Wednesday, October 13, 2004

Life from both sides...

Driving back through Hampton Court. The sun is setting and the sky looks pinky mauve. I feel content and although the gearbox is a bit clunky (I keep almost putting the car into reverse) the world seems good and full of infinite possibilities. And then this song comes on the radio. It’s Joni Mitchell, and she sings…

Rows and floes of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I’ve looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way
I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s cloud illusions I recall
I really don’t know clouds at all

Moons and dunes and ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I’ve looked at love that way

But now it’s just another show
You leave ’em laughing when you go
And if you care, don’t let them know
Don’t give yourself away

I’ve looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It’s love’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say I love you right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I’ve looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed
Well something’s lost, but something’s gained
In living every day

I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all
I’ve looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It’s life’s illusions I recall
I really don’t know life at all

Yeah, it sounds depressing. But somehow it wasn’t. It was a moment and I felt…well, I felt like a grown man.

Monday, October 11, 2004

Air Force One

This might be a really boring read for the rest of you, but to me, well, this kind of stuff brings out the straight boy geek in me…

I have just been reading an article in the newspaper about Air Force One. Did you know that it is one of the most technologically advanced and secure vessels in the air today?

The plane, also known as “Angel”, undergoes rigorous maintenance everyday whether the plane is flying or not. Every 154 days, the plane is completely taken apart and put back together again.

24 hours before wheels-up, the plane’s fuel is sealed in a tank truck guarded by sharpshooters. One hour before wheels-up, Air Force specialists analyze fuel for purity and the right levels of octane and water.

The wiring on the plane is shielded to protect it from a thermonuclear blast.

If you want to sabotage Air Force One you have to get past 48 armed members of the Airlift Security Unit or join the maintenance crew, which takes 12 years after a two year background check.

The plane takes off at an above normal velocity and altitude vector for a Boeing 747. This is to minimize the risk of the plane being hit by any ground to air weapons systems.

I once saw Air Force One on the tarmac at Kennedy in NYC. I got goosebumps!

Do Fern's Count Sheep?

Have you ever woken up in the middle of the night but in actuality you’re not really awake, but still in a dream like state? Where the dream feels so real that you’re stood in front of the bathroom washbasin thinking “I have to get back to my customers” or something like that? I have. I had it happen last night. I have no idea what time of the night it was and for right now what I was dreaming about is pretty inconsequential. But last night was like the third time it’s happened in the last week or so.

I’ve often wondered what sort of dreams people have who are born blind. Do they dream in touch, sound and temperature? Has anyone ever documented this?

On the whole I think that humans are the only animal to know the difference between sleeping and dreaming. It doesn’t matter if you are a lion cub, a jellyfish or a fern – I think that wakefulness and dreaming are the same thing to them all. I think that until recently, maybe a few thousand years ago, that was the case for humans too. But then there must have been someone out there who broke the cycle, who told people the difference between the two worlds. And so, for a few centuries, people became used to thinking of real life and dreaming as two different places.

And I thought about this more – maybe it was something to do with yesterday’s billboard. There must have also been someone who told us all about the past, present and future, that a day wasn’t just a day (isn’t this what Trekkies call “Temporal Mechanics”?)

And finally there had to be someone out there who came along and told people that on top of everything else, not only was there life and death, but there was also life after death? Perhaps I am being dumb here. I think that particular someone's name was Jesus.

I think I have too much time on my hands to think about things like this. It is amazing how much more you ponder on things when you don’t have imminent communications reviews to pen.

Sunday, October 10, 2004

Three Words

I came out of the Tate Britain and the sun was shining really gently and the air was bracing, but not too cold. It was Autumn in the most beautiful way and going home on the tube would have been rude. So I started to walk.

Somewhere near Kennington I saw this huge billboard and all it said on it was “Watch this space.” Nothing else. And I thought that was so simple, brilliant and inspiring all at once and the fact that it was probably just a prelude to another advertisement for some new online banking service seemed kind of irrelevant. Maybe the overall theme of the afternoon had put me in a certain frame of mind, but I thought it was luminous and it stirred me enough to write the words down in my notebook.

I’m not one of those people who think, like in F.Scott Fitzgerald, that their best years were 20 years prior. No - I think the best day has got to be the next day. I’m not saying that today is irrelevant. But I think for me life is all about what’s next.

It’s like the billboard - before the actual ad went up they put in, in big block letters:

“Watch this space.”

Saturday, October 09, 2004

Two Go Mad in Ikea

Vix and I are currently both ‘sans’ work, so we are making the best of our free days in the manner of lunches, treatments and spa sessions at my gym. Only yesterday’s particular spa treatment was cut short by the spa being closed due to essential maintenance. Apparently the filter in the pool needed changing. No doubt the fault of the really unattractive guy I saw there the other day with hair running all down his back. The kind of length with which you could plait.

So instead of curing our collective hangovers with a refreshing swim, steam and sauna, we decided that we would cleanse ourselves in an entirely different way – with Swedish designed disposable furniture.

I shop at Ikea out of necessity. That being I simply can’t afford to buy my shelving units from Heal’s. I probably visit Ikea about once a year and every visit is preceded with the kind of excitement you feel when you’re very young and your parents take you on a special pre-Christmas trip to Hamleys. It’s the promise of a trolley full of the kinds of things that you didn’t realize that you needed – sets of three matching sandblasted vases, miniature cactuses and the odd Ficus tree.

