that mainland Europe was infected in the first film. For some reason France being infected results in a cheer from certain members of the audience. Those from Bermondsey in all likelihood.
The End.
So, is it any good? Well, what does it matter - I've just told you the entire plot so you don't have to see it.
Actually I did rather enjoy it. It's like the first film only with more killings, has more parts of London looking barren (which we like), and it doesn't turn crap 2/3rds of the way through like the first one did. And it's short, which is an oft-overlooked bonus. Please take note the makers of Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean et al.
Next up I spoil the plot of "Zodiac". Er...
So, what happens? Well, it goes a little something like this. Er, this contains the entire plot, so if you don't want it utterly ruined I'd stop reading.
Dad and Mum hide in house. The infected get in. Dad runs away and leaves Mum to get eaten. Charming. Some week later - 28 in fact - all of the infected have died of starvation so the Americans turn up to start the clean-up and re-population. With lots of guns, as per usual. They create a safe zone, and we are treated to aerial shots of Canary Wharf, which looks like the start of The Apprentice. We spot our home in one of the shots and point at the screen so that the whole audience know where we live.
(This is where I really start to spoil things)
The Dad's two Children are allowed back into the country to be re-united with him (they were away when the outbreak occurred). Dad tells Children that Mum was dead before he ran away. He lies. Children want keep-sake to remember Mum by so venture out of heavily guarded safe zone perimeter (have you noticed that guards NEVER pay enough attention in films) and go to their old home. Mum's there, clearly not as dead as everyone thought. Americans turn up and drag everyone back to base.
Mum turns out to be a carrier of the virus. Dad goes to see her to say sorry for leaving her to get eaten, like you do. She kisses him, he gets the virus and goes on a biting spree. Civilians are herded into a basement (apparently there are 15,000 people in the safe zone, although it looks like only a couple of hundred at most), where Dad breaks in and starts to chow down. The lights conveniently go into "strobe mode" - apparently this basement is normally used as a nightclub - so you don't get to see much of the action. Epileptics in the audience start to froth at the mouth. Civilians break free and flee, chased by a growing number of the infected. Americans decide to just kill everyone and be done with it. Like in Vietnam. A small group of civilians, including the Children, manage to flee into Central London, where they're picked off one by one in the most gory fashion that the film's makers could think up. There are lots of chases, and the Dad turns up in lots of improbably coincidental places. The shakey camera work is starting to make me want to puke. We get to see parts of London looking deserted that we didn't get to see in the first film. "Cabaret" is on in the West End, we note. The Boyf and I have a quick chat about how good it was whilst the characters continue to run around screaming.
Eventually everyone is dead apart from the two Children, who are finally rescued by an American with a helicopter. Apparently they let him into the army after he got out of Oz. And he can walk again! The Boyf hasn't seen Oz so didn't understand this reference at all. They fly to France where the Children, who are obviously carrying the virus, infect the locals. Clearly they've forgotten that they told us that mainland Europe was infected in the first film. For some reason France being infected results in a cheer from certain members of the audience. Those from Bermondsey in all likelihood.
The End.
So, is it any good? Well, what does it matter - I've just told you the entire plot so you don't have to see it.
Actually I did rather enjoy it. It's like the first film only with more killings, has more parts of London looking barren (which we like), and it doesn't turn crap 2/3rds of the way through like the first one did. And it's short, which is an oft-overlooked bonus. Please take note the makers of Spiderman 3, Pirates of the Caribbean et al.
Next up I spoil the plot of "Zodiac". Er...
Thursday, May 24, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "Spiderman 3"
I finally got around to seeing it, and wished I hadn't bothered.
Here's my review, as informative as ever. I'll try not to spoil anything. Frankly, I don't need to - the movie spoils a perfectly good franchise all on it's own.
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Then there was a break where we find out that all French restaurants have to have a comedy Monty Python style Maitre'D, that Peter Parker's somehow managed to squeeze in piano and dance lessons (you think his schedule would be tight enough), and that the CGI is less convincing than the animated Spiderman tv series from the late 60's. Oh, and the audience is subjected to a plot hole big enough to land a plane in. A badly realised CGI plane though it may be.
Then it's back to...
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
And then we get to the end where the final twists actually negate much of the movie you've just uncomfortably sat through, along with a large chunk of Spiderman 2 to boot.
Can you tell I wasn't impressed?
Here's my review, as informative as ever. I'll try not to spoil anything. Frankly, I don't need to - the movie spoils a perfectly good franchise all on it's own.
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Then there was a break where we find out that all French restaurants have to have a comedy Monty Python style Maitre'D, that Peter Parker's somehow managed to squeeze in piano and dance lessons (you think his schedule would be tight enough), and that the CGI is less convincing than the animated Spiderman tv series from the late 60's. Oh, and the audience is subjected to a plot hole big enough to land a plane in. A badly realised CGI plane though it may be.
Then it's back to...
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
Ow! Girder!
And then we get to the end where the final twists actually negate much of the movie you've just uncomfortably sat through, along with a large chunk of Spiderman 2 to boot.
Can you tell I wasn't impressed?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Asleep On The Job
So, what did I do at the weekend? Well, I fell asleep at an orgy.
The Boyf's Mum has just come back from a world tour - well, ok, Singapore, Fiji, New Zealand and Los Angeles - so we travelled up to the Midlands on Friday evening to spend the weekend looking at the inevitable photos. We avoided her Friday evening though, and then again all day on Saturday, during which time the cold I caught some time last week took hold, my sinuses blocked up and my eyes started to stream. Come Saturday night I didn't feel well at all, but The Boyf thought we ought to go out so we headed into Birmingham for a quiet drink in a bar. Unfortunately, said bar was packed and buzzing, but it did make me forget my aching head for a while. The upshot was that The Boyf decided I obviously felt well enough to decamp to a sex club with the group of guys we were talking to, and I couldn't be bothered to protest. I figured we'd spend an hour there, where I'd hide in a corner, and then we could head home and everyone would be happy.
By 4am (!) I was having trouble. I'd propped up a corner of the bar and drunk so much I could barely stand up, which is probably why I was reminded the next day that I'd ended up flopped over the pool table with my jeans round my ankles being rimmed by two guys in turn. Then the bar closed - hurrah! - only for The Boyf to suggest we all go back to a hotel room and shag. Boo! Could I feel any less sexy? So we wandered back to the hotel where we were refused entry (only 2 allowed per room key) - hurrah! - only for The Boyf, who's not easily swayed, to suggest we go to someone's house instead. Boo again! So off we went in cabs to some random guys house, and once there I immediately fell asleep in a chair. They quickly woke me up and ushered me into a bedroom, where I dropped straight off to sleep. The next time I awoke was to heed a call of nature. What confronted me in the other room wasn't a pretty sight. There was lots of nakedness - some of it not all that pleasant - toys and assorted paraphenalia. Someone shouted "He's awake!" and heads turned in my direction. I felt a bit like a Christian that was about to be thrown to the lions, so I mumbled something about needing sleep, and rushed back to the safety of the bedroom. The next time I woke up - still fully dressed I might add - I was surrounded by sleeping naked men. As a young boy this would have been the stuff of much fantasy. When did I lose my innocense? (No need to answer that, thanks. It was 1987 in a cemetary).
