Lovestruck Londoners - Alex And Damian

Lovestruck Londoners

To the hot, dark-haired guy in jeans and a navy jumper at Earl’s Court on Tuesday morning at 8.20. You followed me to High St Kensington and got off at Notting Hill Gate. Drink? DAMIAN

Alex was glad to see the back of Monday. It marked the end of a stressful couple of weeks (come on-it's January when people should be easing themselves into the new year instead of working their arse off), and for Alex the end of a long weekend. A really long weekend, stuck in the office.

Alex's team had been just one of seven across various media companies dealing with the launch of Burberry's spring summer 2009 advertising campaign. Working through the weekend had been necessary to make the client deadline.

Despite having resolved to hit the gym on Monday evening, Alex didn't make it. It was 10.37pm before he was able to leave the office in Notting Hill, his job done.

He'd have time to go for a tension-busting work-out on Tuesday morning, before ambling into the office just before lunchtime. He figured that, after working around the clock, more or less, over the weekend, no-one would mind him coming in late to make-up (in part!) for the weekend, lost to work.

Damian woke up early on Tuesday morning. As usual he'd slept with the bedroom window open, but the sudden cold snap made for an abrupt, unplanned, rude awakening. The central heating hadn't yet clicked on.

He looked at the clock, and groaned. 5.26am. Too early to get up, but already he knew he was too awake to get back to sleep. Damian turned and put the radio on, partway through the shipping forecast.

"...Tyne Dogger Fisher German Bight Humber Thames Dover Wight southeasterly 5 to 7, occasionally gale 8 in Tyne and Dogger. Moderate or rough, occasionally very rough. Fair. Moderate or good..."

Who'd want to be on a trawler way out in the middle of the North Sea? Even the thought of being bunked-up in a confined space with a strapping, young, floppy-haired and big-handed fisherman, when it was blowing a gale 8 outside, failed to stir. Now, bring the trawler into port and that's a different story...

Imagine sharing such a confined space with a sexy fisherman coming in from the cold in wet clothes, which he obviously needed to get out of. In fact, if it was the Med instead of the cold North Sea then a dark, sexy hunk and only one, inevitably shared, bunk could work.

And with that thought Damian sank beneath the duvet.

He may well have the day off work, but Damian nevertheless had to rise and shine, to get to Victoria and from there to his sister's new house, having promised to help brother-in-law install some new parquet flooring. But not yet - it was too early, so with time to spare before he had to get up and shower, Damian let his mind (and hands) wander.

It was 8.15am and the district line platform was as crammed as ever. Alex thought that he should have stayed in bed longer. At least he would have avoided the usual rush-hour rush. That said, he had enjoyed a slightly longer lie-in. As he was going to the gym, he'd shower and shave after his work-out, so the time that would usually spend getting ready for work was instead spent in bed.

Working in advertising where image is important, Alex was always extremely well groomed. But this morning, en route to the gym his dark hair was unwashed and tousled. He'd also dressed down to go to the gym, though his jeans were Ted Baker and still rather smart.

As he rubbed his unshaven face (stubble always made Alex look darker, more brooding) waiting for the Edgware Road train to arrive at the platform Alex glanced-up at the "next train" indicator.

Next train indicators for London Underground use tri-colour LEDs, Alex found himself thinking. He'd picked up that useless piece of information last year when putting together a briefing paper for TfL on running adverts on the indicators between next train time info.

As Alex looked up, he clocked a guy looking at him. The way you do. The guy looked a little like the actor Alex (nice name, he thought) Pettyfer, one of the guys that Burberry had used in the campaign, Alex supposed, before realising that he was staring back at the guy.

Damian thought that the dark-haired, unshaven guy he'd spotted standing further down the platform would have done nicely thank-you for the Mediterranean fisherman he'd got-off fantasising about in bed that morning.

Oh, hello. There he was looking back at Damian. This had been a right-spy. The guy was also a gayer! And a hottie. Nothing like brightening up the morning with a bit of travel-flirting. Still feeling left-over horny, even after his fumble under the duvet, Damian was well up for it. How far would this guy go?