Yet whenever I actually arrive at Ikea and walk through the doors (it really bothers me, by the way, that every single Ikea I have ever been to, from London to New Jersey, has looked exactly the same) the excitement is washed from me and I am left with the feeling that I left anything resembling personal quirkiness in the carpark. There is nothing in Ikea to dislike. And you have this eerie feeling that you have in fact seen everything before. Which you probably have, in the homes of numerous friends and colleagues.

Anyway – I set myself a budget of thirty pounds and for that I managed to purchase a basic wooden four shelf unit (the kind found in every university student’s bedroom), a wooden box for a white orchid plant and a three photo picture frame. Pretty good going, nest pas?

Did you know that the actual price you pay for the absurdly cheap (68p) Ikea hotdog is that the hotdog itself is, well, gross? Until yesterday I hadn’t actually had one before, but Vix assured me that I really did want one, so I relented and she gleefully bounded off to the hotdog counter while I fumed in the obscenely long queue for the checkout.

So the colour of the hotdog is not the standardized red of the common hotdog, but rather more like a kind of beige. Which led me to think that maybe the hotdog was in fact chicken. Then there is the skin of the hotdog which is extremely thick - only god truly know's what it is made from. So thick was the skin that I was unable to bite through it. Ok, this has something to do with the fact that I currently can’t bite down fully on my front teeth. The effect of this dental misalignment was that whenever I took a bite I actually just squeezed the hotdog meat through end of the skin. I’ll leave you to imagine the overall effect. Vix thought that it was highly amusing. Which of course it wasn't.

I am going to the Tate this afternoon to reestablish my appreciation of aesthetics and design. I might decide to adorn my new Ikea shelving unit with a snazzy new Anish Kapoor bedside lamp.

Conversations With a Supermodel and an Actor

A friend told me a story today about a London mini-cab driver who picked up Kate Moss and Daniel Craig last weekend from the Holiday Inn in Camden. He recounted a sample of their conversation:

Daniel, "You're gorgeous"

Kate, "I know that."

Friday, October 08, 2004

Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime

Change your heart, look around you
Change your heart, it will astound you
I need your loving like the sunshine
And everybody's gotta learn sometime
Everybody's gotta learn sometime
Everybody's gotta learn sometime

Change your heart, look around you
Change your heart, it will astound you
I need your loving like the sunshine
And everybody's gotta learn sometime
Everybody's gotta learn sometime
Everybody's gotta learn sometime

Wednesday, October 06, 2004

Not Enough Drew in My World

I have just got back from one of those excursions that are always so bitter sweet. Kate and I just dropped Drew off at Heathrow. Sweet because it's always nice to see someone off on a new adventure and chapter in their lives. Bitter because you're saying goodbye.

One of the last cute things I did was when I was about nine. I remember visiting someone in London with my parents and saying goodbye to them at the station as we boarded the train to come back home. I looked at my mum and, trying not to cry, said "Goodbyes make my throat hurt."

Drew has become something really special to me since I came back from New York. He has listened endlessly to my woes and never, not once, complained or belittled me. And he has made me soup with no bits in. And he made me feel good about having a mouth full of elastic and metal - last night he even said that it could be considered almost attractive (I think he may have been trying to humor me.)

So goodbye Drew. I miss you already. I double promise to make sure that I have the car to pick you up from the airport in March!

But something sweet always comes from something sad, and I think that today I made a new friend. I have met Kate on a number of occasions and we have always greeted each other with much enthusiasm. But usually the situation we were in was not conducive to conversation (or rather the state we were in was not conducive to conversation!)

Kate is one of these people who immediately intrigues you and makes you think "I want her to be my friend." So although I wasn't looking forward to today, in that Drew was leaving, I was looking forward to spending some time with Kate, to really start to get to know her. And that I did. No awkward silences on the long journey back into London from Heathrow on the Piccadilly Line - we were chatting nine to the dozen the whole way. And although I didn't tell her this, I actually stayed on the train two stations past my stop because I wanted to carry on talking with her.

We have arranged to meet on Tuesday for lunch. No doubt we will be lamenting the lack of Drew in our worlds.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

Rapid Eye Movement

Last night I had the strangest dream.

No, this isn't a song lyric. It was an actual dream where me and a bunch of my friends piled into an auditorium, like in a school, ostensibily. We were waiting for REM to play this small, private show. This was basically REM circa somewhere between 94 and 97, so everyone was still in the group, but it was after Bill Berry had an aneurysm and also before he left the band and before Peter Buck got arrested for beating up some stewardesses or whatever.

Anyway, so in my dream, Peter Buck, Bill Berry and Mike Mills filed out first and then a few seconds later, Michael Stipe. And of course he garnered the most hoopla. Anyway, so I'm in something like the third row, and I'm really excited but really cold. So Michael walks up to me and leans over the railing and covers me in this gigantic, comfy fleece blanket, smiles, and then starts the show!

WTF? I won't even get into the number of Freudian daddy issues this brings up as well as the latent Christ imagery.

Friday, October 01, 2004

Bloody Engineers

The telephone in the apartment has been almosst impossible to use because there has been so much background interference. So I was really proactive the other day and finally got around to calling BT to ask them to send an engineer out. I was informed that they would turn up today between 8am and 1pm. "Ah" I thought. The chance for a lie in. I mean what are the chances of the man turning up at 8am?

Every chance apparently. The engineer seems to think that the neigbours downstairs have been mucking about with the connection box. The same neighbours who play electric guitar at 4am.