Later on, when we were alone, The Boyf said that everyone had been in to see me at some point or another and tried to wake me up, but to no avail. My stock has definitely fallen in Birmingham. I'm going to have to go back and have sex with everyone I meet just to try to claw some of my reputation back.
And then of course we had to head to The Boyf's Mum to be shown the holiday snaps. Deep joy.
Next week your intrepid OMO brings you reviews of various films and club nights he's slept through.
The Boyf's Mum has just come back from a world tour - well, ok, Singapore, Fiji, New Zealand and Los Angeles - so we travelled up to the Midlands on Friday evening to spend the weekend looking at the inevitable photos. We avoided her Friday evening though, and then again all day on Saturday, during which time the cold I caught some time last week took hold, my sinuses blocked up and my eyes started to stream. Come Saturday night I didn't feel well at all, but The Boyf thought we ought to go out so we headed into Birmingham for a quiet drink in a bar. Unfortunately, said bar was packed and buzzing, but it did make me forget my aching head for a while. The upshot was that The Boyf decided I obviously felt well enough to decamp to a sex club with the group of guys we were talking to, and I couldn't be bothered to protest. I figured we'd spend an hour there, where I'd hide in a corner, and then we could head home and everyone would be happy.
By 4am (!) I was having trouble. I'd propped up a corner of the bar and drunk so much I could barely stand up, which is probably why I was reminded the next day that I'd ended up flopped over the pool table with my jeans round my ankles being rimmed by two guys in turn. Then the bar closed - hurrah! - only for The Boyf to suggest we all go back to a hotel room and shag. Boo! Could I feel any less sexy? So we wandered back to the hotel where we were refused entry (only 2 allowed per room key) - hurrah! - only for The Boyf, who's not easily swayed, to suggest we go to someone's house instead. Boo again! So off we went in cabs to some random guys house, and once there I immediately fell asleep in a chair. They quickly woke me up and ushered me into a bedroom, where I dropped straight off to sleep. The next time I awoke was to heed a call of nature. What confronted me in the other room wasn't a pretty sight. There was lots of nakedness - some of it not all that pleasant - toys and assorted paraphenalia. Someone shouted "He's awake!" and heads turned in my direction. I felt a bit like a Christian that was about to be thrown to the lions, so I mumbled something about needing sleep, and rushed back to the safety of the bedroom. The next time I woke up - still fully dressed I might add - I was surrounded by sleeping naked men. As a young boy this would have been the stuff of much fantasy. When did I lose my innocense? (No need to answer that, thanks. It was 1987 in a cemetary).
Later on, when we were alone, The Boyf said that everyone had been in to see me at some point or another and tried to wake me up, but to no avail. My stock has definitely fallen in Birmingham. I'm going to have to go back and have sex with everyone I meet just to try to claw some of my reputation back.
And then of course we had to head to The Boyf's Mum to be shown the holiday snaps. Deep joy.
Next week your intrepid OMO brings you reviews of various films and club nights he's slept through.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
In Which Your OMO Says Something He's Probably Going To Regret Later
I was really upset yesterday morning when I turned on the news to find the Cutty Sark in flames. Greenwich is one of my favourite places, and I love that damn tea clipper. The police suspect arson. Er, like, duh! A wooden ship isn't going to catch alight in the middle of the night on its own. Ok, yeah, there's the chance of an electrical fire (cause someone could easily have left a Pop Tart in the ship's toaster!). Or perhaps the ghost of the old Captain came back drunk from a pub feeling peckish and put the chip pan on before nodding off to sleep. Please! Some little shit thought it would be funny to burn it. Well, I hope they catch him and make him walk the plank, preferably alight so he knows what it feels like. Compassionate, aren't I?
In other news, that Maddy girl is still missing. Has noone ever watched a decent thriller, or ever paid attention to these things in the past? The perpetrator is always the Dad. As an example, as you may have noticed, The Boyf and I have been watching Twin Peaks recently, from start to end. So, The Boyf says to me "Who do you think killed Laura Palmer?", and I'm like "Duh, it's always the Father".
So I reckon they ought to question Maddy's Dad a bit more carefully. Think about it; the family goes for a meal and leaves the kids alone (obviously the Dad's idea, Mums don't think like that). Every 30 minutes one of them goes to check, so when it's the Dad's turn he's already arranged for someone to be outside with a car. He carries Maddy out, who won't be crying cause it's her Dad (thus noone hears anything), and puts her in the car which speeds off with her. He then goes back to the restaurant and says that all the kids are fast asleep, giving the man in the car at least a 30 minute head start before the Mum goes to check, finds Maddy is missing and raises the alarm.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think the Dad means any harm. The reward is now £2.5million. So a third party calls up to say where she is, she's found safe and well and is returned to the parents, and behind the scenes the Dad gets his cut of the reward money (I'd want 75%). I know they're doctors or something but they obviously need the money. Have you seen those t-shirts and shorts the Dad's been wearing on tv?
Now you see why I don't usually comment on anything in the news.
In other news, that Maddy girl is still missing. Has noone ever watched a decent thriller, or ever paid attention to these things in the past? The perpetrator is always the Dad. As an example, as you may have noticed, The Boyf and I have been watching Twin Peaks recently, from start to end. So, The Boyf says to me "Who do you think killed Laura Palmer?", and I'm like "Duh, it's always the Father".
So I reckon they ought to question Maddy's Dad a bit more carefully. Think about it; the family goes for a meal and leaves the kids alone (obviously the Dad's idea, Mums don't think like that). Every 30 minutes one of them goes to check, so when it's the Dad's turn he's already arranged for someone to be outside with a car. He carries Maddy out, who won't be crying cause it's her Dad (thus noone hears anything), and puts her in the car which speeds off with her. He then goes back to the restaurant and says that all the kids are fast asleep, giving the man in the car at least a 30 minute head start before the Mum goes to check, finds Maddy is missing and raises the alarm.
Don't get me wrong, I don't think the Dad means any harm. The reward is now £2.5million. So a third party calls up to say where she is, she's found safe and well and is returned to the parents, and behind the scenes the Dad gets his cut of the reward money (I'd want 75%). I know they're doctors or something but they obviously need the money. Have you seen those t-shirts and shorts the Dad's been wearing on tv?
Now you see why I don't usually comment on anything in the news.
Friday, May 18, 2007
It's Booked!
We've finally booked our flights for this years holiday. I'm taking The Boyf to San Francisco in August as he's always wanted to go (he's a big Tales Of The City fan), and I went in 2005 before I met him and loved the place so can't wait to get back and show him around. When I say "I'm taking him" I don't mean, like, in my luggage or something. He's not my pet, although I do wonder whether he shouldn't be quarantined before being let into the US. What I meant was that I booked the flights and surprised him with the tickets. I'm such a great boyfriend sometimes. Only sometimes, mind.