As the underground train shot past him, pulling up to the platform, half of the world spilling out and pushing past him Damian wondered just how far would he go, literally-he might hop off after a couple of stops. On the other hand he may well go all the way - to Paddington!

As people pushed into the train in front of him Alex realised that he'd stand a better chance getting on the it if he moved up the platform to the second set of double doors. Which, co-incidentally, were right in front of the guy staring at him. Who was still staring at him.

In fact Alex saw that the guy was holding back from getting on the train. Was it to make sure that Alex was going to get on it with him?

Damian smiled at the hot-looking guy. Come on, come on, he willed him. Yup, he was moving up the platform towards him. Game-on. Come on, Damian found himself mumbling as he got on the train. No sooner had he done that and the doors closing beeping warning started. Fortunately Mr Med hurried his pace and, yes, hopped on just as the doors started to close.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Alex lay back against the door, into the little space created when the doors closed. And there sitting by the doors on the opposite side, was the smiling Stormbreaker look-a-like, still staring and still smiling. He did look sexy, but he didn't really think that - what, an Eastern European construction worker-would have much in common with an advertising exec.

Damian wondered whether this guy was going to give anything back. He seemed fairly unresponsive, other than holding his stare. A bit of a pity cos the guy was hot. His unshaven face was so sexy. He dressed well, Damian noted (fuck, he realised he must look like a landscape gardener, or something, dressed in his "working man's clothes").

Maybe it was time to be a little more obvious... He closed his eyes, and brought his hands onto his crotch, opening his legs slightly. Closing his eyes made it rather more easier to make the gesture...

Damian suddenly opened his eyes. High Street Kensington had come and gone and the dark haired guy was now sitting opposite him, still looking back. He had a gym bag over his lap. Was it to hide something, Damian wondered. He stared back and continued to smile to the guy.

Pulling away from High Street Kensington Alex was rather glad that his was the next stop. He didn't really know how he felt. This was the most obvious flirting that he had experienced. It was slightly exciting, but slightly disturbing. Besides him, had anyone else actually noticed this guy rubbing his crotch suggestively to him? He hadn't imagined it, surely. It had been that obvious.

But, hey it's just one of those things. The train slowed as it drew up to the platform at Notting Hill Gate. Alex stood up and realised that his gym back, which had been sitting on his lap while he sat, had left some dust and fluff on his otherwise immaculate Ted Baker jeans. Without thinking he bushed down the front of his jeans. The Eastern European (?) was still staring, looking quizically before smiling again.

As Alex stepped off the train he looked back one last time. "Honza" was still following his stare. Did he just wink?

When Damian saw the almost man of his fantasy stand to get off and what appeared to be subtly rubbing his crotch back, he wondered whether he should follow this guy off at Notting Hill Gate. But he looked at his watch. If he did, he'd miss the train and be late for his sister. Aaargh! It looked like the guy was up for fun-and fuck, his own gym was just round the corner if they needed some place to go...if it got that far, well, if the guy was up for it.

But the decision was made in the instant that the moment was gone, as the train filled once more and the doors started to beep...

Ben Whishaw, Gay?

If you've Googled the question is Ben Whishaw gay, then you probably found one of these postings.

The truth is, I don't know whether he is. I met him once at the Menier Chocolate factory, when he was having a cup of tea with other actors before a performance of Mercury Fur.

Ass, Fu*ked

work in progress

No. it's not porn, it's the words edited out (at 3.02 and 3.05) of this clip from the cast of Spring Awakening performing at the 2007 Tony Awards.

(Well if Janet Jackson's costume malfunctioning breast pop-out was going to bring a nation to arms, you couldn't expect national TV to broadcast such truths?)



Last night R1 (in Xfe's absence) and I went to see Spring Awakening at the Lyric Hammersmith. I didn't know quite to make of it...

It's about sexual awakening, repression. It has suicide, abortion, SM, rape (though it is toned down). It has masturbation on stage, gay seduction, parent-child abuse. All wrapped-up in an alt. rock wrapping. Fay characters, 19th century pubescents meet the X-factor, with angst and 19th century attitude. Hmm.



