I'm never drinking again

Oh for fuck's sake.

I knew it was a bad idea to go out drinking last night but I never learn from my mistakes.

The moment I said to Sean "yes, I'll meet you at the North London Tavern for one drink only" is the moment I should have seen how the next 12 hours would play out.

Sean and his friend Anna were there. He's gay, she's English and uses the word cunt an awful amount.

I then proceeded on the task I cannot help myself from doing - to unravel all the hard work I'd put in at the gym over the last week.

I drank beer and more beer and more beer until it was gone midnight. Maybe? Anna left and Sean and I stayed and we had another one. Or maybe two. Or three actually.

At one point I remember that it was absolutely essential that I have McDonalds. And my drunk logic is this; a big Mac meal makes you fat so instead I had two (these numbers are pretty vague too) Fillet O'Fish's and two-ish McChicken sandwiches and probably another cheeseburger.

This morning I woke up with the worst fucking hangover (still a bit drunk) while cold, naked and tangled up in the duvet. Nice start to a fucking Monday.

I make my way into work but after a few hours of trying to do something I do the polite thing and leave.

Now at home again I knock over a jar of sand I have from the beach in Newquay which means I have to vacuum.

While doing that I trip, pull and then break the pipe of the vacuum cleaner. I've been trying to wind the goddam thing back into the holder.

Fuck sakes.

Last night I should have put a load of washing on, gone to bed and read a book.

It's always a bad idea to go out drinking on a Sunday night, no matter what. You'd think by now I would have learnt my lesson.

Meanwhile, a little later...

Check this out! Batman goes to our gym.

Bring out your dead

Don't panic. I've been to Highgate Cemetery so you don't have to.

I've wanted to go since I came to London six years ago but just haven't made the effort.

Over the last two days the weather has been spectacular so I dragged myself there. What an utterly beautiful, spectacular and peaceful place it is.

I decided to sit on a bench in front of the London Fire Brigade memorial and I must have been there for about half an hour just sitting and being. It is such an amazing place to be still.

Here are some pictures I took. I hope you like them...

Gaffaweb

Everyone's talking about music and if there's a bandwagon passing through town, I am the first to jump on it.

Because a blog is not democracy it's therefore incumbent on me to foist my opinions onto you so I have I've decided to start a little series called "Music I think you should listen to..."

This will be an occasional element just like other series; Bobby's Film Reviews^TM, Bobby Goes to the Gym^TM, Bobby Takes the Central Line^TM and Bobby has to listen to straight boys burp in the showers^TM etc.

This is the first instalment in our series which will run the gamut from Kate Bush to Pink Floyd, Genesis, Eurythmics and others in between.

Today we start with:

Why I think you should listen to KATE BUSH

Let's be clear bitches.

Before Bjork, before Tori Amos, before Antony and the Johnsons and KT Tunstall and Lily Allen and that annoying cow who sings American Boy, there was Kate Bush.

Marc Almond, Rufus Wainwright, Steven Morrissey, Brett Anderson bla bla. They've all said, at some point, that the reason they got into singing and making music was because they used to listen to Kate Bush.

I love her for so many reasons.

I love that she doesn't give a shit. She never does interviews. She refuses to do concerts. She will not appear at public events.

This means you can take whatever you want from what he sings about. Nothing she does is clouded by the fact that she may have been flogging posh luggage or mobile phones.

I love Kate Bush because I wish she was my girlfriend.

I love Kate Bush because her songs are musical and awkward. And she's happy to be odd and silly and she has a sense of her own ridiculousness.

I love Kate Bush because listening to her makes me feel happy. Kate Bush makes me feel inspired. I listen to her and wish I could do as good as she's done.

I love Kate Bush because she's gentle. Her songs are comforting and pretty and quirky and harmless but most of all I love Kate Bush because she's a true original.

I've chosen a few songs to help you out, five songs which I think are quintessentially Kate Bush. If you listen to any one of them and still can't bear her, then I think you should stick to listening to the Pussycat Dolls.