We've still got to sort out our accomodation and then save up our spending money, but with the exchange rate being what it is we'll be acting like millionaires by the time we change our money over. At least we can act like millionaires as long as noone notices we're flying economy. Shhhh! As Pam Ann would say (whilst tapping a champagne flute): *ting, ting, ting* "Listen economy, that's GLAAAAAASS!!!".
So, what are we gonna do when we get there? Well, all the usual I should imagine - get drunk and sleep with the locals. Oh, we'll probably visit Alcatraz too as I didn't manage to squeeze it in last time between all the beer busts and men. I jest of course. Those were the days before I was a cheap tramp - I actually didn't sleep with a single man on my last trip. I know, incredible isn't it? I'll have to make up for it this year.
So, what are we doing this weekend to celebrate the booking of our first proper holiday together? We're going to Birmingham. Sheesh!
We've still got to sort out our accomodation and then save up our spending money, but with the exchange rate being what it is we'll be acting like millionaires by the time we change our money over. At least we can act like millionaires as long as noone notices we're flying economy. Shhhh! As Pam Ann would say (whilst tapping a champagne flute): *ting, ting, ting* "Listen economy, that's GLAAAAAASS!!!".
So, what are we gonna do when we get there? Well, all the usual I should imagine - get drunk and sleep with the locals. Oh, we'll probably visit Alcatraz too as I didn't manage to squeeze it in last time between all the beer busts and men. I jest of course. Those were the days before I was a cheap tramp - I actually didn't sleep with a single man on my last trip. I know, incredible isn't it? I'll have to make up for it this year.
So, what are we doing this weekend to celebrate the booking of our first proper holiday together? We're going to Birmingham. Sheesh!
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Warning! Eurovision Blog Alert!
I'm utterly amazed that even the Irish and the Maltese (I do love the Maltese you know. If any are reading get in touch and we’ll do lunch. Or sex. Your choice) gave us any points at Eurovision, although I have to say that even the dreaded Scooch were no worse than most of the other dross inflicted on my already troubled eardrums (I'd been to see my Mum earlier in the day).
What's made me really laugh is the level of debate that's sprung up about this. Should we pull out? (We pay something like 1/4 of the cost of running Eurovision and then get a proverbial slap round the chops when it comes to the voting). Will any Western European country ever win again? Some twerp suggested we ban countries voting for their neighbours. I mean, how is this worked out? Technically the UK doesn't have an adjoining neighbour, whereas Moldova probably has like 5 or something (sorry, I can't be bothered to look it up). Oh, damn it, the perfectionist Scorpio that I am won't allow me not to know which countries adjoin Moldova. Hang on, I'm gonna have to look at a map...
(insert "on hold" music here)
Right, Moldova is only bordered by two countries; Ukraine and Romania. I should have used Slovakia as my example, it being bordered by the Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Romania, Hungary and Austria.
Sorry, where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm just amazed that The Boyf and I decided to stay in on Saturday night and watch it. Ok, I’m not THAT amazed – it was my suggestion after all. We were on our own too, although I did have both of OBM's on the phone throughout to appraise songs and outfits. Naturally they voted for Ukraine (the bacofoil-wrapped drag queen with the star on his head), whereas I'd found myself cavorting around our living room trailing a chiffon headscarf to the tribal drumming of the Bulgarian entry, so thought it might be worth the price of a text vote. When my phone bill comes in and I realise it cost me a fiver I'm not going to be impressed though.
In the end it was won by a Serbain lesbian. Who knew lesbianity was even legal over there? She looked like a "Who Ate All The Pies?" version of k.d. lang without the vocal ability, which, when you think about it, kind of equates to Meatloaf. And I don’t care what you read elsewhere, the song was dull, dull, dull.
Anyway, after all that excitement (!) The Boyf and I decided to go out. Yes, it was nearly midnight, and by the time we'd both showered, trimmed beards and decided what we were going to wear it was about 1am. At that time of the morning the easiest bet is XXL, and it wasn't too bad even though they had a Best of Eurovision CD on repeat in the back bar.
We had a dance, I got ignored by the South African again, and we went back home at 4am feeling better for getting out for a couple of hours.
What's made me really laugh is the level of debate that's sprung up about this. Should we pull out? (We pay something like 1/4 of the cost of running Eurovision and then get a proverbial slap round the chops when it comes to the voting). Will any Western European country ever win again? Some twerp suggested we ban countries voting for their neighbours. I mean, how is this worked out? Technically the UK doesn't have an adjoining neighbour, whereas Moldova probably has like 5 or something (sorry, I can't be bothered to look it up). Oh, damn it, the perfectionist Scorpio that I am won't allow me not to know which countries adjoin Moldova. Hang on, I'm gonna have to look at a map...
Right, Moldova is only bordered by two countries; Ukraine and Romania. I should have used Slovakia as my example, it being bordered by the Czech Republic, Poland, Ukraine, Romania, Hungary and Austria.
Sorry, where was I?
Oh yeah, I'm just amazed that The Boyf and I decided to stay in on Saturday night and watch it. Ok, I’m not THAT amazed – it was my suggestion after all. We were on our own too, although I did have both of OBM's on the phone throughout to appraise songs and outfits. Naturally they voted for Ukraine (the bacofoil-wrapped drag queen with the star on his head), whereas I'd found myself cavorting around our living room trailing a chiffon headscarf to the tribal drumming of the Bulgarian entry, so thought it might be worth the price of a text vote. When my phone bill comes in and I realise it cost me a fiver I'm not going to be impressed though.
In the end it was won by a Serbain lesbian. Who knew lesbianity was even legal over there? She looked like a "Who Ate All The Pies?" version of k.d. lang without the vocal ability, which, when you think about it, kind of equates to Meatloaf. And I don’t care what you read elsewhere, the song was dull, dull, dull.
Anyway, after all that excitement (!) The Boyf and I decided to go out. Yes, it was nearly midnight, and by the time we'd both showered, trimmed beards and decided what we were going to wear it was about 1am. At that time of the morning the easiest bet is XXL, and it wasn't too bad even though they had a Best of Eurovision CD on repeat in the back bar.
We had a dance, I got ignored by the South African again, and we went back home at 4am feeling better for getting out for a couple of hours.
Monday, May 14, 2007
The Monday Morning BlogBite - My Tarot
Inspired by one of my favourite blogs (The Farmboyz' Perge Modo) I took the "Which Tarot Card Are You?" test this morning, and this is the result. I even put 'Mellow' as my answer to one of the questions. Last Friday I also found out that my birthday falls on "National Occult Day". The Boyf is not surprised by any of this having noticed how scared animals are of me, and the fact that we can't go to a garden centre cause all the flowers die. Mother's Day is always a problem.
You are The Devil
Materiality. Material Force. Material temptation; sometimes obsession
The Devil is often a great card for business success; hard work and ambition.