Well, we do have children who can act. Though their singing is less. I like that they sound natural, without big voices, but if only they didn't sing flat.

It's Grim Out East

This afternoon I had to shift my ass to E9, out to Homerton. Where's that? Good question. It's out there.

How hard was it to get there? Well, v. difficult. Unless you kind of know where you are going, then tfl's journey planner can really throw you off track. I was given:

View

with a duration of 57 min, then:

View

with a duration of 42 min;

only to find that right by the Sainsbury's where Xfe shops for us, I can get the London Overland to Homerton, journey time 4 minutes.



Still, East London is desolate. It just doesn't feel like London. It doesn't feel like anywhere. Just a space with housing estates.

It may well be grim out there, but feel for poor Myleene, whose problems run far deeper:

“As a pianist there’s not much excitement from the back so I have to make sure my hair is a feature,” says Myleene Ass.

“My main hair issues are not having much time and not quite knowing what state my hair will be in because it is very very handled.”

Tainted Love?

Sometimes I feel I've got to, run away...



Well, wouldn't you?

Where Have All The Young Men Gone?*

Was it just me, or was today particularly empty on public transport?



Perhaps I drifted into another dimension and just didn't notice.

Update: Bobby noticed the same elsewhere. Is it a strange phenomenon?

*Where have all the flowers gone, long time passing?

Where have all the flowers gone, long time ago?

Where have all the flowers gone?

Gone to young girls, every one!

When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone, long time passing?

Where have all the young girls gone, long time ago?

Where have all the young girls gone?

Gone to young men, every one!

When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone, long time passing?

Where have all the young men gone, long time ago?

Where have all the young men gone?

Gone to soldiers, every one!

When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

And where have all the soldiers gone, long time passing?

Where have all the soldiers gone, a long time ago?

Where have all the soldiers gone?

Gone to graveyards, every one!

When will they ever learn, when will they ever learn?

And where have all the graveyards gone, long time passing?

Where have all the graveyards gone, long time ago?

Where have all the graveyards gone?

Gone to flowers, every one!

When will they ever learn, oh when will they ever learn?

Tempus Fugit

One of the joys of blogging is having a diary (with pictures and video) to look back on, though I have never been a diarist.

Last night I was looking over what I was getting up to in January last year, and found this, about a strange dream I had.

I remember having the dream vividly. However I would have placed it about 3 months ago, no more, and certainly not a year ago. Wow!

On Friday evening I'm going to see the "masturbation" musical Spring Awakening. It's a rock musical with themes of sexual awakening, sexual oppression and...masturbation. I'll be accompanied by my pal R1, last seen at our Christmas dinner.

Burns Night 2009

Happy Birthday Rabbie! January 25th 2009 marks 250 years since Scotland's national poet Robert Burns was born in Ayrshire.

This Sunday afternoon I'll be hosting a lunch to celebrate Burns Night, which I last celebrated in 2007. Five of us are Scottish, the majority friends from Aberdeen, when we were younger and gayer and carefree...

The traditional Burns' supper menu is:

• Cock-a-Leekie soup
• Haggis
• Neeps and tatties
• Tipsy Laird

though usually I prefer cranachan* to follow.

Yes we can

At last the USA has a new President. Obama certainly has challenges to face. There's the economic challenge. Then there's Iraq. In a time of crisis at home and abroad he has pledged to bring " a new era of responsibility".

Still, Obama should think himself lucky. After all he doesn't have to worry constantly about the need for exceptional hair care, like poor Myleene:

“My main hair issues are not having much time and not quite knowing what state my hair will be in because it is very very handled,” says Myleene Ass.

Xfe returns from China on Tuesday. Hurrah-he's home for a month before leaving for Tel Aviv. I'm trying to think of something special to celebrate his return.

*Ingredients

• Raspberries: 150g
• Créme fraiche (low fat): 150ml
• Heather honey: 60g
• Toasted oatmeal (medium): 120g
• Longmorn whisky: 75ml

Method

Soak raspberries in whisky.
Toast oatmeal in oven until golden brown and allow to cool. Retain about 20g.
Beat the créme fraiche until stiff.
Fold in the honey, then the other ingredients and whisky.
Spoon into glass goblets and garnish with the remaining oatmeal.