Wanna know what I am doing today? Buying a tax disc for the car, lunch with Rachel and then catch a train to Birmingham to spend the weekend with Clare and Lucy. It's Matt's birthday tonight so we are going to get drunkety, drunk, drunk.

Happy weekend everyone!

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

Au Revoir, But Not Goodbye


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One of the people who showed me the most unrelenting kindness while I lived in New York is Zach.

In just over a year, even though for most of the time we have been separated by vast expanses of ocean or land, he has become and remained a consistently true and faithful friend. It has been my pleasure, over the past seven days, to have him stay in my home and to be able to show him around some of London's more earthy landmarks. I already miss having him constantly forget that I can't eat anything solid at the moment!

"It is so gratifying of you to say in your letter that you like me. Things of that kind, which can be very important, people usually omit to mention. Personally, I have no use for unspoken affections, and so I will most readily reply that I like you a great deal also..."
Sylvia Townsend Warner, letter to Paul Nordoff, 24 July 1939

Saturday, September 18, 2004

Roar!

No real blog entry today because I am just too angry (my jaw).

It's not often that I feel anger like this. I am just managing to keep it restrained, but am nonetheless, teetering on a knife edge where I could at any moment JUST FUCKING LOSE IT!!! I swear to god I am going out tonight to get rat arsed and if anyone so much as insinuates that I should be sensible and take it easy I will, with no compunction, quite simply, with the bluntest of chainsaws, provide them with a new one.

It is not advisable for the world to test the extent of my wrath today (flexes wrath). As Glenn Close famously said in Dangerous Liaisons, "Remember. I'm better at this than you are."

(Oooh! Now I feel all empowered in a Darth Vadar kind of way - anger really is the path to the dark side! And the dark side feels goooood!!)

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Bring me...


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...the head of Ben Jelen. Preferably attached to his body. Alive would be good as well.

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Nooooooooooo!


Posted by Hello
I quote...

"Fisting is an incredible experience, not only physically, but mentally and emotionally. This book thoroughly details all the ins-and-outs of giving and receiving vaginal orgasms with the fisted hand. There are surprisingly few texts on this subject (no shit!). This one is very easy to understand. It has a caring, down-to-earth, comfortable style. Headings include: Troubleshooting, Self-Fisting, and Anatomy. This book will answer all of your questions and help you develop some simple yet mind-blowing possibilities. (If you're giving this book as a gift, be sure to check out our Lubricants Section!)."

Self fisting???!!! Ew GROSS!!! In today's world is nothing sacred? I am seriously thinking about hiking over to China and becoming a Shaolin monk. Apparently they draw the line at water sports.

Monday, September 13, 2004

If fortune favours the brave...


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...then I am about to become seriously wealthy and successful. I mean if I have been one thing over anything else this year, I have been brave!

So last Saturday night Drew and I go out to my friend Louise's birthday. I dress in my beloved black Gucci dress shirt, ripped bootcut jeans and brand spanking new shoes from Rockit. I style my hair differently - freshly washed, shiny and falling seductively infront of my eyes. And I decide to wear the Comme des Garcons fragrance that everyone loves, but I think smells a bit like perfume. To put not too fine a point on it I look (and smell) fierce. I celebrate by dancing to Fleetwood Mac on the balcony, imagining that I am Stevie Nicks in a man's body.

Drew comes over, we drink wine for a while and then we leave for Louise's birthday. Birthday is great. We drink champagne. Then we leave and go to pick up Sam from his fabulous new flat on Charing Cross Road. Errol, who I haven't seen since before I left for New York is there. He has just broken up with his girlfriend so is coming out with the 'boys' for the evening. Errol is of dubious sexuality and, while on the short side, is very, very cute and it passes my mind that maybe I should flirt a little with him. But by this point I am feeling quite drunk so I steal cigarettes from him instead.

From Sam's we go on to Shadow Lounge, and once again we drink champagne. Because Sam works there we get to stay in the VVIP section and at one point Ivan Massow sits next to us (I still think is he is eligible even if he is rumored to sleep with rent boys) along with Geri Halliwell. They are there for, oh, about two minutes, before they get up and leave again. I guess we are all being a bit lairy for their taste.

And so the evening progresses. I get more drunk. Some of us play kissy-poo (except Errol) and drink, and dance, until 4am when we get unceremoniously pushed back out onto Brewer Street to be harassed by refugees uttering "mini-cab" and "£25" over and over.

We get into the flat at about 4.30am and because of all the champagne I decide that I should take a sleeping tablet in order to sleep properly. Good idea. Take sleeping tablet. Sleep very, very well.

Until about 8am, when my bladder wakes me up. Feeling hung over and groggy, I slouch off to the bathroom and mid-pee I decide that I am feeling rather dizzy and just about manage to kneel on the floor without keeling over. Still bash into the bath though. When I am feeling slightly better I pick myself up and begin to stagger out of the bathroom, into the hall and back towards my bedroom.

And that's about as much as I can remember. The next thing I know I am lying with my head on the mat, the guys at my side, blood coming from a huge gash on my chin (you can actually see the bone) and from my right ear. Bits of teeth are on the floorboards. I am feeling very disorientated and they want to call an ambulance but I'm insistent that I'm ok and try to get up.

Oooh...blood. So much blood! It is starting to dawn on me that I am really not ok and that actually perhaps an ambulance might not be such a bad idea.