Perhaps the most misunderstood of all the major arcana, the Devil is not really "Satan" at all, but Pan the half-goat nature god and/or Dionysius. These are gods of pleasure and abandon, of wild behavior and unbridled desires. This is a card about ambitions; it is also synonymous with temptation and addiction. On the flip side, however, the card can be a warning to someone who is too restrained, someone who never allows themselves to get passionate or messy or wild - or ambitious. This, too, is a form of enslavement. As a person, the Devil can stand for a man of money or erotic power, aggressive, controlling, or just persuasive. This is not to say a bad man, but certainly a powerful man who is hard to resist. The important thing is to remember that any chain is freely worn. In most cases, you are enslaved only because you allow it.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Skank Alert!
One of my team - a girl from Essex, naturally - has just admitted that she likes to make pasta and then put gravy on it. When the derision started she stuck up for herself by saying that she puts tinned sweetcorn in it too. Oh, that's ok then!
I called her a skank, and now she's not talking to me.
Note to self; never take my team out for a meal.
I called her a skank, and now she's not talking to me.
Note to self; never take my team out for a meal.
Shy or Arrogant?
I must admit that I'm suffering from a bit of writer's block, which I'm actually kinda pleased about. I mean, who knew that I'd write enough to get a blockage?
The problem is that I decided early on not to comment on anything that's going on in the world. So may others do it so much better than I could, so what's the point in me joining in? The problem is that it only leaves my own life to comment on, and as you've noticed my life seems to simply involve going to bars, getting drunk and sleeping with men. Nothing wrong with that, but there's only so much you can say about it.
So, what now? Do I try to add some form of social commentary? Do I delve into politics? Or do I stick with what I'm good at - sleeping around and telling you the gory details? Answers on a postcard please...
In the meantime let me tell you about something that annoyed me at the weekend.
Now, at 5 feet 8 I'm kinda short, and hairy. I'm not slim, or overly fat, or very well muscled; rather, I'm just a bit chunky. So I fall into a camp (ahem) somewhere between Bears and MuscleBears. Most of my friends are pretty well built though, so I tend to hang around with guys who, under other circumstances, I would find rather intimidating (and I must admit to finding most of my friends rather sexy). As a result of who I hang out with I get to meet some pretty hot guys and - this is where the annoying bit comes in - I largely get ignored by them. It's like I just don't show up on their radar, like I'm flying too low or something.
A case in point; there's a certain guy, a South African, who's reasonably well known on the London MuscleBear scene and who The Boyf once had a little tryst with. They shagged, basically. As a result if we see him out The Boyf always goes over to say Hi. The first couple of times The Boyf made a point of introducing me - "You know my boyfriend, right?" - and the South African would kind of grunt and nod in my direction, and afterwards The Boyf and I would always disagree on whether he was shy or just plain arrogant.
So, how can you tell, if someone is a little stand-offish, whether they're shy or arrogant?
Last weekend we bumped into the South African in the RVT. The Boyf gave him a cheery "Hi!" as he walked past and got one back, and a hug. The South African looked me straight in the eyes so I gave him a big cheery "Hello!". And you know what he did? Looked me square in the eyes then turned his back on me.
As far as I'm concerned he's burned his final bridge with me. The Boyf's all like "Oh give him another chance. He's just shy. Maybe he didn't recognise you", and I'm all like "He DID recognise me. He's been introduced to me umpteen times over the last couple of years. He's just an arrogant twat".
So I've devised my revenge. I'm gonna get really muscley and he's gonna want to speak to me. And I shall take great delight in completely ignoring him.
Possibly.
The problem is that I decided early on not to comment on anything that's going on in the world. So may others do it so much better than I could, so what's the point in me joining in? The problem is that it only leaves my own life to comment on, and as you've noticed my life seems to simply involve going to bars, getting drunk and sleeping with men. Nothing wrong with that, but there's only so much you can say about it.
So, what now? Do I try to add some form of social commentary? Do I delve into politics? Or do I stick with what I'm good at - sleeping around and telling you the gory details? Answers on a postcard please...
In the meantime let me tell you about something that annoyed me at the weekend.
Now, at 5 feet 8 I'm kinda short, and hairy. I'm not slim, or overly fat, or very well muscled; rather, I'm just a bit chunky. So I fall into a camp (ahem) somewhere between Bears and MuscleBears. Most of my friends are pretty well built though, so I tend to hang around with guys who, under other circumstances, I would find rather intimidating (and I must admit to finding most of my friends rather sexy). As a result of who I hang out with I get to meet some pretty hot guys and - this is where the annoying bit comes in - I largely get ignored by them. It's like I just don't show up on their radar, like I'm flying too low or something.
A case in point; there's a certain guy, a South African, who's reasonably well known on the London MuscleBear scene and who The Boyf once had a little tryst with. They shagged, basically. As a result if we see him out The Boyf always goes over to say Hi. The first couple of times The Boyf made a point of introducing me - "You know my boyfriend, right?" - and the South African would kind of grunt and nod in my direction, and afterwards The Boyf and I would always disagree on whether he was shy or just plain arrogant.
So, how can you tell, if someone is a little stand-offish, whether they're shy or arrogant?
Last weekend we bumped into the South African in the RVT. The Boyf gave him a cheery "Hi!" as he walked past and got one back, and a hug. The South African looked me straight in the eyes so I gave him a big cheery "Hello
As far as I'm concerned he's burned his final bridge with me. The Boyf's all like "Oh give him another chance. He's just shy. Maybe he didn't recognise you", and I'm all like "He DID recognise me. He's been introduced to me umpteen times over the last couple of years. He's just an arrogant twat".
So I've devised my revenge. I'm gonna get really muscley and he's gonna want to speak to me. And I shall take great delight in completely ignoring him.
Possibly.
Friday, May 04, 2007
A Little Sombre
Yesterday I attended my first gay funeral, rather incredibly. I guess I'm of the generation just behind the first AIDS generation, and as such I've been fortunate enough, because of the advances in medication, not to lose friends to the disease. But yesterday, as around 150 guys I knew filed into the chapel, I started to have an idea of what it must have felt like in those bad old days when peer-groups were literally decreasing in number by the week, when groups of friends were decimated.
The funeral was an odd experience. Most of us are only used to seeing each other in bars and clubs, possibly not looking our best, so it was strange seeing us all in suits and ties looking very respectable. And looking very similar too - a sea of dark suits, cropped hair and beards, we made quite an impression walking through parts of London in large groups, our numbers swelling the closer we got to the chapel, a little clone army out in the Spring sunshine.
Of course afterwards we went to a bar and got drunk, and then our little army split into groups to go our separate ways. Our way (The Boyf and I, plus OMB#1 & 2 and assorted others) was to a rib restaurant to eat loads of meat, then go back to OBM's place to drink some more and reminisce.
All I keep hoping is that this isn't just the start. That there will be no more deaths in my peer-group for a good long while. And I keep thinking that this little army of ours shouldn't be waiting for a death to come together like we did. There were so many things said about our dead friend in his eulogy that I never realised about him, fascinating things that I wished I'd asked him about. And now the chance has passed. We deserve to get to know one another better than we do.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
The funeral was an odd experience. Most of us are only used to seeing each other in bars and clubs, possibly not looking our best, so it was strange seeing us all in suits and ties looking very respectable. And looking very similar too - a sea of dark suits, cropped hair and beards, we made quite an impression walking through parts of London in large groups, our numbers swelling the closer we got to the chapel, a little clone army out in the Spring sunshine.