Alternatives

Raspberries – any other red soft fruit
Honey – any good flavoured clear honey
Whisky – any well-flavoured malt

Milk Delivery Technicians

Well, it's credit crunch plus, and British banks are technically insolvent.

Still, some of us have even more pressing problems:

“My main hair issues are not having much time and not quite knowing what state my hair will be in because it is very very handled,” says Myleene Ass.

Today we had extra fun in the cold, as I and some 29 other gay men were drafted in as singing milkmen extras for an east London funded short-movie production, Milk Watch.




Two milkmen get caught up in some kind of police chase and unwittingly become an extension of the long arm of the law. How we fit in I don't really need to know, but there you go.


The milkmen, then the crims



And us. What a hoot (thanks to Liam for that last pic).

Update: see Zefrog and Liam for more about the making of Milk.

Myleene No-Klass; Global Ass

Myleene Klass announces a brand new role - as Pantene Pro V’s global ambassador.

As well as adding the prestigious position of Ten Years Younger host* to her impressive CV, Myleene stars in Pantene’s stunning new advertising campaign for the launch of its Volume and Body range.

This show-stopping film sees Myleene where’s she’s most at home - sat at a classical Grand Piano. As well as showing off her tremendous talent for music, the film also showcases her extraordinary beauty - her full bodied, luxe-shine long hair, cared for and styled with the products from Pantene’s Volume and Body range, dances along as she throws herself into the music. As Myleene says herself: “As a pianist there’s not much excitement from the back so I have to make sure my hair is a feature.” It’s a performance not to be missed.

Myleene’s hectic work schedule sees her playing classical piano one day, presenting on TV the next and then hitting the red carpet, not to mention all the plane-hopping. [Hmm, quite a carbon footprint then Myleene]. She’s the first to admit she needs exceptional hair care. “My main hair issues are not having much time and not quite knowing what state my hair will be in because it is very very handled,” she explains.

Don't believe me? See more of this shit here.

But that's not all. Myleene is far from content to sit on her laurels – or her backside. Her new clothes range – Baby K – which she researched and designed herself for Mothercare now sells in 12 countries.

*She recently succeeded Nicky Hambleton-Jones as the host of Channel 4’s Ten Years Younger. A miffed Nicky, 37, blamed ageism. She fumed: “It seems like a classic case of replacing any woman over 35 with a younger face.”

But Myleene is having none of it. She says: “Nicky did the job for a long time and I’m sure she was perfectly fine but I’ve never met the woman. Women would do themselves more favours by being kinder to each other instead of buying into the myth that it’s a man’s world. Age has nothing to do with it.”

Bitch.

Celebrity Milkman

I'm going to be an extra in a film, filming somewhere in East London this weekend. Having missed the chance on Shaun of the Dead, and kicked myself since, I thought I'd go for this one.

I don't think that it will be quite as much fun as being a shambling zombie, though-I'm going to be a singing milkman.

Right now I'm waiting at home for the Sky engineer to come. Our Sky+ box broke a week past last Sunday night -why do all these things seem to happen when mon C is away? I thought I might just switch over to Freesat, but in the event it turned out easier to stay where I am for the moment. So I bought a new box, which the engineer still has to come and install.

Why, I have no idea. All he needs to do is plug in 2 cables and a phone connection. I'm perfectly able to unplug these from existing and attach to new.

Still, maybe he'll be a hottie. He sounded South African when I spoke to him on the phone. Sigh! What has life come to when that's the highlight of the day?

Still at least it gave me a chance to Google "South African hottie" and gratuitously post these (more or less the first male images search hit with safe search on, then with safe search off respectively):



Ho hum.

Tonight I'm off to the pro-bono legal clinic to advise some more. Last night I had dinner a formal dinner in the office with some colleagues and tomorrow night it's our team Christmas dinner. We're off to the White Swan. Not to be confused with this White Swan.

In the meantime I am actually rather busy at work on a project that involves a huge amount of paperwork that I need to generate. So, I really need to get back to the office. Come on Mr Sky...