ONE
Rubberband Girl
This song is all about elasticity and resilience. Yes okay, it's all about elastic bands.
The lines "a rubberband bouncing back to life - a rubberband bend the beat" is assonance at its best.
You can watch a video of the song here

TWO
The Big Sky
A song about someone lying down and looking up into the sky. This song, like a lot of Kate Bush's others, degenerates into a lot of noise which I reckon is the point at which she gets bored with the whole idea, only to see it to the end.
The best line in the song comes at "pause for the jet.."

THREE
Them Heavy People
A slightly quirky song about some religious teachings but it's fun and silly I like it. It's early Kate Bush.

FOUR
And Dream of Sheep
Vintage Kate Bush. This songs shows exactly where Tori Amos stole her ideas from.

FIVE
Suspended in Gaffa
If the list starts in normality with "Rubberband", this is where Kate Bush goes slightly loopy. This is where she earns the 'Alice in Wonderland' nickname. Loving it.

Of course if none of these work, get yourself a bottle good Boschendal red wine, sink into the couch and listen to Aerial from start to finish.

Do not assume Kate is just about "Wuthering Heights" and "Babooshka".

Kate Bush is ma homegirl. I love her.

Jiggle jiggle dingle

I don't usually mind but for god's sake... all the way from Holland Park to Marble Arch. I got a mini-vomit.

What made it even worse was that he was rather large, had untamed hair and spotty while I don't think she spoke much English.

And there were endless slurping noises. Boy, did they go for it.

- - -
I mean, what could happen now is that I drone on about the day I had. I could tell you that a colleague found a dead mouse under the TV on her desk.

I could mention that the song that pushed me so fucking far in the gym this evening was Missy Elliot's I'm Really Hot. She was original Timbaland before Bjork and Madonna *spit* leapt aboard.

I guess I could mention that I've tentatively signed up to do a course at the London Film School and watched The Dark Knight last night.

Maybe you'd care to know that I didn't think the film was that good, watching Heath Ledger was spooky and there were parts of the film that were rather badly edited.

Are you interested to know that I am thinking of taking a holiday in Cape Town from February 19th to March 16th 2009?

Not that I would ever admit to timing the holiday to coincide with Cape Town pride. Never.

I mean I could mention all those things, including the guy in the pool who insisted on swimming on the wrong side of the lane, that one of my back teeth has suddenly become sensitive which is rather annoying and that I am currently ripping old Phil Collins' albums onto iTunes.

Would you care? Thought not... just thought I'd mention it to make sure.

Oh and don't forget; "when you hear the sound 'who-di-whoooooo....' Run for cover motherfucker..."

Shower time

Tonight in the gym. Two straight boys, one with an amazing body the other not so amazing.

They are behind me and we are walking into the shower stalls.

I hang my towel up, get in and yank the curtain shut. The one straight boy with the amazing body in the stall to my left, the other straight boy with the not-so-amazing body in the stall opposite.

The boy with the not-so-amazing body, at the top of his voice, to ensure that his mate can hear him...

"Ah... This shower is so warm. It's making me feel like I want to have a poo."

The boy with the amazing body; "I know - if this was a Muslim shower we could have a poo..."

"Why?"

"Because they poo standing up, don't they?"

"Oh yeah..." Pause. "This best thing is taking a massive poo, just after you've woken up."

"Yeah, if you have coffee, after like 20 minutes it's like just a massive relief."

"That's a BP"

"What?"

"Big Poo..."

I stand there, lean on one foot and put my hands on my hips.

Suddenly there's an earth-shattering noise, like the ground is opening up and the showers stalls shake.

One of them has burped.

Then the other one burps but it is forced and sounds stupid.

"That was shit. Hold on..."

Then another ground-shaking belch, that goes up an octave in the process.

I left boarding school 12 years ago but it feels so odd to be back there suddenly.

I leave and don't stay around for the part where they run around naked and flick each other with their towels.

Bloody buggery

It turns out that everyone is a fan so I thought I would try and find some pictures kicking about. Some of them you may not have seen before.















And don't ever forget...you can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes. Other quotes welcomed...

Absolutely fabulous

We're not really supposed to do it but I saw her on the TV.

If everyone did it, when someone notable appeared in the building, which happens on an hourly basis, it would become a little unseemly but I thought fuck it.

