Willy on the Block...

I haven't mentioned Will for a while, but as some of you know he is currently on Big Brother in the US. He's been in the house now for about seven weeks, which I find incomprehensible - not that he is still there, but that for me, being caged up that long, I would literally be going out of ma' fragile lil mind!!!

Now Big Brother in the US is very different from the UK Big Brother that we all know so well and so intimately. It is much more of a "game" and from what I can ascertain from reading endless feed updates and watching the odd clip or two, it is one fundamentally consisting of strategy and alliances - with a double dollop of backstabbing thrown in.

There is no public vote on BB US, so the man in the street has no say as to who stays and who goes. Instead it works like this (I think I have this right)...

Every week there is a competition where the winner of a randomly themed competition wins what is entitled "Head of Household". That person then chooses two people who will be put up on the "block". I hate that expression - makes me think of Tudor days when Mary Queen of Scots was doing the rounds.

Anyway, later in the week there is another competition and the winner of that competition wins what is called the Power of Veto. That person can choose to use the veto, and if they do they will choose one person who will be taken "off" the block. The Head of Household then replaces that person with another housemate.

After that all the non-nominated housemates vote for the person that they would like to stay and the person that they would like to go. The results are announced on a live show on Thursday nights and the evictee gets booted out and has an interview with the US version of Davina McCall - CBS anchorwoman Julie Chen. Not like Davina though in that she doesn't have that coquettish little run up to the housemates and she doesn't have to shield them from about 50 paparazzi!

On BB in the UK it is illegal to discuss nominations with any of the other housemates, upon pain of eviction. In the US, because of game formula it is actively encouraged. The only way to survive is to align yourself with a group of people who you are pretty certain have your back covered. There are all kinds of twists and turns that are too numerous to mention.

Anyway the point of me explaining all of this is that Will was chosen as one of the housemates to be put up for eviction tonight, and as much as I hate to say this, it looks like he might be going. Reason - three of the seven housemates eligible to vote seem to be determined to kick him off (he's part of a rival alliance and a strong player). This will mean that there will be a tie-break and it is thought that the woman who will make the break is going to boot Will off.

If he get's booted out Will will become the first person to enter a sequestered house somewhere exotic where he will sit and wait for about five weeks. And then at the end of September he will, with his fellow evicted housemates, form a jury who will vote for the person, out of the final two housemates, who should win.

But this is all subjecture - because things change and I have a funny feeling that Will will live to see another day in the BB house and subsequently be a little closer to the $500,000 prize (and to think that all our Rock Star housemates get is £68,000!!!)

Go Will! (But don't go yet!!!)

Me as Dad...

Look at the mewling little bugger! All domed head, chubby cheeks and cute. The baby is quite sweet as well.

It's amazing the responses that holding a small child can produce. It can warm the cockles of the coldest heart, it can draw blood from a stone, it can make a grown man cry.

My holding this child ("owned" by my friend Clare - see previous Blog entry) produced a rather difference response - from the baby. About thirty seconds after this picture was taken it puked on my beloved hocky top. Now I don't know how many of you have encountered baby sick in your time, but it's smell and consistency has baffled the most learned scientists and scholars for hundreds of years. It's kind of like that ectoplasm that Bill Murray and co got slimed with in Ghostbusters, except that this stuff is greeny-white and smells like congealed Farleigh's Rusks.

Anyway - yeah, I think I would still like to be a Dad, but when I get emails from the baby's mum saying things like "I left him at the creche so that I could go to the gym for an hour and I very nearly had a panic attack because I missed him so much", it does give me pause.