So off I get driven to King's Hospital where I am ravagely attacked by stupid nurses who seem to think that my effing and blinding is directed at them. They're trying to make me recline so that I am horizontal and it frikkin hurts. "Ow! It fucking hurts" I exclaim. "Don't you swear at me or you can just go home!" spits the nurse back. For a second I manage to compose myself and I turn to her and say "Don't be so ridiculous. I am not swearing at you." and then I turn to the guys and in all seriousness go "Let's go home..." to which Vix responds by squeezing my hand and smiling says "I don't think that's a very good idea, sweetie."

Several hours later, after many X-rays, cat-scans and having my chin sutured, the doctors come to tell me that I need to have surgery. Apparently when I went down I completely shattered my jaw and I need to have wiring to hold my teeth together and a steel plate put into the front on my mouth. Great. Not. Although I am peversely looking forward to the anesthetic. I love the way that it feels like someone is pulling you into sleep.

Anyway - the result of all this is that I had to have a week off work. I went back to mum's to rest and recuperate. And in the process I became a casualty of daytime television. I was shocked to see that Judy Finnigan is looking very, very haggard these days. But not surprised to learn that Richard Madely is still as deeply irritating and smug as he always has been.

So for the next four to six weeks I have my teeth clenched together in a tight rictus, with a retainer like thing and elastic junking up my mouth. I have lost the feeling in my chin and everything aches. But I am back at work so am not as bored.

Zach told me that the reason that Reid became a model was because his brother kicked him in the face and broke his jaw. The new jaw completely changed him and he stopped being fat and dorky and become a bona fide sex god. I wonder if that will happen to me?

Groucho Marx once said "Tragedy is when I cut my finger. Comedy is when you fall into an open sewer and die."

Sunday, September 12, 2004

I just read that suicide bombers are told that their sacrifice will be rewarded in heaven, because the Koran suggests that martyrs get to have sex with 72 virgins.

However, an eminent Islamic scholar suggests this is a mistranslation from the Koran of the word "Houri" as Virgin. He's traced the word back to its original Arabic root and says it means grape - or wine.

So, even if the Koran is completely correct, the suicide bombers will arrive in heaven to discover that they have slaughtered innocent people in exchange for a couple of chardonnays.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

The War on Terror

I don't really write about anything of real substance on this thing, but I guess this time of year is now a kind of anniversary for pondering and thought.

I just read an article where the writer described 9/11 as the "most fetishised remembrance day of our times." I actually find it difficult not to agree with her. My own gut reaction to the event will always be etched in my memory: I experienced it as an attack on humanity.

Later, reflecting on this, I realised to my shame that I could identify with people in tall buildings in a way I could not with people in refugee camps. However, it seemed to me that at least we were now all in the same boat and there was a chance to wake up to some of the injustices we had previously insulated ourselves from.

The deeper shock for me, and no doubt for many, was the failure of the American political establishment to see 9/11 as anything other than an attack on America and all that it represented. In their own way, it seemed, they were mimicking the tiny minority who at the time suggested that "America had it coming". The demand that one is "either for us or against us", not just on the lips of Bush but also of Hillary Clinton, and the action of Mayor Giuliani in rejecting a substantial aid donation from a leading Saudi prince because he went on to make some mild criticisms of US foreign policy, gave the impression that what America wanted was not so much friends as acolytes.

Everything that has happened since has only served to strengthen that impression. It does indeed seem to me that we are on the verge of McCarthyism, or even fascism, not just in the US but also here. Suddenly we can no longer see beyond the confines of Western civilisation - anything that resists its global spread is seen as non-human, or alien. In the name of defending our precious freedoms and material comforts perhaps we are creating a monster. If that indeed is how our civilisation appears to those who are outside then the so-called war on terror is already lost.

Saturday, September 04, 2004

Petri-fied!


Posted by Hello
I have nothing better to do today than post Blog entries...

We have been sent an email from the NYC HQ about Anthrax preparedness. I am not sure why. It's been a while since I've even heard that word. Maybe it is just to wake us up to the possibilities again. Are we on red alert or something?

The email was interesting, but made me want to be sick, really. Anthrax seems like such a mysterious thing - the email had a little attachment that showed how it is dispersed by atomizers or via the regular mail.

Apparently there are 4 scenarios to be acted on differently. These are inspired. I can imagine that it took a whole (expensive) think tank to come up with these:

1. a threat is received, but no package has been found

2. a threat is received, and an unopened package has been found

3. a package has been opened, but no substance is inside

4. a package has been opened and a substance has been found

In the interests of national security, I am not going to advertise the contingency for each circumstance (I don't want to give Osama any bad ideas). Anyway it was interesting and I think I will be better prepared if the day ever comes that I will need to deal with this type of situation. The hardest thing for me would be to not.... FREAK OUT!

Words...can't...describe...


Posted by Hello
His name is Jon Passavant. I know this because I met him once at a party at some millionaires mansion in a gated community in Beverly Hills (yes, my life used to be that fabulous).

Unfortunately he's straight. This information rained all over my parade. So the chances of him and I hooking up are...er...rather unlikely.

But I can dream.

He is what I call "a cryer." At the moment of truth I would start crying.

Friday, September 03, 2004

How to make a Versace Salad


Posted by Hello
I've had a long standing interest in the perma-toned, overtly bleached doyenne of the fashion industry. It's akin to watching a car wreck. According to Popbitch, guests at Donatella Versace's dinner parties have marveled at the special dish she always chooses. Here's the recipe...