I grabbed my phone and ran downstairs and waited at the studio door. She came out and was talking to the floor manager.

After they'd finished I said "excuse me, I know you're probably in a terrible rush, but would you mind - I have been the such a fan since I can remember..."

She looks at me, smiles and in that utterly amazing voice of hers says; "of course - it's no problem at all. Sweetie dahling."

And the floor manager takes the phone and she moves in close and in that moment I cannot believe that I am there with Patsy Stone who is holding my arm.

It was never on my list but I can tick it off anyway.

When I am old, pissing myself and on my deathbed I will be able to say, Joanna Lumley took my arm and called me "sweetie dahling."

What a legend and what good perfume she was wearing. I am never going to wash that top again.

It's the first time in ages that a woman has put a smile on my face and a spring in my step. Although she won't remember it, I will for the rest of my life.

Thoughts on RocknRolla

Here's a once-off an in occasional series of...

Bobby at the Bioscope
And the film we went to see tonight was RocknRolla and it was fucking brilliant.

Now I know there are some amongst us who don't really care for gangster films set in London (show me a gay who does...) but boys we are in for a treat.

Forget that nearly all of the critics have absolutely panned it, this film is as camp as the midnight showing of the Wizard of Oz on the eve of San Francisco Pride.

First we have Gerard Butler in the lead. This is the guy who everyone panted over when his sixpack bulged out of the movie poster for 300. In case you'd forgotten, this is what he looks like. Remember?

In RocknRolla you get to see his arse during one of the many scenes where the homoeroticism thrusts off the screen. Nearly every humorous aside is a quip about gays.

And then there's a character called Handsome Bob (what a name!). Handsome Bob is the cockiest, sexiest fucker ever. This is Tom Hardy who plays Handsome Bob...

I love Handsome Bob. After you've seen it, you'll love Handsome Bob too.

However, not just content with sticking these two geezers on screen, Guy Ritchie also gives us what Amy Winehouse would be like if she were a 6'2 man with a sixpack.

Toby Kebbell plays the Amy Manhouse guy, a junkie rocker called Johnny Quid. Johnny lives with another bloke (!) in a flat where he spends all of the time with his tracksuit trousers nearly falling down.

He also sports the coolest collection of gold sunglasses in the history of the world ever. If I couldn't have him for his cocky attitude, I would take him for his sunglasses. Here, let's all swoon at Toby...

There are also these two burly Russian bodyguards (who enjoy showing off their scars to each other) and in one scene, one of them is running after Gerard Butler in a train tunnel.

For some unknown bizarre, this blonde Russian bodyguard, wounded and bloodied but has a body like a brick shithouse, rips off his shirt to reveal these massive pecs and rippling sixpack in a move that would make the Chippendales blush.

Later in the film we see him in his black underpants hovering over Gerard Butler who is tied face down on a bed. I kid you not.

They antagonise each other by making mock blow-job signs with their hands and tongues.

RocknRolla is the coolest, sexiest most stylish two hours of movie I have seen in a long time. The soundtrack rocks too. Especially I'm a Man by Black Strobe and Waiting for a Train by Flash and the Pan.

Finally, Thandie Newton plays this hard-as-nails bitchy millionaire diva accountant (loving it!) who's in a marriage of convenience to a gay. Another one.

Forget all the crap that people have written. You're not going to see some clever gangster movie.

Instead you're going to watch a group of very fit, cocky blokes (excluding the old dude and the Russian billionaire) doing Carry on Gangster meets one of those sexy Dolce and Gabbana adverts. I loved it and give it 11 out of 10.

If want, I'll go with you to see it again. But I take no responsibility if you go and see it and hate it!

Super blue Surf

Newquay and back in a day. Respek. I've been so you don't have to.

Here's the bird that flew us there from Stansted. What's with that airline?!

£5 to check in at the airport, £12 if you have luggage and £145 if you want to sit in a chair, otherwise it's a wooden bench. Apparently.

Plus you have to run for the seats (if you have one), they don't recline and there are adverts all over the cabin.

Anyway, so you arrive at Newquay airport which they say is all sustainable and renewable. Think hut. Plus on the way out you're forced to donate £5 so that they can afford a roof / runway etc.