10 Things I like / dislike

Things I like:
1) the smell of rain

2) waking up, thinking you have to go to work and then realising that it's a Saturday

3) the first cigarette of the day

4) the chocolates you get with the bill at an expensive restaurant

5) the picture of me when I was two, with my Dad pushing me down a slide

6) bumping into an old friend at a huge and busy nightclub

7) opening a new bottle of my favorite fragrance (Sander for Men, by Jil Sander)

8) that my Mum's dogs never forget who I am and are always ecstatic to see me

9) presenting a really slaved over cooked meal

10) Pink Geraniums

Things I dislike:
1) people who dot their "i"s with little circles, or even worse, hearts

2) waking up in the morning, feeling contented and then realising that you have a conference call at 9am and it's 8.45am already

3) regret

4) the smell of laundry that you have forgotten to put out to dry

5) pashminas (so 2001)

6) buying the Evening Standard and discovering that Laura Craik is on vacation

7) being given goody bags at parties and discovering that they only contain products from some random hair care line

8) being made to feel like a child by my boss

9) not having any wine in the house

10) spending good money to see a crap film (Catwoman on Friday night - if you're thinking of going to see it, my advice is...don't)

My boss is a bitch...

And I have a staus report to write. I promise not to neglect my blog writing duties so much next week. Have a great weekend y'all!!!

My most exciting email this morning...

I am not going to even mention the weather as it is just too depressing but I'm sure you will all join me in lamenting the dilemma facing us every morning with these unpredictable tempests, namely what shoes to wear.

Your feet get too hot in proper shoes or trainers and yet with flip-flops your feet get wet when it inevitably pours down! I thought cowboy boots might be the answer until my friend Jane wore her's yesterday and they began to fill with rain!! Disaster!

Anyway apart from footwear woes, I am all fine here and just starting work on this glorious morning. I thought I would share with you the most exciting email I received in the last fourteen hours regarding the October/November issue of "Hair and Beauty Inspirations". This is what I will be pulling information on for the duration of this morning. What joy! Does this woman not understand that I am a man? Yes, yes, yes...a gay man, but still - the only double ended product I know about it is a...

"Hi Chris!!!

We need everything here by next Wednesday, the 18th August. Hopefully there's something on the list you can help with. Thank you!

1. Sexiest hair EVER
Quotes from the experts on what sums up sexy hair for them plus product recommendations and tips for getting sexy hair.

2. Well red
Products for red hair. Quotes from the experts on how to wear it well, what shade to go for etc.

3. Hair Accessories
The best new hair accessories.

4. Green hair products
Shampoos, conditioners and stylers.

5. Berry Nice
The best make-up in berry shades.

6. Chocoholic
All things chocolatey - hair, body, make-up with a chocolate theme.

7. Matte skin
The lightest powders, make-up bases and products designed to create a modern matte finish.

8. Sexy scents
The newest scents to seduce

9. Double-ended products
Mascaras, pencils, concealers etc.

10. Tried and tested beauty
Facial scrubs.

11. Tried and tested hair
Volumising shampoos."

When you are drunk...

Things that are difficult to say when you're drunk . . .

a) Innovative
b) Preliminary
c) Proliferation
d) Cinnamon

Things that are VERY difficult to say when you're drunk ...

a) Specificity
b) British Constitution
c) Passive-aggressive disorder
d) Transubstantiate

And of course things that are DOWNRIGHT IMPOSSIBLE to say when you're drunk ...

a) Thanks, but I don't want to sleep with you
b) Nope, no more booze for me
c) Sorry, but you're not really my type
d) No kebab for me, thank you
e) Good evening officer, isn't it lovely out tonight?
f) I'm not interested in fighting you
g) Oh, I just couldn't - no one wants to hear me sing
h) Thank you, but I won't make any attempt to dance, I have zero co-ordination
i) Where is the nearest toilet? I refuse to vomit in the street

And as an added extra...

"I must be going home now as I have work in the morning."

Tip of the day!

If your child is choking on an ice cube, don't fret! Just pour a pint of boiling water down the youngster's throat and, hey presto! The blockage is clear.

I'm not a shrinking violet...

I'm not afraid to wear my heart on my sleeve or be honest with the way I am feeling. I think most of my friends know that I have been in and out of therapy and on meds for depression for most of my adult life. And if you are reading this and you didn't know that, the chances are that you're not entirely surprised. One thing I am not is consistent, and I think everyone knows that. Consistency is a character trait that would serve me well, but alas, at 32 it is one that I have yet to master.