1. Ingredients: 3 grammes of cocaine, 1 salad plate.

2. Rack out lines the size of cigarettes on the plate.

3. While the other dinner guests eat dinner, snort lines.

4. Do not offer round.

5. Go straight to rehab.

Apparently guests at Donatella's place report that she used to keep her cocaine in the fridge "in blocks the size of feta cheese."

I'm not sure about some of these figures...

But look at those numbers go really, really fast!!!

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

Is Virginity Worthwhile?

Read this!

I quote...

"Psychiatrists claim people usually cannot remain good friends after they stop having sexual intercourse together. If they don't remain lovers, they must become very distant from each other. In a close situation such as attending the same school or the same church, this "distant" relationship can conflict with being near each other in classes. The two former lovers can develop a "hate" relationship as a way of maintaining the "distant" relationship.

An example of this hate after intercourse is Israel's prince Amnon and his affair with his half sister Tamar. After sex, "his love turned to hate and now he hated her more than he had loved her." -- 1 Samuel 13:15 LB."

Of course the fact that their relationship became dysfunctional after sex had, of course, nothing to do with the fact that they were actually brother and sister.

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Bloggers around the world, unite!


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My rather fabulous NYC friend Sally (gracing the above cover of NYC photographer Patrick McMullen's latest book "So80s") took up a dare from me to start her own blog. Now if anyone is deserving of their own blog it's Sally cause she, reader, has some helluva lot of stories to tell (sorry Sally - the pressure to deliver!) One of them even involves an encounter with a pre-fame Ms. Ciccone, but I'll leave it up to her to provide the low down on that one at her own discretion.

Read all about her here.

Monday, August 30, 2004

My Waking Life


Posted by Hello
I’m going to see where this one takes me…

For the last two weeks I have meant to change my bedclothes. The last time I changed them was over a month ago. Yes...I know what you are thinking - "Gross!", right? Yeah probably, but you see the thing is I quite like it that way. Some people love the smell of clean sheets - sliding in beneath the covers and feeling that gentle caress that only the best fabric conditioner can buy.

But right now I quite like the smell of me. And the smell isn't that musty "boy" smell that you can detect on most student halls of residence. It's a combination of red Dax hair wax, Clinique Happy for Men and Origins Ginger Shower Gel (I have taken to showering before I go to bed).

My room is a small room - probably the smallest I have ever resided in. Apart from for sleeping I don't use it very much. At previous addresses I have seen my bedroom as a kind of sanctuary from the areas outside, but still within the apartment. I have always been very lucky with my bedrooms. The best being the one I had at 50 Murray in NYC.

This is the first time that I have only lived with one other person. I have always lived with at least two other people - right the way through university and my working life in London. When I lived in West Hampstead - 1996 through to 2003 - I lived with three other people. But now I only live with Vix, and it's all very grown up. She inherited most of the furniture from her father when he died. So the apartment is very furnished in a very grown up way. That said, it is also very comfortable. So for the first time I feel like a proper grown up in a proper grown up apartment. So comfortable that on Saturday night I fell asleep on the sofa and didn't wake up until 7am in the morning, at which I dragged myself to my bedroom and slept for a further four hours until about 11am.

I live in an area of London called Clapham South. It has a "village" mentality, the centre being Abbeville Road - a long street with six or seven restaurants mingled in with little gift shops that sell small nick nacks at high prices. The roads surrounding Abbeville Road are lined with Porsches, BMWs and top of the range Volkswagens.

Clapham South is south of the river Thames. It is the first time that I have lived south of the river. I can only compare living south of the river with how New Yorkers view living in Manhattan with living in Brooklyn. People who live north of the river are the Manhattanites. People who live south of the river are the residents of Brooklyn and maybe even Queens.

The other night Drew and I were watching Will and Grace. There was this joke about how the boys refused to go and visit Grace because they were in Manhattan and she was in Brooklyn. "How far away is Brooklyn from Manhattan?" asked Drew.

"On the tube it's about as far away as Stockwell is from here - Clapham South." I answered. I think that this kinda threw him because Stockwell is about five minutes away. But those are the rules.

On Thursday night my Dad drove up to London to take me out for dinner. We went to Café Rouge on Abbeville Road. My Dad and I have a colourful history. He was only 18 when I was born, and in many ways he feels like he sacrificed his youth in order to be a father. As a result we got along like cat and dog and when I was 23 I refused to talk to him for the best part of two years.

But today we are less like father and son and more like two friendly men who have found a deep and important respect for one another. My Dad told me something that I had not even considered but something that I found immensely comforting. When he left my mum he could not conceive that he would ever love anyone as much as her again. Then he met Kathy, my stepmom of about three years now, and everything changed. For one he has his youth back. I don’t know many 53 year old men as young as my father.

Last night I went out onto the balcony for a cigarette. It was about 10pm and the sky was midnight blue. No clouds and for once there couldn’t have been that much light pollution because you could see the stars. So I focused in on the first one that I saw and I made a wish.

And the star has promised not to tell anyone the secret! ;)

Friday, August 27, 2004

Some things are too fabulous...


Posted by Hello
Look...I know I write a lot about my job, but bear with me, ok? Just let me try and convince myself of a few things...

Sometimes my job is relentlessly full of pretentious muppetry. (See previous Blog entry re Comms review.) But sometimes I am required to do something that has such breathtaking results that it makes me do a stock check and in turn brings me the realisation that I am quite lucky to be part of a creative process that can produce a visual as beautiful and iconic as the above image.