Of course afterwards we went to a bar and got drunk, and then our little army split into groups to go our separate ways. Our way (The Boyf and I, plus OMB#1 & 2 and assorted others) was to a rib restaurant to eat loads of meat, then go back to OBM's place to drink some more and reminisce.
All I keep hoping is that this isn't just the start. That there will be no more deaths in my peer-group for a good long while. And I keep thinking that this little army of ours shouldn't be waiting for a death to come together like we did. There were so many things said about our dead friend in his eulogy that I never realised about him, fascinating things that I wished I'd asked him about. And now the chance has passed. We deserve to get to know one another better than we do.
Have a good weekend, Dear Reader.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
G-Rated Round-Up
You may well have noticed, Dear Reader, that for the last couple of weeks I've not felt the need come Tuesday to detail my sex life. There's a simple reason for this - I don't have a sex life. Actually, that's not quite true, but I've not had any new conquests and I don't want to bore you with details about sleeping with people you've already heard of. I mean, how dull is that???
So today I thought I'd just share a couple of photos with you that I've taken on our recent travels.
Here's a picture of a baby ray, taken in Brighton SeaLife Centre, taken at a jaunty angle. He was ever so cute. Looked a bit like an embryonic human (with gills) trapped in a duvet cover.
Here's a picture of Warwick Castle, taken from The Mound (the original part of the Castle built by William The Conqueror in 1068). Almost everyone you can see are French. Not sure what else to say about that really.
And here's a photo of a building that isn't St Paul's Cathedral, taken last Sunday. I know, not terribly informative am I? Well, let's just say that this building is in Greenwich and has something to do with the military. I'll find out more and come back to you.
So there you go. Some lovely photos to show your Mum.
So today I thought I'd just share a couple of photos with you that I've taken on our recent travels.
Here's a picture of a baby ray, taken in Brighton SeaLife Centre, taken at a jaunty angle. He was ever so cute. Looked a bit like an embryonic human (with gills) trapped in a duvet cover.Here's a picture of Warwick Castle, taken from The Mound (the original part of the Castle built by William The Conqueror in 1068). Almost everyone you can see are French. Not sure what else to say about that really.And here's a photo of a building that isn't St Paul's Cathedral, taken last Sunday. I know, not terribly informative am I? Well, let's just say that this building is in Greenwich and has something to do with the military. I'll find out more and come back to you.So there you go. Some lovely photos to show your Mum.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Sugababe Slap Shock!
My afternoon has been rocked (mildly) by the news that the newest of The Sugababes (your OMO's girl group of choice) has been accused of assaulting a girl in a club. Amelle apparently spent the night in a cell following "an incident" involving an 18 year old girl. Possibly the girl happened to mention that the recent Girls Aloud vs Sugababes single was complete pony, even if it was for charity.
Well, we always thought it was Munter (sorry, Mutya) who was the stroppy one, and that The 'Babes were in danger of whimping out now that she'd left. Looks like the next Girls Aloud vs Sugababes collaboration will be in a ring with Cheryl Cole and Amelle Berrabah slapping 7 bells of crap out of each other. Can't wait...
Well, we always thought it was Munter (sorry, Mutya) who was the stroppy one, and that The 'Babes were in danger of whimping out now that she'd left. Looks like the next Girls Aloud vs Sugababes collaboration will be in a ring with Cheryl Cole and Amelle Berrabah slapping 7 bells of crap out of each other. Can't wait...
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Fishy Smells All Round
As I'm sure you noticed, Dear Reader, it was the London Marathon on Sunday, and the runners come right past where The Boyf and I live without even bothering to ask us whether we mind. In the same way that you can lose interest in a hot guy the moment he seems interested, living on the marathon route means we've no interest in watching it. It's just too easy. Plus the marathon creates havoc with London's transport system. So we got up early on Sunday (after a Saturday night at home!) and headed down to Brighton to soak up the chilled atmosphere and stupidly hot weather we're having, and were joined by The Drag Queen, looking her usual glamorous self.
The Boyf knew how much I'd want to visit the SeaLife Centre so we dragged The DQ in to look at the fish and allow me the chance to display my mild autistic tendencies by naming each species and giving interesting facts about them without looking at the info' next to each tank. However it appeared that The DQ was causing some problems. Her glitter body-powder, brilliant green glitter-eyeshadow, huge red lips, and the crystal chandelier that had been put into service as her necklace were scaring certain of the fish, whilst others attempted to mate with her through the glass. When the octopus attempted to climb from it's tank we decided enough was enough and headed out and to the beach. The nudist beach, in fact...
There was no way we were going to go nude with The DQ around, but the nudist beach is populated by the gays, obviously, so The Boyf and I can get away with cuddling in public. I was just admiring a particularly large pair of balls belonging to a guy laying behind me, when I noticed a black guy walking along the beach towards us. He had long flowing dreadlocks, and even from a distance his tiny thong was obviously straining to contain something rather massive. I alerted The Boyf and The DQ and we all watched as he passed us and then laid his towel down about 20 feet away. We watched with baited breath as he bent over and pulled down his thong, and when he stood up there was a collective gasp from the amassed sunbathers. He was H-U-G-E. The DQ clutched her chandelier to her bosom, and I think I may have fainted for a moment. We looked around. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably on their towels, a feeling of mass-insecurity sweeping the beach. Most people decided that they ought to lay on their fronts for a while, or even put shorts on. I thanked my lucky stars I was already partially dressed. Mr King Dong did a little pirouette, just to make sure everyone had seen his third arm, and then laid down on his towel, on his back naturally, and slowly the whispers died down and the beach returned to normal.
We'd taken magazines with us to read on the beach, and true to form they said everything about us. I had "Evo", a car magazine, because it had a test of the new blah blah blah (you're not really interested anyway). The DQ had "Grazia", for this week's celeb gossip and hot fashions. And The Boyf had "The Pink Paper", because he's uncontrollably gay. Suddenly the stillness of the beach was interrupted (again) by The Boyf exclaiming "Oh look who it is in The Pink Paper!". On Page 1 was a photo of The Boyf, with a referral to Page 13. On Page 13 there were two photos of The Boyf, taken in a bar we'd been to a couple of week before. Apparently I'd been elbowed out of shot in both photos. Either that or I was off doing something more interesting in another part of the bar (like the toilets). The Boyf proceeded to go into his famous faux "Large Ego Mode", proclaiming that he couldn't go anywhere without being photographed, and that he was tired of his face staring back at him from the pages of magazines. "I'm on two separate pages of The Pink Paper", he exclaimed with a hand held palm-backwards on his forehead, "Oh, why can't they let me go out in peace!" in a voice loud enough to make sure all the gays on the beach knew how famous he was.