I began therapy when I was about 14. I developed an obsessive compulsive disorder where I had an irrational fear of germs, particularly that I would scratch myself and somehow contract HIV and die of AIDS. Ridiculous, I know, but bear in mind that I was a child of the Thatcher years and the government's scary campaign featuring tombstones slamming and smashing violently on the ground succeeded in entering my consciousness, frightening the living crap out of me.

Cut to almost eighteen years later, get to know me and and you'll note that I did get over those fears. I now have a healthy respect for HIV and AIDS and other similar boogie monsters. I have reached a point in my life where they don't loom over me. I do my best, I follow the wiser advice and I take my life into my own hands. But the question now is, did I get to that point as a result of the therapy or simply because I came to realise that you can't live in fear all your life (If you did, quite simply, you'd never have any fun.)

I may not be afraid of germs any more. I'd like to say that I am not afraid of anything. But the reality is that I am. I'm not afraid of getting run over by a bus but I do join the ranks of the kind of people who are afraid of the kinds of things such as always being alone and never finding the "one". Waking up and dreading the day ahead because there is one thought that you know will stalk you all day long, no matter what you do, no matter what you try to think. What if my job is completely pointless and therefore I, by default, am pointless? What if my friends don't really like me? Was the last time I was loved be the last time I will ever be loved?

Of course I know that the true answer to these questions is "No, no, no!" I know that deep, deep down inside. But that knowledge doesn't answer the contradiction - why don't I entirely believe it?

Over the years I have seen behavioral therapists, cognitive specialists, regular shrinks and general counselors. Despite this I have to say that I genuinely don't think that I am any more fucked up than the next person. The only reason I saw them was the determination to not be governed by a way of thinking that I could never change. Yes, I may have done some incredibly stupid things and as a result I have hurt a lot of people. I concede to that and I am learning to take responsibility for those actions. But I would argue that I know myself better than anyone. In all my years of being in therapy I have never had an epithany. I have never learned some dark or mystical secret about myself that I didn't already know. The task I set out to achieve has never been to make windows into my own heart. I know my heart. It doesn't need an explanation.

Recently my psychiatrist took me off my anti-depressants. She didn't lower the dosage, gradually weaning me off them...she just cut them out all together. This goes against every strong word of advice that I have ever been told by a doctor...never just stop your anti-depressants. So I never did. But this time I thought, "why the hell not?" So I followed the doctor's orders and I stopped. That was nearly three weeks ago. And astonishingly I don't feel any different, making me think that maybe I didn't ever need them in the first place. Perhaps they were a crutch? There is an argument to suggest that perhaps I have never actually been depressed. If anything I think that I actually suffer from prolonged grief. I don't like change and when things inevitably do, change that is, it can really, really get me down. I think if I had to put my finger on the button it would be just that - that I really, really HATE change and I am scared of the unknown.

So in addition to coming off the anti-depressants I have decided to stop something else. I have decided to stop my therapy once and for all. Like I said...it has never been revolutionary in helping me change my behaviour patterns and after eighteen years of being in it I can say, fairly confidently, that it is unlikely to start any time soon.

But I don't think that I can make these behavioral changes alone and I do think that I need outside help from someone. So after years of considering and shying away from it because of a combination of cost and scepticism, I have decided to undertake a course of hynotherapy. I have contacted the body that regulates hypnotherapists in the UK and have been recommended someone in London who they feel can help me "address and adjust." And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I am actually excited. This could really be something that could help me become the person that I want to be. Not make me be the person that I want to be, but help me. I am doing this for myself and for no one else and it feels great. In a way it's kind of working already.

Watch this space...