A few weeks ago one of my clients designated to me the monolithic task of single handedly organising an ad shoot with supermodel Erin O'Connor. For those of you that don't really know what I do, one thing I definitely don't do is organise ad shoots...that's the job of the ad agency (see Saatchi & Saatchi, WCRS, TBWA). But in this instance my client is too cheap to hire an ad agency. So over the course of five days I developed a creative concept for the campaign with the photographer, hired hair stylists and make up artists and even chose some frocks for Erin to wear (the dress in the picture - Stella McCartney - I chose that!!)

Anyway - the highlight of all this was arriving at the studio on the day of the shoot, to be greeted by the photographers assistant...one hell of a man (yeah a little on the short side, but that's manageable), wearing nothing but a pair of sneakers and a pair of cut off cargo pants. Bronzed, ripped and gorgeous. He actually apologised for being half naked (it was a hot day) - if only he knew!

So that was the highlight...until this morning when I got the scans from the shoot. I haven't put them all up cause I don't want to bore you? Aren't they great!? Aren't I great???!!!!

Oh yes, Christopher...you are. Yes you are.

Have a fatuous weekend, everyone!!!

Thursday, August 26, 2004

Bridget Jones!


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So this is a little taster of what I have been busy writing in the last week. It's for a paid for advertorial in Glamour magazine, but my client has approved it and I am beginning to feel, more and more, that I too could become a journalist in the style of Heat magazine...

20 Reasons Why We Love Bridget Jones

1 She gave a name (too cheeky to mention here) to the collection of ways men mess with our hearts, such as neglecting to call the morning after a date, flirting then disappearing etc.

2 We can all eat dessert because she sparked the comeback of granny pants and control briefs (Stella McCartney soon reinvented them in high-waisted bikinis).

3 In a highly satisfying twist, she pashed and dashed on the dastardly cad Daniel Cleaver – go grrrl!

4 She made every self-help book hoarding, chardonnay swilling, hairbrush diva feel NORMAL.

5 Anything is possible - even escaping an infamous Thai gaol is possible – on Planet Bridget.

6 She’s the ultimate underdog: the least likely to succeed but the most likely to be adored by everyone for trying.

7 Compared to Bridget, we’re a vision of grace. She commits every clutzy mistake we’ve ever made (only on a grander scale!) then some, but makes them seem hilarious.

8 Her heart is in the right place. She may cringe at her parents and feel like a disappointment, but she always fulfils her daughter duties.

9 The girl’s got guts. She scored a TV job, landed her lawyer hunk, lost the podge and endured life behind bars. That’s a lot of achievements for a little Bridge.

10 She gives us faith: love handles and all, she ousted Mark Darcy’s primped, proper fiancé and won back Daniel Cleaver after his humiliating affair.

11 She never has anything appropriate to say – what a breath of fresh air!

12 Even when she lost the podge she still had a nice feminine layer of flesh – something for us to hug. Never has a carved bicep or hollow cheek reared its freakish head on Bridge.

13 She’d provide all the entertainment at the office Christmas party.

14 She’s a gifted sartorial teacher, always committing fashion experiments (and, frequently, crimes) for us – in wide screen no less – so we don’t have to.

15 Even when her world is caving in, Bridge never gets nasty. In fact, she’s the best best friend a gal could hope for.

16 Bridge is a girl’s girl. You just know that she’ll never become a smug married, even if she wins her handsome Mr Darcy, her fairytale comes true and she lives happily ever after.

17 She’ll NEVER utter the words “tick tock!” in your ear, demand you spill your sex life to a dinner party of smug marrieds or ask (in a loud voice in a quiet, crowded room) why you’ve been left on the shelf.

18 Unlike our doctors, Bridget recognises the healing power of vodka and Chaka Kahn.

19 She makes us laugh out loud.

20 She reminds us of us.

Friday, August 20, 2004

Willy on the Block...


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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!!!)

Tuesday, August 17, 2004

Me as Dad...


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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.

Monday, August 16, 2004

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)

Saturday, August 14, 2004

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!!!

Thursday, August 12, 2004

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."

Saturday, August 07, 2004

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."

Friday, August 06, 2004

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.

Wednesday, August 04, 2004

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!"

Tuesday, August 03, 2004

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

Posted by Hello

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!

Saturday, July 31, 2004

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!

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

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.

Monday, July 26, 2004

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.

Friday, July 23, 2004

Beautiful Bath


 Posted by Hello
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!

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

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.

Tuesday, July 20, 2004

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.

Monday, July 19, 2004

Bottom Feeding TV


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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.

Friday, July 16, 2004

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!


Thursday, July 15, 2004

The Internet is for Techies and Paedophiles

...or so the saying goes (I think that was a Sarah Michelle Gellar quote from Cruel Intentions).

So in my desperation (actually it was a friend - you know who you are (!) - that bought brought my attention to it, or rather "reminded" me) I have subscribed to Gaydar. Now for those of you who are uninitiated into the murky, lascivious world of gay internet dating, there are two things you should know:

The first is that it is murky.

The second is that it is lascivious.

In the twenty four hours that I have had my profile up on the site I have been "viewed" (at the time of writing this) 153 times. I have been messaged by interested parties fifteen times. Out of those fifteen only one was cute. All the rest were the kind of people who describe themselves as "Abercrombieboy". Your initial instinct is to conjure up a buff Bruce Weber model in ripped cargo pants and nothing else. Disappointment quickly ensues.