OMO (sniggering): "Oh look, they've quoted you too"
Above The Boyf's photo was a question, and below it his answer. The (rather bizarre) question was: "If you were a Care Bear what logo would you have on your chest?". The Boyf's answer: "A tadpole, as in sperm".
The Boyf: "I SO didn't say that! I've been mis-quoted! Everyone's gonna think I'm an airhead now!"
OMO: "Constant paparazzi interference and now you're being mis-quoted in the press. Ah, the price of celebrity"
The Boyf: "But... but... actually I may have said that. I was pretty drunk. Oh shit!"
The DQ and I shared a smirk and went back to our magazines, The Boyf's ego clearly already deflating nicely.
We finished the day off having a few drinks in a bar and then having a lovely meal in a little restaurant, finally catching the train home for some much-needed sleep.
The Boyf knew how much I'd want to visit the SeaLife Centre so we dragged The DQ in to look at the fish and allow me the chance to display my mild autistic tendencies by naming each species and giving interesting facts about them without looking at the info' next to each tank. However it appeared that The DQ was causing some problems. Her glitter body-powder, brilliant green glitter-eyeshadow, huge red lips, and the crystal chandelier that had been put into service as her necklace were scaring certain of the fish, whilst others attempted to mate with her through the glass. When the octopus attempted to climb from it's tank we decided enough was enough and headed out and to the beach. The nudist beach, in fact...
There was no way we were going to go nude with The DQ around, but the nudist beach is populated by the gays, obviously, so The Boyf and I can get away with cuddling in public. I was just admiring a particularly large pair of balls belonging to a guy laying behind me, when I noticed a black guy walking along the beach towards us. He had long flowing dreadlocks, and even from a distance his tiny thong was obviously straining to contain something rather massive. I alerted The Boyf and The DQ and we all watched as he passed us and then laid his towel down about 20 feet away. We watched with baited breath as he bent over and pulled down his thong, and when he stood up there was a collective gasp from the amassed sunbathers. He was H-U-G-E. The DQ clutched her chandelier to her bosom, and I think I may have fainted for a moment. We looked around. Everyone was shifting uncomfortably on their towels, a feeling of mass-insecurity sweeping the beach. Most people decided that they ought to lay on their fronts for a while, or even put shorts on. I thanked my lucky stars I was already partially dressed. Mr King Dong did a little pirouette, just to make sure everyone had seen his third arm, and then laid down on his towel, on his back naturally, and slowly the whispers died down and the beach returned to normal.
We'd taken magazines with us to read on the beach, and true to form they said everything about us. I had "Evo", a car magazine, because it had a test of the new blah blah blah (you're not really interested anyway). The DQ had "Grazia", for this week's celeb gossip and hot fashions. And The Boyf had "The Pink Paper", because he's uncontrollably gay. Suddenly the stillness of the beach was interrupted (again) by The Boyf exclaiming "Oh look who it is in The Pink Paper!". On Page 1 was a photo of The Boyf, with a referral to Page 13. On Page 13 there were two photos of The Boyf, taken in a bar we'd been to a couple of week before. Apparently I'd been elbowed out of shot in both photos. Either that or I was off doing something more interesting in another part of the bar (like the toilets). The Boyf proceeded to go into his famous faux "Large Ego Mode", proclaiming that he couldn't go anywhere without being photographed, and that he was tired of his face staring back at him from the pages of magazines. "I'm on two separate pages of The Pink Paper", he exclaimed with a hand held palm-backwards on his forehead, "Oh, why can't they let me go out in peace!" in a voice loud enough to make sure all the gays on the beach knew how famous he was.
OMO (sniggering): "Oh look, they've quoted you too"
Above The Boyf's photo was a question, and below it his answer. The (rather bizarre) question was: "If you were a Care Bear what logo would you have on your chest?". The Boyf's answer: "A tadpole, as in sperm".
The Boyf: "I SO didn't say that! I've been mis-quoted! Everyone's gonna think I'm an airhead now!"
OMO: "Constant paparazzi interference and now you're being mis-quoted in the press. Ah, the price of celebrity"
The Boyf: "But... but... actually I may have said that. I was pretty drunk. Oh shit!"
The DQ and I shared a smirk and went back to our magazines, The Boyf's ego clearly already deflating nicely.
We finished the day off having a few drinks in a bar and then having a lovely meal in a little restaurant, finally catching the train home for some much-needed sleep.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
I Know Something
Last night I finally found out who killed Laura Palmer.
Yes, it's only taken me 17 years since "Twin Peaks" first aired to get to the part where the murderer is revealed, although I had already worked it out from the evidence provided.
The Boyf and OBM#1 are H-U-G-E "Twin Peaks" fans. I seem to recall that when it was on TV I was out alot. It coincided with me discovering gay cruising areas, and there wasn't really any competition between watching TV or getting a bit of cock in those days. Nowadays it's probably the other way around. Ah, the joys of (nearly) middle-age. Anyway, what with Series 2 finally coming out on DVD The Boyf has made me sit down to watch it all. It's pretty good too. Much better than some of the cock I had whilst it was originally on tv. Oh well, you live and learn...
Yes, it's only taken me 17 years since "Twin Peaks" first aired to get to the part where the murderer is revealed, although I had already worked it out from the evidence provided.
The Boyf and OBM#1 are H-U-G-E "Twin Peaks" fans. I seem to recall that when it was on TV I was out alot. It coincided with me discovering gay cruising areas, and there wasn't really any competition between watching TV or getting a bit of cock in those days. Nowadays it's probably the other way around. Ah, the joys of (nearly) middle-age. Anyway, what with Series 2 finally coming out on DVD The Boyf has made me sit down to watch it all. It's pretty good too. Much better than some of the cock I had whilst it was originally on tv. Oh well, you live and learn...
Friday, April 20, 2007
Your Lazy OMO
Yeah, I know, I've been a lazy little OMO this week where my blog is concerned. Again. I'm having a "funny week", Dear Reader. Last Saturday was the first anniversary of my Dad passing away, and on this day last year was his funeral. So this week has been a little sombre for me. Not that you'd tell - I'm still trying to snog every man who doesn't run away fast enough. Unfortunately most of them do. Hey-ho!
I'd like to tell you more about my Dad sometime. A little anecdote here and there, although I could never begin to convey how brilliant he was. My words will simply fail me. But sometime I'll try.
In the meantime fear not, I shall endeavour to go out this weekend and celebrate being alive. Being vital. My Dad was so full of life that ironically I think that's what killed him. Every day for him was something to be savoured and enjoyed. There was always so much for him to do and never enough time, and finally it proved too much and he exhausted himself. So yes, I'll go out, and like every other day I'll look at the sky or the river or a tree or something and wonder at the beauty of it all, and I'll think about my Dad. And after that I'm gonna go out and get right royally fucked, just so I've got something to tell you about come Tuesday. Hey, it's the OMO way!
Have a wonderful weekend, Dear Reader.
I'd like to tell you more about my Dad sometime. A little anecdote here and there, although I could never begin to convey how brilliant he was. My words will simply fail me. But sometime I'll try.