A recent blog entry...

but said in the words of a pimp...(can't think of anything to write today)

"Ah have, stupidly perhaps, agreed to do dis TV thin' wid ma best homie Helen. It be called "Deck Diners" 'n gets shown on UK Living. It be a bit like Street Date, but involves cookin' 'n a boat! We're filmin' dat shit da Monday afta next in Brighton 'n Ah be mad anxious about it! Basically Ah cook a meal wid a top chef (Ah has been told tha dude's name but dat shit escapes me right now) on da yacht, while Helen goes into town 'n cruises to find me a date to eat da meal Ah be preparin' with. Then tha byatch comes back, we swop, tha byatch makes desert wid da chef, while Ah find ha a date, know what I'm sayin'?

Now I'm not so worried about Helen choosin' me a date because tha byatch knows dat Ah just go fo looks as opposed to anythin' barely resemblin' a personality (not entirely true). Ah be worried because Ah mad don't think Ah has any idea what type of muthafucka dat Helen goes for, which be appallin' really. As Ah has said, tha byatch IS ma best homie 'n Ah has known ha fo gettin' on fo 15 years - 'n Ah has naw idea mad of da type of muthafucka dat tha byatch goes for.

Ah think Ah would has had a betta idea when we wuz both students. Tha byatch would has gone fo someone like Stu on Big Brother. Mmmm...Stu from Big Brother.. n' shit. Anyway.. n' shit. Ah be mad nervous dat tha byatch gots to choose someone mad handsome 'n lovely 'n dat Ah gots to pick ha a city wanka who'll tha byatch end up havin' dinna wid 'n mad hate. And then she'll hate me! Oh dear n' shit.

I'm also mad worried dat da microphones they put on us gots to pick up ma heavy breathin' Darth Vadar like throat issue, know what I'm sayin'?

Sorry, what did yo' ass say? Yo' ass want to know what Ah be doin' dis weekend? Well, let me tell you...Ah be goin' to Swansea to stay wid Vix's brotha 'n sit in tha dude's hot tub all weekend swiggin' beer! Yum!"

I don't particularly want to be someone else...

But every now and then I wonder what it must be like to be a woman. I don't particularly want all the messy bits. I don't particularly care for surfing the crimson tide once a month. But it would be nice to be a woman for maybe a few months.

It was my weekend away that prompted me to think this. I went to the Mumbles in Swansea to stay with my housemates brother. It was fun - I got to drive Vix's Golf down the whole way to Wales and got into Matt's hot tub on various occasions. We made sushi and ate it (as opposed to making sushi and not eating it) and drank mucho wine, sambuca and tequila.

Anyway, getting back to my point, I was very intrigued to watch my work colleague, Tasha, working her booty at the various dancy drink establishments we visited on Saturday night. Who says that guys don't like girls to be too forward. She was giving it some for sure and the kind of guys she was picking up - well. Let's just say that one was a life guard and also one tall drink of water!

Girls are so much more fierce than guys when they aggressively go out on the pull. They just ooze sex appeal and attitude. Guys just look like pissed wankers - all open necked shirts and silver buckled black shoes. trev's basically.

Anyway, if I could choose to be any woman it would probably be Uma Thurman in the Kill Bill movies, or Sigourney Weaver in the Aliens films. Not Halle Berry in Catwoman, as that looks like a pile of cat shit. I don't really want to brandish swords or kill evil space monsters (well, maybe I do), but I do want that kind of attitude that comes only from a fierce woman kicking serious butt. Somehow that attitude is something that I am unlikely to have.

My NYC buddy, Bill, saw Uma Thurman in the street the other day and told her that she looked a million dollars, to which she responded, "So do you honey!" COOL! I wish it had been me!

I'm in a bit of a panic...

I have, stupidly perhaps, agreed to do this TV thing with my best friend Helen.  It's called "Deck Diners" and gets shown on UK Living.  It's a bit like Street Date, but involves cooking and a boat!  We're filming it the Monday after next in Brighton and I am really anxious about it!