We made our way into the seaside of Newquay which is basically centred around (bad use of word because it's actually straight), anyway.

So the main beach is Josef Fritzl Beach. Or Fisting Beach? Or Auchtung Fritz or something. It was quite pretty and the light was beautiful.

I took this picture because it reminded me of the people who stand on the beach in the morning in City of Angels, don't you think?

Another picture of the beach from where we were having lunch.

And a picture of a flag on the beach.

This reminded me of those ridiculous flags raised in the Bird's Nest stadium in Beijing which basically flew like they were caught in a force 10 gale. Remember?

And of course how could I not go all the way to Cornwall and not deface a spectacular part of the Cornish coast? And I had a Cornish pasty too...

Plus I gathered up a little cup of sand which I have in my bag somewhere. I think I'm going to start collecting sand from different beaches I've visited around the world.

(I say this now but the idea will fall apart the next time I am at the seaside and forget to take a scoop. Or what will happen is someone will find my sand collection and think they're ashtrays. And fuck me - who the hell collects sand anyway?!)

Moth flame etc.

I am shocked actually. I don't know how it happened but I have just noticed that I have 103 Barbra Streisand songs on my iTunes. I have no excuses really.

Anyway, speaking of cheesy camp music on iTunes, The Point Of No Return, from Phantom of the Opera has been swirling around my head for the for the last few days.

Me modest? Generally yes however the one thing I know I can do well is operate a TV camera. No I don't do weddings.

A colleague who once freelanced for a disreputable but free gay listings magazine in London (yes, that one) told me that someone who he knows - the proverbial friend of a friend - knew someone who worked for a porn company and they were looking for pretty decent cameramen.

This is getting a little convoluted but the upshot of it all was that I got an e-mail on Friday that basically goes;

"Hi Bobby,
Got your details through ____ ________ who suggested you maybe interested in some freelance work. I work for a video company that you may have heard of based in London.. would you be interested?" Bla bla.

I would get £400 for a days' work, paid out of the till. Great.
They are interested in me because I have my own camera and I'm apparently good. How very flattering.
It's doing two scenes for a gay porn film to be shot at night in a south London gym locker-room. Er...

I have had all weekend to think about it and just before starting to type this I just shot them off an e-mail.

"Sorry, but I don't think I'm going to be available."

I just couldn't stop imagining the Sunday tabloid newspaper Worst Case Scenario.

_ _ _ journalist exposed as explicit hardcore gay porn producer.
A senior producer at the _ _ _ has been uncovered working part-time for an explicit gay pornography company based in London's seedy Soho district.

By day, Bobby Cox aged 30, works as staff on some of the broadcaster's flagship programmes however his double-life also includes helping to produce sordid gay sex films.

I really thought about doing it. I mean, don't say you wouldn't have been completely fascinated by the idea?

You only live once and perhaps this is serendipity and I actually have an illustrious career ahead in gay porn? Who the hell cares anyway?! Everyone is pretty relaxed and open these days, surely?

Even though I've e-mailed back to say no, definitely not, I still can't help wondering.

Maybe I'll write back and ask if I can go to watch to see if I'm comfortable with it.

Maybe it's me with the hang-ups because it's certainly not them!?

In the countryside

After two hours on the train from Paddington I arrive in Devon.

My family live about an hour's drive north of Exeter.

In my opinion, Devon is the most beautiful place in all of our United Kingdom. I have awarded it this accolade for the following reasons:

1/ In Devon nothing ever changes.
The country road leading to my aunt and uncles' house is exactly as I remember it as a kid.
You can live your whole life, get married, get divorced, have kids, go bankrupt, fight in a war, lose a limb and escape a hungry crocodile but you come back to Devon and it will be exactly as you left it.

2/ All the tourists fuck off to Cornwall and leave Devon alone.

3/ I can't really think of any more.

Here is a picture of the little village where my mum's family live.

See that church tower?

My mother was christened in that church, so was my sister. And my aunt. And my two cousins got married in it. And so did my uncle. And when my mum was a teenager she used to play the organ in it.