First Freecycle

Thanks to N1David for suggesting that I freecycle the Dyson. It was collected today on schedule, as planned.

I placed the ad yesterday. I immediately had 3 replies, and then some 25 more over the course of the day. This left me with another dilemma. Who to choose. I could have done first come, first serve. But they didn't give a mobile number and I didn't necessarily want to give my email address. I mean they could have spammed me...

Others sent a reply that was almost begging in nature. The asthmatic son, the fallen-on-hard-times...

In the event I went for posh James. I mean, I didn't know he was posh, though perhaps subliminally his name suggested it. When I called him he sounded like a posh student.

I gave him a half-hour window this morning from 8am. A couple of minutes before (I was naked in the bathroom) my buzzer went. Briefly. Not an over-long imposing buzz. I had to put on a robe and go let him in.

Young, posh James. But at least he had the kind decency to send me a thank you email:

Just tested out the Dyson, all works fantastically. Thanks once again,

James

So I think that I made the right decision.

Of course, I realise that I was always going to choose a guy over a girl. I'm just that way inclined.

Your Point Of View

Often, when I invite a guest for dinner I receive the reply, "I'd be delighted-do you want me to bring anything? "

To which I usually respond, "Just bring yourself."

At the very least you think that a guest would come with a bottle of wine. I'm delighted when a guest thinks to bring a little token of appreciation, say some flowers. Or a nice plant.

But if they ask the question then I'm hardly going to suggest that they do. I don't even consider it gracious to suggest that my guest brings a bottle of wine.

When I'm invited for dinner or drinks I always bring at least one nice bottle of wine as well as another token of appreciation. I think it's good manners-especially if someone is going to the trouble of preparing a meal for you to enjoy, in the pleasure of their company.

Consequently I'm still surprised when, having suggested that a guest need only bring themselves, they actually do! Well, I don't mind when, for example, I've been entertaining my trainees by way of appreciation. Nor a very good friend.

But when my guest is a city professional (or indeed a self made millionaire) I really think they should know better than to even ask the question!



What do you think?

3 Bags Full

Money makes the world go-go around, Yet, this year we have to be v. careful with the finances.

Although I may have survived 2 rounds of redundancies at work, I fear the worst is yet to come. For the next 8 months at least things are still going to be difficult, and, fearfully so, perhaps even worse.

After Christmas Xfe's mother called to tell him that it had been in the news that Chanel were making redundancies. So he started to worry a little. He met his boss on the 2nd January. She was able to report that-for the moment-none of the redundancy plans would affect him.

So, for the moment we're both OK. But I'm saving like mad. I need to. But even then I'm not convinced how best to.

I've lost faith in traditional investments, though I'm equally concerned about getting a return from a bank account. I'm going to buy some gold. Investment gold bars. See how that does...

Still, as you can see, I broke the bank and inside I had saved £XXX. Here's a thing. If you can guess how much I saved, you can have 10% of it. Just leave a comment with your guess. But it's got to be 100% accurate. Almost every single pound apart from those cut off on your lhs bottom corner is in this pic. You have until Wednesday 7 January at 11.59pm my blog time (London time) to send the answer. Only one guess per blogger.

On the bright side though, Xfe is paid in euros. At the moment he's therefore enjoying a 30%+ pay-rise. He was surprised to find his euro-pay for 2 weeks in Israel, when converted to sterling, was £600 more than he was expecting, due to currency instability.

If you care for the pennies then the pounds care for themselves. Therefore I will definitely be cutting down the spending. Probably a good thing too. I mean, I had a post-Christmas clear out, and even being undisciplined I still found 3 bags of rubbish to discard.

Inside the 3 bags there are clothes, designer fashion never once worn, and other stuff. If Xfe were here he'd take it to the charity shop. But I don't have the time to take it there. And I'm not inclined to have it sit around in our tiny flat for longer, until I can take it to the charity place*.


Even then I have no car. I've got to hire a car to get it there. Thus, the credit crunch pledge (see above) to save on money defies me.