In the meantime fear not, I shall endeavour to go out this weekend and celebrate being alive. Being vital. My Dad was so full of life that ironically I think that's what killed him. Every day for him was something to be savoured and enjoyed. There was always so much for him to do and never enough time, and finally it proved too much and he exhausted himself. So yes, I'll go out, and like every other day I'll look at the sky or the river or a tree or something and wonder at the beauty of it all, and I'll think about my Dad. And after that I'm gonna go out and get right royally fucked, just so I've got something to tell you about come Tuesday. Hey, it's the OMO way!
Have a wonderful weekend, Dear Reader.
Monday, April 16, 2007
Bringing You Up-To-Date
So, did you miss me?
You did notice I'd not written anything since before Easter?
Hmmm, thought as much.
Well, let me tell you what I've been up to. I'll try to keep this brief...
Easter
We had friends over from New York so did the whole club-thing.
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Saturday = 2 (although one broke on the way home)
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Sunday = 0 (because they wouldn't give us mugs as "someone keeps stealing them". Ooops!)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 7 (The King's Arms (3/10), Comptons (5/10), Chunks (6/10), Megawoof (5/10), "Resurrection" at Club Colosseum (7/10), RVT (8/10), "Bootylicious" at Area (4/10))
Guys Snogged = 0 (The shame!)
Whiney Americans In Bars = 7
Sexy Go-Go Dancer Who I Utterly Fell In Lust With, And Who Looked Very Interested In Me, Only For Him To Be Whisked Off At The Last Minute By My Mate Who I Now Hate* = 1
Last Week
We took a few days off work and visited The Boyf's family and friends in The Midlands.
Castles Visited = 1 (Warwick. Very beautiful but full of French tourists. I refrained from trying my version of their language on them)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (The Fountain in Birmingham (5/10))
Saunas Visited = 1 (The Greenhouse in Darlaston (6/10))
Guys Blown In Sauna = 2
Saturday
The Boyf and I travelled from the Midlands down to Kent to visit my Mum for the afternoon, then back home to watch Dr Who and go out for a drink.
Bars/Clubs Visited = 2 (The Hoist (NSFW) - nothing going on and they were playing Abba again! (3/10), XXL - cause we didn't fancy going home early (6/10))
Americans Dragged Back To Ours For Sex = 1
Number of Times The American Said "Fuck yeah! You guys are HOT!" in a Southern drawl = Innumerable
Number of Hours Sleep = 2
Sunday
Took advantage of the incredible weather and dragged ourselves to Battersea Park for a picnic with OBM#1 and #2, who'd been up all night shagging.
Number Of Hours Spent Laying On Grass Staring At Each Other Barely Able To Speak= 6
Bottles Of Champagne Consumed = 1 (apparently I'm the only one who believes all picnics must include champers and strawberries)
Hot Men In Shorts = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who We Wolf-Whistled = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who Reacted To Whistles = 0. Dammit!
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (I have no idea what it was called. We popped in on the way home for a quiet drink (4/10))
Take-Aways Needed To Fill The Hole Left By The Picnic = 1 (Chinese)
And there you go, you're now completely up-to-date.
* Just to let you know that I don't really hate him, and in fact he's been dating the go-go dancer ever since and they're getting along very well, which I'm rather pleased about.
You did notice I'd not written anything since before Easter?
Hmmm, thought as much.
Well, let me tell you what I've been up to. I'll try to keep this brief...
Easter
We had friends over from New York so did the whole club-thing.
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Saturday = 2 (although one broke on the way home)
Mugs Stolen By Americans From Cafe Nero on Sunday = 0 (because they wouldn't give us mugs as "someone keeps stealing them". Ooops!)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 7 (The King's Arms (3/10), Comptons (5/10), Chunks (6/10), Megawoof (5/10), "Resurrection" at Club Colosseum (7/10), RVT (8/10), "Bootylicious" at Area (4/10))
Guys Snogged = 0 (The shame!)
Whiney Americans In Bars = 7
Sexy Go-Go Dancer Who I Utterly Fell In Lust With, And Who Looked Very Interested In Me, Only For Him To Be Whisked Off At The Last Minute By My Mate Who I Now Hate* = 1
Last Week
We took a few days off work and visited The Boyf's family and friends in The Midlands.
Castles Visited = 1 (Warwick. Very beautiful but full of French tourists. I refrained from trying my version of their language on them)
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (The Fountain in Birmingham (5/10))
Saunas Visited = 1 (The Greenhouse in Darlaston (6/10))
Guys Blown In Sauna = 2
Saturday
The Boyf and I travelled from the Midlands down to Kent to visit my Mum for the afternoon, then back home to watch Dr Who and go out for a drink.
Bars/Clubs Visited = 2 (The Hoist (NSFW) - nothing going on and they were playing Abba again! (3/10), XXL - cause we didn't fancy going home early (6/10))
Americans Dragged Back To Ours For Sex = 1
Number of Times The American Said "Fuck yeah! You guys are HOT!" in a Southern drawl = Innumerable
Number of Hours Sleep = 2
Sunday
Took advantage of the incredible weather and dragged ourselves to Battersea Park for a picnic with OBM#1 and #2, who'd been up all night shagging.
Number Of Hours Spent Laying On Grass Staring At Each Other Barely Able To Speak= 6
Bottles Of Champagne Consumed = 1 (apparently I'm the only one who believes all picnics must include champers and strawberries)
Hot Men In Shorts = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who We Wolf-Whistled = 2
Hot Men In Shorts Who Reacted To Whistles = 0. Dammit!
Bars/Clubs Visited = 1 (I have no idea what it was called. We popped in on the way home for a quiet drink (4/10))
Take-Aways Needed To Fill The Hole Left By The Picnic = 1 (Chinese)
And there you go, you're now completely up-to-date.
* Just to let you know that I don't really hate him, and in fact he's been dating the go-go dancer ever since and they're getting along very well, which I'm rather pleased about.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Arab or Zygon?
Coming home from work last night was slightly surreal.
It started off well. On boarding the tube at Whitechapel I spotted a rather splendid little fellow sitting further up the carriage. I'm very into short, dark haired guys right now and he certainly fitted the bill. Vaguely Arabian or Lebanese looking with a lovely dark beard. So I moved to sit opposite. I know, blatant aren't I? He smiled at me and then looked out the window, which I thought was odd as there's not much to see in a tunnel, until I realised he was appraising me via my reflection. I pretended to be too engrossed in my newspaper to notice, although the more observant passengers would have wondered why I was concentrating so much on this season's must-have handbags. Apparently oversized is in, just so you know.
We both disembarked at the same stop and I followed him up the escalator, his ass directly in front of my face, a fact not lost on him judging by the amount of times he clenched his buttocks.
At the ticket barrier he went through. I didn't. Fucking shitty fucking Oyster card wouldn't work. I tried a different gate. Still nothing. Meanwhile, the Arab looked back at me then walked out of the station. Dammit. I finally got through and sauntered out, turning towards home (the opposite direction to the Arab had taken), at which point my phone started to ring. The Boyf was at the other end and he was whispering.