Basically I cook a meal with a top chef (I have been told his name but it escapes me right now) on the yacht, while Helen goes into town and cruises to find me a date to eat the meal I am preparing with.  Then she comes back, we swop, she makes desert with the chef, while I find her a date.

Now I'm not so worried about Helen choosing me a date because she knows that I just go for looks as opposed to anything barely resembling a personality (not entirely true).  I am worried because I really don't think I have any idea what type of guy that Helen goes for, which is appalling really.  As I have said, she IS my best friend and I have known her for getting on for 15 years - and I have no idea really of the type of guy that she goes for.  I think I would have had a better idea when we were both students.  She would have gone for someone like Stu on Big Brother. 

Mmmm...Stu from Big Brother...

Anyway...

I am really nervous that she will choose someone really handsome and lovely and that I will pick her a city wanker who'll she end up having dinner with and really hate.  And then she'll hate me!  Oh dear.

I'm also really worried that the microphones they put on us will pick up my heavy breathing Darth Vadar like throat issue.

Sorry, what did you say?  You want to know what I am doing this weekend?  Well, let me tell you...I am going to Swansea to stay with Vix's brother and sit in his hot tub all weekend swigging beer!  Yum!

I want to be a Daddy

So last night I went with my work colleague Alison to Clare's house for dinner - another person I used to work with before she went on maternity leave to have her baby.

The baby, Charlie, was beautiful. I held him a couple of times while his Mum, Clare, made us supper. It made me come over all paternal, especially as he was so sleepy and kept resting his head on my chest! Cuteness personified! Until he puked up.

It's the thing that I've wanted more than anything in my life - to be a Dad. I even have names picked - Ethan for a boy, Elizabeth for a girl. Although for very obvious reasons it is unlikely that this dream will ever come true. I don't really know any lesbians or single female friends who would be willing to put up with me as father of their children. But I think that I would make a good dad. I think I have a good grasp of the things that are important in life. I think though that I would want to be in a relationship though, before taking on such an important role.

Anyway - it's all a bit of daydreaming really. It's nice to pick up someone else's baby, but having one to look after around the clock has got to be something different altogether.

Because I grew up there I tend to be a bit flippant about my home town of Bath.   But taking other people there always reinvigorated my passion for the small city.

This weekend I took Drew back for a relaxed weekend.  And a relaxed weekend we had indeed.  It was nice to see Mum and grandparents and my friend Jon, all of whom went to the trouble to cook and make us very welcome.

Friday I made the mistake of forgetting the all important proof of address, so that I couldn't hire the rental car until I had spent £50 on a round trip back to Clapham South to get it.  Very annoying, but not unlike me in so many ways.  I read the rental agreement I thought, but apparently not well enough.

Anyway - eventually got to Bath at around 10.30pm!  Mum had made us supper which was well received despite our sneaking in a crafty snack at Fleet service stations.  After supper we went to bed, but I managed to keep Drew awake with my snoring for most of the night!

Saturday the two of us went into Bath for drinks and shopping.  I was on the look out for a very fetching pair of pink Converse trainers, but unfortunately Bath is too conservative to have such footwear.  So I had to make do with spending my money on barbecue implements for my mother.

Saturday night we had a barbecue at Mum's house, with my godparents and Mum's latest fling - some short guy who looks like Sean Connery.  Turns out that the guy had bought Mum "gifts" and presented them to her before she gave him the "I don't think that this is going to work" speech.  Poor guy!  Turns out he was just a little too short!

Then Sunday was spent sleeping in till late before going to Grandma's and Grandpa's for tea and cake, before driving to Marlborough to have late lunch / early supper with my friends Jon and James.  Had a fun afternoon throwing balls for their dog Moschi.  I still have the scratch marks up my arms.

The drive back to London was not very eventful, except for the traffic.  Was in a jam practically from Reading right the way into London.  Drew kept me insane by reciting well known show tunes, as the iPod died around the Hungerford area.

Anyway - missed the drop off appointment for the car, so while I had a relaxed time over the weekend, I had to get up early to get the car back and get to work on time.