Then there are those who seem to be nice enough at first glance, but then on further investigation have dropped the word "fisting" into their list of interests. Er...no thanks.

And then there are the guys who look married (and, no, I am not into that. Married men, who are probably gay, tend to have rather obvious commitment issues) and those that are for want of a better descriptor, gross. We're talking about back hair. Of a length that could be platted.

So twenty four hours later I am thinking that I should unsubscribe. I can't think of anyone who met their life partner on line. I mean there must be some couples out there, but I've never met any. Although if I did I am sure that they probably lie and say that they met on the main dancefloor at Heaven, which let's face it, is SOOO much better!

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Lady M's Pleasure Death

Scene 1

Scene opens. Camera moving through the grand parlor of miss agatha’s country manor and pans down to a dead female body on the floor.

Agatha someone finally took care of that bitch

Camera pans up to a smart looking older woman standing over the body

Agatha question is…..which bitch killed this bitch.


Scene 2

Agatha The murderer is here, in this room, but which one of you is the murderer in this room?

Heinrich I just came from winning twelve million dollars in monte carlo this weekend. What do you mean I can’t leave this house? After all is it Rosh Hashana?

Alexis Look! I told that bitch not to write that children’s book. I knew after seeing her filth in that Sag Harbor bookshop, that the bitch is finished.

Christina I told the bitch that I’d be back, Miss Honey, Miss Honey.

Alexis Look you twat! My name is not Miss Honey, twat! It’s Alexis de la Nuit! I am the CEO of fashion fury, so you better just watch that sweet ass of yours!

Agatha Now listen here! Christina, Alexis, Heinrich and even the maid Consualas despised Lady M w/ hatred absolute! She fucked all of you over at one time or another either stealing your money or your husbands and even your pool boys.

I realise that a lot of you hags are older than this pre fabricated house that was built in 1916 and that is pre fabricated.

Looks at wristwatch and kind of under her breath says…

Agatha Where is that cunt Consuelo with my Mai Tai? I told that bitch to have cocktails ready half and hour ago.

Looks graciously and voluptuously at her guests…

Agatha The Mai Tai’s will be here shortly. I hope you have settled into your weekend quarters. In the meantime lets get to the bottom of this. But before that, has anyone seen my pruning shears.

Vacant expressions from everyone

Agatha Well anyway! I am going to start with you…!

Points to Alexis

I am starting with you and I would like to know where you have been in the last hour!

Alexis All I know is that I was up in my room with my porter and at first glance into the grand bathroom of the master suite I spied a little white dildo. Imagine my surprise that Agatha had left dildos in each of the guest bathrooms. It was at that very moment that I heard someone shrill from the garden “Christina! Bring me the axe!”

Christina Well in my defense, as you all know, I am the queen of landscaping and home décor, and the gardener was calling me to help him trim Agatha’s bush….es…

Alexis Well I am just reporting what I heard bitch!

Christina Well! As for me I have just been going over your grounds Agatha and making changes to your bush…where I see fit! Because as we agreed earlier I am bringing my TV crew out here to film a segment from my yummy steamy TV show “How to Live Like Me!” and imagine my shock when I turned up today and saw how hideous this place is. Agatha – everything about you is dowdy and plain. So I have been frantically running around trying to get this place ready for prime time, bitch! And as I’ve told you before, tear down this bitch of a wall and put a window where it ought to be!!

Consuelo enters with the Mai-Tais.

Consuelo Buenos tardes senores. Dengo los Mai Tais.

Everyone gives vacant expressions

Consuela Soz! I fahgot I want in me ome land mexico, innit!!! What’s your poison luv!?

Agatha I we need to hear from you Consuela!? Where have you been in the last hour?

Consuela I have been playing volleyball in the backyard…au naturel! For the last half hour all I have had is balls flying in my face!

Agatha (Under her breath) That Lucky Bitch.

Christina Can we get on with this. The body is beginning to really smell bad.

Alexis No…that’s just the stench of your designer imposter perfume.

Christina Whatever! I’ve Had enough! I’m going to Hollywood!

Agatha Not so fast Miss Honey! I’m not through with you bitches just yet! (looking at Christina and Alexis) Now listen! Broadway doesn’t go for booze and dolls! It took me 15 years to get on top where I am and I’m not going to let some little hussy’s edge in on my terrain.

Heinrich What about Heinrich!

Agatha You are Heinrich, you bitch!

Heinrich Yes! So…(pauses, confused) what about me? Well, I have been in my vestibule feeling my wad with a dry martini. I am just a wealthy German industrialist, not a spiteful bitch like you 4 spiteful bitches.

Agatha crouches down next to the body and picks something up.

Agatha It is my belief, as a forensic scientist slash fashion stylist to the stars (aside, such as Nicole, Salma and The Olsen Twins) that this women has been (long pause) pleasured…..to death!!!

Heinrich Oh mein god! Are you saying that this was a death? By pleasure?

Alexis That bitch stole my dildo!

Christina Fidle dee dee!

Consuela Dios mios! Ah mean…fuckin pike!

Agatha But not…by her own hand!

Alexis Show us the evidence!

Agatha holds up a white dildo with blood on it and shows it to everyone!

Everyone responds according to character

Agatha
It is my belief that Alexis had the most to gain from Lady M’s pleasure death!

Christina Oh No She Didn’t!!

Consuela
But my lady she always use the cucumbers from when I come back from market.

Heinrich But that means nothing! We each had a dildo! How do we know who’s dildo was used on Lady M?