This doesn't include the 4-year old Dyson that we're throwing because the wheel trim broke. This happened about 8 months ago at which time Xfe spent some wedding money on a new one. There were other reasons... I told Xfe to keep it in the roof space in case we needed it (to clean outside-influenced by my neighbour I think. I miss him-he's gone off to South Africa for 3 months with his bf, to get married).



However the charity shop won't take it. It's electrical. Maybe I should leave it outside for a poor family to take? Or else I'll ask my trainee if she needs a decent cleaner.



*If any charity workers are reading this, our rubbish collection is Friday, so you have until then to contact me and come and collect.

Just A 'Mo With A Manbag

Truly, I can celebrate my gayness masculinity. Thanks to mon C's thoughful Christmas giving, I'm now a 'mo with a manbag! Here it is in all its manly glory. Doesn't even go near being gay, does it?





That's because it's camouflage you see. Why, I'm sure that even Prince Harry would have been proud to have ported this manbag to Afghanistan.

Yet, look closely. In a clever twist you'll notice that it's not really camouflage. It's a camouflage print you see. A printed camo-pattern, with printed pockets, zips and other printed add-ons. How gay stylish clever is that?

Not that I think manbags are particularly gay. They're simply a necessity of this modern life. I mean, where else is a guy meant to keep his i-Phone, wallet, house keys, lip balm, oyster card, hydrating face-mist, blackberry and anti-bacterial hand-gel?

What would you rather - prêt-à-porter or a man with an oversized bulge in his pocket?

It was March last year when I first considered the possibility of me suiting a manbag. You'll see from the pictures in that blog post that Xfe is a supporter. And now, thanks to his good taste, so too am I.

Me dear? Green and stylish dear? Yes dear!

But that's not all. Because he is such a darling mon C even gave me his shopping bag to keep inside my manbag. You see, we don't use the manbag for our groceries. No dear. It's too precious dear.

Instead we use a fold-up bag that we carry inside the manbag (don't even think of spending 5p on a non-recyclable M&S plastic bag you just know is going to end up inside a dolphin's stomach).



See how I can't even help the shopping bag I keep inside my manbag being stylish?



For admirers (just in case you want one too) the technical detail on the manbag, kindly reproduced without permission from

is that it's from the men’s business folio range, printed with a camouflage travel bag print.

• The bag is styled with smooth chocolate leather trims and handles.

• It has a removable adjustable shoulder strap and is zip opening.

• Internally the bag is lined with purple canvas and has two small pockets; one of which is zip fastening.

• Externally the bag is finished with a leather multi stripe, Mini shaped luggage tag.

There's a matching wallet, though at £160 I have to wait until next Christmas!

A Letter To

[unfinished post]

Rachel, the ex-fiancee

You say that your ex-fiancee will never meet a person like you ever again in his life, nor will he meet a person who will ever trust him and love him unconditionally as you still do.

As much as it may hurt you, he will. But so, too, will you. I know this from my own experience.

You laughed about growing old together. So did we. You didn't shout and scream like other couples. Neither did we. Yet, when S. left me, I was lost. Utterly lost. Lost in myself and in the memories that I was left with of the two of us together, as one, against the rest of the world, forever.

As you do I felt bitter that our married friends, whose relationships seemed perfect but never were, weathered their storms. Yet, like your fiancee, my "true" love fled.

You say that your ex-fiancee will regret his decision for the rest of his life. I thought that S. would too, and that as a result I would never heal. After all we were together for over seven and a half years, part of "forever".

When the time came for S. to leave I was devastated.

But, Rachel, time is a healer. I can see how much it hurts you right now-after all, that's why you wrote to your ex-fiancee. In our anguish and pain many of us have done the same thing. You are not alone.

You suggest that your ex-fiancee's decision was lightly taken. But Rachel, how lightly is such a decision ever taken? Know that one day you will look back and realise that his decision, the one that pains you so much, was far from taken lightly. After all, it affects him just as much as it does you.

It seemed to me that S. had efficiently managed to replace what we had built over those seven and a half years within a matter of months. Just as you feel your ex-fiancee has managed to replace what you had all too soon.