Beautiful Bath

 
Me and me buddy Drew are driving down to my home town of Bath this evening for a nice relaxed kick back.  Mum is making a lovely cheesy pasta dish and I'm sure the dogs will try to eat it from our laps.

Home sweet home!

Surgery

So I went to the hospital yesterday afternoon.  Got there one hour before my appointment thinking that I would beat them at their own game, but still I was waiting for over an hour and a half before I actually got seen by this very nice, but very nervous Swedish doctor called Ilka.  When I convulsed into coughing fits when she squirted Thorocaine, or something like that, up my nose she nearly recoiled across the room.

So anyway - anyone who knows me is aware that I am about at the end of my tether with regards to my throat.  I mean I can't do anything that requires any exersion lest I collapse with breathlessness.  I will do almost anything to get past this hurdle, with the exception of quitting smoking.

I basically have three options:

1) leave everything and let it get better by itself (which will take time)

2) have some kind of laser surgery where they laser away part of my vocal chord, leaving me with a permanently husky voice (not so bad)

3) have a tracheotomy

The third option is really upsetting to me...I mean there is no way on EARTH, that I am having a frikkin hole drilled into my windpipe!  Now I know the hole wouldn't be there forever, but the frikkin scar would be and I would have people always asking me why I have a huge scar on my throat.  And I am getting really irritated with the doctors when they keep highlighting this as an option, especially when my answer is always a distinct and rabid "NO! NO WAY! NOT EVER!"  Argh!  It puts the fear of god in me.

Anyway - the outcome was that my vocal chords have got better enough for the doctors to sway in favor of the "lets just wait and see."  This means that I have to go back for another consult in November when they can see what a difference four months can make.  Hmm.  I guess cutting out smoking would help after all.

After the hospital I came back to work to discover that there had been a power cut and that we could go home early.  So went home, hired a DVD (Cold Creek Manor with Sharon Stone), watched it and fell asleep on the sofa.  Missed Chicken Stu and Michelle shagging on Big Brother.  Damn.

My throat

So this afternoon I am going back to the specialist at Guy's to have my throat re-examined.  As most of you know, I have been sounding somewhat like Darth Vadar for the past four months and I am just about sick of it.  I tried running at the gym a few weeks ago and nearly keeled over with breathlessness!!!
 
It's actually really unpleasant.  They stick this camera thing (endoscope?) up my nose and then down so that they can see my vocal chords.  It doesn't hurt exactly...it's just a really uncomfortable experience.
 
Hopefully they will be able to do something about it without the need to operate, but somehow I doubt it.  I KNOW that part of the reason it's not getting better is because I have not given up smoking (which they told me to do), but they just don't get how hard it is!  You see I have tried everything apart from hypnotherapy.  Nothing works!  Besides, I am not in a place where I feel like I can give up smoking at the moment.
 
Please god!  I just want to be able to change my voicemail message each morning without having to gasp for breath!!!

I am very dissapointed to learn that...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Bottom Feeding TV

I just read that Fox is developing a reality series in which a young woman will try to figure out which of 16 men is actually her father.  
 
Reminds me of Phoebe Cates' fabulous line from TV movie Lace - "Which one of you bitches is my mother?"

The weekend...

...was good and bad in equal measures.  Friday night I threw caution to the wind and withdrew £100 and managed to blow it in various stages throughout the night.
 
Part une was spent at Revolution on Clapham High Street with some work buddies, before moving on to Part Deux, at home, with Lindsay and Vix - and pizza, wine and Big Bro eviction.  God riddance Ahmed.  I hate the fact that I am addicted to that programme, but hell I am, so I just have to get over it.
 
Part trois was spent at Fiction.  Took me an hour to get there on the Northern Line and then another twenty minutes to get in.  Found Drew et al immediately which was good.  Proceeded to, er, get off my face and dance the night away.  Left at 5am with a bunch of people I had not met before and got driven to a chill out in Crouch End (pronounced "Crew-shond" if you want to pretend that it is posh).
 