Agatha
But if you look closely at your dildos, you will realise that they are brand new – each comes with a rotating shaft, multi speeds, and additional attachments. But Lady M was a woman of simple pleasures and her dildo was just a whittled down stump of wood. So this was NOT her dildo, which pleasured her to death!

Alexis I dare you, Agatha, to prove my guilt.. Just try you bitch!

Agatha OK! You accused Lady M of stealing your hand bag sized vibrator and you say that you were in your room unpacking your Luis Vuitton luggage.

Five hours later……

Agatha Now listen kiddies, this aint my first time at the rodeo. I want everyone in this room who’s concealing a dildo to whip it out. We’re gonna compare sizes….

Everyone pulls out “dildo” going around the room, Alexis pulls out a whittled piece of wood. Everyone GASPS!!!!

Christina Miss Honey! Miss Honey! I told the bitch that I was right! Miss Honey!

Alexis So, you found me out you bitches. But you all hated lady M as much as I did. And face it, your Happy that one of us took care of that bitch and we’re better off w/out her!!

Agatha Hhhhmmmm.. Good point!

(ponders this thought for a moment, then holding up her mai tai)

Agatha Heres to Alexis for taking care of that bitch, Lady M.

Everyone “To Alexis!!”

Fin

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

What a strange weekend I had. Started off on Friday night with a party thingamijig at the Architects Association in Bedford Square. It was a tented do where you could but bottles of German "champagne" for about £14. So I did. Twice. Proceeded to get extraordinarily drunk and embarrass myself by whispering "Touch pas ma Chat" into the ear of anyone willing to hear.

From the architects party I went to Shadow Lounge with some guy that I had only just met, but seemed nice enough, and we managed to put away a good few Vodka and Cokes. By this point I was pretty annoying actually and managed to do the head in of one of my other friends who will probably want to be left out of this one!

Spent Saturday moaning and groaning in bed, trying to wear the hangover off by drinking shed loads of water. Literally slept the whole day through!

Sunday got up about lunchtime feeling very sorry for myself, until Vix dragged me out of the house by my ear. Went to see Fahrenheittt 9/11 which is practically the most extraordinary film experience I have ever had. Three words:

George
Bush
Moron

Friday, July 09, 2004

Feel like Crap

Lying on a pavement. That kind of crap that has gone hard and crisp in the sun.

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

Big Bother

Tonight my friend Will (I could say ex-boyfriend, but that sounds so horrible) is going to enter the US Big Brother house in Los Angeles. He will be up against seven other men and seven women to win the $500,000 grand prize - if he stays in until the end, at the back end of September.

Not that I am prejudiced or anything, but having checked out the other contestants biogs I really think that Will has one of the best shots at winning!

It's gonna be hard though to know everything he does and know exactly where he is for three months. I'm gonna miss him in the weirdest way. I'm gonna want to call him so badly to tell him to watch his back.

I started checking all these internet chat rooms and sites where he is discussed endlessly and I have to say that it also goes down as one of the weirdest experiences. It's like one of your best friends becoming famous and a little part of you questions how well you know him, when all these other people - who are of course perfect strangers - discuss him like a long lost friend. And all I want to do is shout "No! You don't know him! He's Will and he's great in a way that you will never see on TV!"

Fame is a strange thing - it does strange things to people. But I think that Will is one of the lucky ones who will walk in and be true to himself and come out with his head held high. And if he changes into a Z list celeb wanker I will beat him viciously with a wet fish!

So lets all give Will our best wishes as he goes down possibly the most colourful, yet twisted road he'll ever venture onto. Go...go...go...Will!!! But come back again!

Now the fact that he lied to me and told me that he was going on Survivor is a different matter altogether. He will pay dearly for that upon his return!!! ;)

Friday, July 02, 2004

Hot Gossip

So the last two jokes that I posted were actually from Popbitch - a down and dirty celebrity gossip bulletin that I get sent every week. It's the kind of stuff that gentile "Heat" readers would balk at - e.g. shots of Dane Bowers having a wank. Nice.

This is the thing. I like to think of myself as a fairly together, secure, intelligent kinda guy. Sure, slightly neurotic with a penchant for blowing certain situations completely out of proportion, but on the whole well-rounded. So why do I eat up celebrity gossip and trash like it was going out of fashion - which it isn't. And the stupid thing is that these celeb magazines actively annoy me, but I keep going back for more.

The thing that really gets me going is when they make out that someone is ugly because named celeb flashed their knickers as they stepped out of a car, or that someone has cellulite, when you can see that the picture has been doctored in some way. I DON'T CARE! So why do I go back for more.

And why do I feel that it is my moral obligation to stick up for said celebrities as if I am some kind of celeb crusader. I really don't like most of them anyway. With the exception of Uma Thurman.

Anyway. I'm hungry.

Another lewd joke!

A pirate walks into a bar with his fly open, holding a steering wheel that's fastened to his cock.

The bartender says "Hey mate, you know you've got a steering wheel on your cock?"

"Aye," says the pirate, "it's been drivin' me nuts all day."


Sorry...

Lewd Joke

I'll be back later for a proper entry but I had to first bring attention to this fabulous joke...

Victoria Beckham has just broken the world Gang Bang record. In 120 minutes her shaved cunt fucked the whole country. (Boom - boom.)

(Yanks - reference to David Beckham kicking the ball wide of the goal during a European Soccer match)

Balderdash

...not a word I get to use very often in every day life.