Some ten months after S. left me I met C. My C. Within two weeks of meeting we moved in together. For life. In the way, someone else had to be hurt and had to suffer a similar pain (something I would never wish on another-ever). But it was necessary for the greater good, and I am able to dismiss it as such.

Eighteen months after meeting we married. Quietly, the two of us, with our two witnesses. We made our promises to each other, for life, affirming what we felt within days of first meeting.

The thing, Rachel, is that this time I know that I found and followed my star. The day we married was my best day-everything I ever (and still) dream. We were unafraid to marry.

Time has healed and everything that happened with S., something that now seems another life, belongs on the other side. At the time it felt real. It felt forever. Only now with the happiness I have with my C. do I realise that my time with S. was broken, despite never seeing nor knowing it, nor wanting to admit it, at the time.

Happy Hew Year

A belated HNY to all. Sorry it's a little tardy, but there you go.

It's back to work tomorrow (always rather grim, but never more worse than after the festivities of Christmas and New Year), although rather wisely I've got a party to go to tonight in celebration of eleventh night, being the night before twelfth night, which is Epiphany Eve.

The Things What We Did

On 18th December we saw Sunset Boulevard with the wonderful Kathryn Evans. I first saw this at the Adelphi Theatre with Patti LuPone in November 1993*. While the original production is well remembered for it's extravagance, this revival is a relatively minimalist performance on a small-scale.

Kathryn Evan's performance is far less camp, very aware of her exploitation of Joe Gillis' youth. Her With One Look and As If We Never Said Goodbye are a tour de force of the melodrama that Norma's wrapped-up in.



On 19th December Xfe came to see For Christmas Sake at the Cadogan Hall.

On 20th December we went to see Edward Scissorhands at Sadlers Wells. How I cried. As a dance show it's the perfect medium to tell the gothic fairytale. And then it snows some in the theatre!

On 21st December we had friends round for Christmas dinner - turkey with all the trimmings. Yum!

22nd-26th December we were in Annecy for Christmas with Xfe's family. Unfortunately I spent Christmas Day in bed, laid up with a rather bad cold. We came back on Boxing Day only to find there were no trains from Gatwick, so we had to queue for an hour in the freezing cold to get the "Gatwick Express" bus service. Only there was nothing "express" about it. It took over an hour and forty minutes drive time to do the 27 or so mile journey from Gatwick to Victoria. I mean, how ridiculous is that? That'a almost the total time it took to fly to AND back from Geneva!

How crap. London a World-class city, but only if it's not a national holiday.

30th December-1st January we were in Newcastle. Fortunately the trains were in good working order-even on the 1st. It took just under 3 hours each way.

The Things What We Didn't Do

We didn't use the tickets I'd bought to go see A Little Night Music at the Menier. We didn't go back to see Edward Scissorhands again on the Sunday afternoon. We didn't go see Wig Out at the Royal Court Theatre. I was too poorly with the cold. All those tickets were wasted-I didn't even have the chance to give them away.

Out, Damned Cold

I struggle to remember the last time I suffered from such a bad cold. I had noticed that my colleagues who had been suffering from it had been suffering for a few weeks, and so it has been with me. I felt it coming on around the 16th December-dry throat and swollen nasal passage-it was at it's worst on 24th/25th, and I first started feeling an improvement on the 30th.

My throat still feels very sore-and my nasal passages like they did when the cold first came on.

This has meant that relative to other festive periods it's been an alcohol-lite season!


*I can reference it clearly because I saw it the day before Dimensions In Time was broadcast (marking the 30th anniversary of Doctor Who), which I can also reference as 10 years before the day I sat my "estimate" i.e. mock history higher exam being the day of the broadcast of The Five Doctors which celebrated the show's 20th anniversary.

No More Champagne

If your with me next year will be
The perfect year

At last I am starting to feel slightly better, though my throat is deathly sore. Too much strain on the vocals when I should have rested I think. Anyway, at least normal service may be resumed soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. Once I'm homo alone again. Just a 'mo with a manbag.

For, alas, mon C leaves home tomorrow for 3 weeks in China.

In the meantime, my two favourite boys and my manbag.