And you visit it now and it's exactly the same as it was about 300 years ago, when the church was built. They reckon that there's been a place of worship on that site since the 1100s (When Madonna first started singing).

The far end of the grave-yard is overgrown and makes for a good picture.

Here are two random pictures, one of a house that hasn't changed...

And here's a view from the end of the garden at that house that hasn't changed either.

On Monday morning I take a quite stroll around the village where old women natter on the street corner and tractors roll through.

I wander past the charity shop which always makes me smile. Here's the shop.

The reason this makes me laugh is because a few years ago my cousin threw a huge tantrum.

A few years ago I was at my auntie's sitting reading a book when this enormous commotion comes through the front door. My cousin has come home with bags full of stuff.

She stomps into the kitchen area and at the top of her voice bellows; "mum, that is the last bloody time I am doing this!"

Although Emma is my age, she wants to keep all her old books and toys for when she has children. My aunt thinks otherwise.

I go "Emma what's wrong?" and she goes "my fucking mother... that is the last fucking time I walk past the goddam charity shop and see all my old books and toys in the fucking window. I am sick of buying all my fucking stuff back!"

Today I look in the window and there are a few moth-eaten tea cosies and an old puzzle. No Barbie Ferrari or My Little Pony then. I guess my aunt has stopped doing it.

Suddenly it's Monday afternoon and I am back at the station and the train arrives and then I am in London.

The Bakerloo line stinks, I get a londonpaper thrust up my nose and some man is eating Tandoori chicken at Baker Street which makes me want to hurl. I miss the countryside.

Recipe

Yes, I've just got home from work. Yes. it's 2am in the morning.

I am not stressed and I am not panicked. Tomorrow I am getting on a train and travelling to the South West of England for a break.

While away I will only do three things; read, sleep, watch the occasional DVD, listen to music and hydrate with water.

To maintain these tasks I have packed the two most important things one could take when going away.

First is a clean change of underwear.

Second is a good pair of headphones for iPod and DVD usage.

Third is heaven in a blisterpack.

I am beat.

St James our Lord

Tonight God was at the gym again, this time in a black tank doing arms.

James is God. There is no other. When he walks his feet are half an inch off the ground.
He is keen and dedicated and he wears it all so well.

He is neat and his hair is perfect. He doesn't pull silly faces when the weights are too heavy. He just merely stares at his eyes in the mirror to make sure that every rep is perfect.

His arms are right for his shoulders which are in the right proportion to his chest and his back and his legs are strong. James kickstarts Boeings. No-one else can.

When James plays rugby his tackles are clean and they are perfect.

When James drinks the protein shake he has mixed in perfect quantities, he doesn't leave a milk moustache on his upper lip. He drinks it all and burps discreetly.

When James says yes he means yes. When James says no he means no. When James says it's done, it is thus. When James moves his hands the Red Sea bows and parts before him.

At study James's notes are all beautiful and they are well laid out. And if James's assignment is due on Monday, he is finished it by Friday. Just so that he can double-check everything.

James never accepts and James never gives anything less than 98.7%

James keeps his emotions in check. James is never too angry and James is always enthused.

James is disciplined and James is strong and James is respectful and James is kind to small animals. James does not hate, he does not covet and he is never bitter.

James is. And everyone knows it.

Women go weak and men are in awe. The gays turn radioactive. James just is.

James is omniscient. Whatever there is to know, James does. Infinitely.
James is omnipotent. When James does, he is all it. Everything.
And James is omnipresent. Wherever James is, is where it is. Forever.

Let us prey.

The fucking Start button

If I ever find the guy from Incredible Connection who sold my parents their goddam computer, I swear I will wring his goddam neck.

I will beat him until his asshole starts sucking buttermilk.
And I will then unscrew his neck and shit down his neck.
And then I will gouge out his eyeballs and skullfuck him.

(ad nauseum, thanks Stanley Kubrick...)

Every bloody night since last Tuesday I have had a phonecall.

"Bobby, the printer doesn't work... and we need to print." "Bobby, this screen keeps popping up and we can't get it to go away." "Bobby, the [insert any random goddam computer problem here.]