The Boyf: "Where are you?"
OMO: "I'm just coming out the Tube. Why are you whispering?"
The Boyf: "You'll find out in a minute. Just come in normally but try to be quiet"
OMO: "What the...?"
(click)
I turned around to look in the direction the Arab had taken and was very surprised to find him standing 20 feet away, leaning on some railings and staring at me. I smiled, pointed at my phone and made a shrugging motion, then turned and headed in the direction of home. I looked back once, we smiled at each other then he turned and walked away.
On opening my front door I was confronted by The Boyf, holding his finger to his lips. He waved me to follow him into our spare room. I could hear talking in our main room. Our spare room was unusually tidy. The other thing of note was a man I'd never met before, drinking red wine. We were introduced, and it transpired that he is the editor of Dr Who Magazine. The Boyf was positively trembling with excitement.
OMO: "So, what's going on?"
The Boyf: "There's a film crew in our living room. Well, two men and a camera anyway. We've been filming a documentary about Dr Who. They've interviewed Clay and me and now some other guy's being filmed. How cool is that?"
OMO: "A film crew? Damn, I could have bought the Arab back from the station and made a whole different kind of film"
The Boyf: "What Arab?"
OMO: "Oh, never mind"
So there you go. The Boyf is now in a documentary, although apparently it could be a couple of years to get more funding and finish it off. Gives me plenty of time to decide on my red carpet outfit, and of course what I'll be wearing to the Oscars that year. I'm thinking of staying with the Dr Who theme and going as a Cyberman. Either that or this, by Jean Paul Gaultier. Same difference really. Oh, the decisions...
It started off well. On boarding the tube at Whitechapel I spotted a rather splendid little fellow sitting further up the carriage. I'm very into short, dark haired guys right now and he certainly fitted the bill. Vaguely Arabian or Lebanese looking with a lovely dark beard. So I moved to sit opposite. I know, blatant aren't I? He smiled at me and then looked out the window, which I thought was odd as there's not much to see in a tunnel, until I realised he was appraising me via my reflection. I pretended to be too engrossed in my newspaper to notice, although the more observant passengers would have wondered why I was concentrating so much on this season's must-have handbags. Apparently oversized is in, just so you know.
We both disembarked at the same stop and I followed him up the escalator, his ass directly in front of my face, a fact not lost on him judging by the amount of times he clenched his buttocks.
At the ticket barrier he went through. I didn't. Fucking shitty fucking Oyster card wouldn't work. I tried a different gate. Still nothing. Meanwhile, the Arab looked back at me then walked out of the station. Dammit. I finally got through and sauntered out, turning towards home (the opposite direction to the Arab had taken), at which point my phone started to ring. The Boyf was at the other end and he was whispering.
The Boyf: "Where are you?"
OMO: "I'm just coming out the Tube. Why are you whispering?"
The Boyf: "You'll find out in a minute. Just come in normally but try to be quiet"
OMO: "What the...?"
(click)
I turned around to look in the direction the Arab had taken and was very surprised to find him standing 20 feet away, leaning on some railings and staring at me. I smiled, pointed at my phone and made a shrugging motion, then turned and headed in the direction of home. I looked back once, we smiled at each other then he turned and walked away.
On opening my front door I was confronted by The Boyf, holding his finger to his lips. He waved me to follow him into our spare room. I could hear talking in our main room. Our spare room was unusually tidy. The other thing of note was a man I'd never met before, drinking red wine. We were introduced, and it transpired that he is the editor of Dr Who Magazine. The Boyf was positively trembling with excitement.
OMO: "So, what's going on?"
The Boyf: "There's a film crew in our living room. Well, two men and a camera anyway. We've been filming a documentary about Dr Who. They've interviewed Clay and me and now some other guy's being filmed. How cool is that?"
OMO: "A film crew? Damn, I could have bought the Arab back from the station and made a whole different kind of film"
The Boyf: "What Arab?"
OMO: "Oh, never mind"
So there you go. The Boyf is now in a documentary, although apparently it could be a couple of years to get more funding and finish it off. Gives me plenty of time to decide on my red carpet outfit, and of course what I'll be wearing to the Oscars that year. I'm thinking of staying with the Dr Who theme and going as a Cyberman. Either that or this, by Jean Paul Gaultier. Same difference really. Oh, the decisions...
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
OMO At The Movies: "300"
Your poor little OMO had to go to the cinema on his own on Friday night. The Boyf refuses to watch anything with gore, and even the hot humpies weren't luring him in to watch "300". So I took advantage of him going out for an end-of-term meal with his colleagues to slink off to the cinema. I took along all the necessary provisions that I thought I'd need; pecan ice-cream, popcorn, jumbo Pepsi Max, lube, Nexus prostate stimulator, poppers and a box of tissues. The foodstuffs came in useful. The rest of my wares, not so much.
Here are my thought processes throughout the film (note how monosyllabic I am when I think):
Ooooh, men.
Ooooh, muscles.
Ooooh, more men.
Ooooh, more muscles.
Hmmmmmmmm, Daxos. Yum
(Then there was some fighting, during which time I managed to throw pecan ice-cream down my shirt and trousers, so I missed much of the action whilst trying to ensure it hadn't left any marks, otherwise when the house lights came on it would have looked like I'd spunked everywhere)
Oh! Daxos gone. Others dead. Bugger.
The End.
Improvements to the film are simple, and two-fold. Chest hair and cum. Some acting might have been nice too, but then if I wanted such trivialities I'd have gone to see "Notes On A Scandal", and Dame Judi Dench doesn't look anywhere near as good with her chest out. One supposes.
The remainder of our weekend was spent painting a wall in our main room a deep dried-blood red. Officially it's called "Arabian Red" by 1892 (a paint company who specialises in authentic "period" colours i.e. Victorian). Apparently "Dried Blood" didn't look so good on the tin.
And that's about it really. No sex or dancing or getting trashed. Yikes, this middle-aged business is weird.
Here are my thought processes throughout the film (note how monosyllabic I am when I think):
Ooooh, men.
Ooooh, muscles.
Ooooh, more men.
Ooooh, more muscles.
Hmmmmmmmm, Daxos. Yum
(Then there was some fighting, during which time I managed to throw pecan ice-cream down my shirt and trousers, so I missed much of the action whilst trying to ensure it hadn't left any marks, otherwise when the house lights came on it would have looked like I'd spunked everywhere)
Oh! Daxos gone. Others dead. Bugger.
The End.
Improvements to the film are simple, and two-fold. Chest hair and cum. Some acting might have been nice too, but then if I wanted such trivialities I'd have gone to see "Notes On A Scandal", and Dame Judi Dench doesn't look anywhere near as good with her chest out. One supposes.
The remainder of our weekend was spent painting a wall in our main room a deep dried-blood red. Officially it's called "Arabian Red" by 1892 (a paint company who specialises in authentic "period" colours i.e. Victorian). Apparently "Dried Blood" didn't look so good on the tin.
And that's about it really. No sex or dancing or getting trashed. Yikes, this middle-aged business is weird.
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