Slept in some strange boys bed until 4.30pm and then left to get back home.  Had to take a bus to get to the nearest tube station which I hate, hate, hate doing.  I mean, I would never live somewhere where I would have to get a bus to the tube.  It's bad enough having to walk ten minutes to the tube, without having the hassle of rushing for the next available seat whenever anyone stands up.  The Mirror provided interesting reading (not).
 
Anyway - a nice evening ensued.  Managed to get Vix to agree to watch Kill Bill Vol.1.  Had to really twist her arm though, but she agreed in the end and actually really liked it!  Which I knew she would.  And then drew came round afterwards and we watched it all over again.  I think I've seen that movie about ten times now or something ridiculous.  And I think I am seeing the follow up tonight, again, for like the fifth time!  Anyway - ended up in bed at 3am!
 
Sunday was spent lying on the sofa feeling a bit sorry for myself.  The arse end of the weekend.  Watched another movie - In The Cut, with Meg Ryan.  Imagine my surprise when I discovered that there is a scene where this woman gives a guy a blow job and they actually show it in full detail!  A Meg Ryan movie!  Shocker!
 
Another installment of Big Brother - my favourite of the week, because it features the psychologists analysis of the housemates behaviour - before bedtime.
 
Didn't sleep well last night - too hot and kept thinking about the kind of stuff that can only be described as that of the remnants of a heavy night out.  And then had weird dreams where I was picking paint off my bedroom wall. Probably something to do with the Irish Brie I ate during the afternoon.

When love comes as a complete surprise...

One summer night in 1995, I went, with my friend Tim, to see a great little film called Before Sunrise, which starred the French actress Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke.
 
It is the story of an American boy and a French girl and the fourteen hours they spend together in Vienna "Before Sunrise", when they must part company and go back to their own separate lives.  It's a really gentle film which is entirely based in dialogue and characterisation.  They discuss themselves, life and philosophical ideas in such an organic way that you can just imagine that this is something real that could actually happen to you - not some schmaltzy Hollywood crap.
 
So anyway - at the end of the movie they say goodbye but rather than staying in touch and ruining the magic that they have created, they make a pact to meet in six months to the day on the same train platform at the same time.  And that is where the story ends.
 
So for the last nine years I have been wondering what happened to them.  Did they meet again?  Did only one of them turn up?  I'm soon to find out because the sequel (Before Sunset) is out next Friday!!!  Yippee!
 
I read an article with Julie Delpy, where she said that herself, Hawke and the director of the sequel and the original, Richard Linklater, were compelled to write the follow up because they felt that a piece of them was missing without that ultimate resolution - did they meet again?  There was also a quote from Ethan Hawke which really resonated with me...
 
"Our life doesn't work in such a clean narrative as most movies do. This makes us think that our lives are boring because our lives and even our relationships don't have a beginning, a middle and an end. It's never as clear as all that. It's so much more amorphous. What we're aspiring to do is capture what it's really like to be alive, to take naturalism to a new, heightened degree."
 
I guess the reason that this quote got to me, was because it grapples with the idea that we are something so much more than the sum of our parts.  What a great idea that we have no beginning, middle and end!  That means that life is full of endless possibilities and that anything might happen.  It sounds like a cliche, but cliches are cliches because out of all the things that have been said they are the things that have held true.
 
I've just been talking to my friend Bill about how, after my relationship with Will, that I want to take myself off the shelf for a while.  But isn't it in the moments when you're not looking, that life gently taps you on the shoulder and reminds you what it's all about, again? You might think that at 31 years of age this is something that should be plainly obvious to me, but it's easy to lose sight of the real things. 
 
I am going to go out tonight, and I am going to go out without agenda.  I am neither available nor unavailable.  If I go home alone I am not a failure.  If I meet someone cute, I don't have to sleep with them.  I can just give them my number.  
 
Because at the end of the day I could just have some fun with my friends and that could be enough.  That's about as real as it gets!