When I was back in South Africa in June my Dad decided it was the perfect time for an upgrade, so we traipse off to the bloody computer shop all the way in Canal Walk because that's where my dad insists the people know what they're talking about.

(This is an example of my dad's very lame attempts at father-son bonding)

Anyway, so the numpty in Incredible Connection (con being the operative word), sees my dad coming.

Me: "Dad, you don't need a computer with a Skype phone and build in webcam in the screen."
Man in computer shop: "If you don't have those accessories then you can't use Skype or do any sort of messenging and basically the PC will be worthless and you might as well just kill yourself."
Dad: "Yes, we'd better have them then."

In the end we walked out with this fucking thing (not a Mac) which had a tower, a large screen, a Skype phone, a mouse, a tablet mouse thingy (apparently mouses are bad for your wrists), a scanner, a printer, a wireless keyboard, a thing that connects it to the TV, bla bla bla.

Four months down the line and nothing is working. Everything is fucked.

And when they bought it my mum was dumb-founded so twice a week we had Jenny to come and give my mum and dad lessons.

Now I'm like, "well, where the hell is Jenny?"

My dad; "ag*, that bloody Jenny's a useless bitch." This is code for "we've pissed her off so much that she's told us to go fuck ourselves."

So here I am sitting in London, trying to help fix my parents' computer via phone using sentences like "you need to push the button in the bottom left hand corner called 'Start', do you see that?!"

And after twenty minutes of this, the back of my neck hurts and we're shouting at each other because I still don't understand why they have to / need to / want to print out their e-mails in colour anyway.

My parents were happy with their little cranky old machine that received e-mails, couldn't print and had Solitaire. Ignorance is bliss, I tell you.

So help me God if I ever bump into that computer salesman, I will smack him into the middle of next week. Bill Gates is only partially to blame for this.

* = "ag" is a South African exclamation.

Resolutions

When you hear someone say that there aren't enough hours in the day, it's because their time management is shit.

Which is why I decided that from September 1, I was going to make an effort.

1/ Cut down on the drinking. I can feel my kidneys / pancreas / liver aching on a near-daily basis. However, I will say that Kronenburg Blanc is just so tasty. Anyway, no more of alcohols for an entire month.

2/ Go to gym more. This summer - since flying back from Cape Town on June 16th, I've probably been to gym no more than 20 times. I just can't be fucked.

3/ Um.

4/ I can't remember what the third one was but the forth one was to make an effort with these internets more. What's the point if you don't ever make a point?

At least I can resolve point four right now because I am writing on this.

Here is the mandatory but random picture:
Yum. Last night while I was at work, sorting through a mountain of tapes, I decided that one day before The Resolution, I would scoff a pizza.

Yum yum, bubblegum... stick your finger up your bum. But not in a gay way.

It was delicious and I decided to accompany it with these plastic garlic wedgey-things who did a very good job at pretending to be edible.

Now here comes the inevitable paragraph on regret and self-loathing:
Oh, I wish I had the willpower to say no to pizza and fattening, ugly, dirty food that makes you fat and unattractive.

It's like the fuse that some people have, that blows a circuit at the mere mention of carbs, just doesn't work with me. I don't stop - I just devour.

Oh, if only I had a body like the model in the aussieBum adverts, then people would respect me and listen to what I had to say and offer to sleep with me.

And I would have people tell me I was funny and interesting and I would be fabulous and lovely and interesting and only hang around people who live in flats with mezzanines and good lighting.

And finally, here's the all-important but hollow resolution:
Tomorrow I am going to make extra-special effort at the gym.

All I want in life is to be photographed with my friends on the beach in a Speedo, so that I can post it on Facebook and make the album as public as possible so that everyone in the world can see just how interesting (and beautiful) I am.

I am going to do that. Tomorrow, I promise myself - the first start at the beginning of the journey of the rest of my life.
I'm not getting any younger - only older, so the time is now.

"Do everything you can do, now!", is my new motto. Just as Cher says on her 1996 Farewell Tour album - the one after The Very Very Last Good-Bye Ever Tour.

Get ready cos I'm coming at cha! I'm a lover and a lighter. Er, fighter I mean. I will conquer.

Er:
So that was easy enough. Maybe we should do it all again tomorrow then?