Grotesque

As you probably know, I don't often use my mobile phone to take pictures of unsuspecting people. In fact I think it's really rather freakish. Hence, I never do it.

However I am embarrassed to admit that my gold-plated moral conviction suffered a terrible lapse last week while travelling on the Central Line.

There was a woman sitting towards the middle of the carriage who caught my attention. I was transfixed by her and couldn't remember where on earth I'd seen her before. Somehow, she looked terribly familiar.

Then it dawned on me like in The Witches of Eastwick when they suddenly remember the name of Jack Nicholson's character!

The National Gallery in London, a painting by Quinten Massys...

Far be it for me to start casting nasturtiums but the resemblance was uncanny. I was shocked.

I must also report that this last week has been very difficult work-wise. Especially making the effort to stay motivated has been like clutching at spanners. Or alcohol.

Friday was just hell - like trying to thread straw through the eye of a camel. It didn't help that the day started with me waking up on a couch in one of the dressing rooms. Urgh.

But hopefully you'll understand when I show this this...

This is the pile of tapes in the office:

And this is the pile of tapes at home:

Somehow I am going to have to take all those hundreds of hours of rushes and turn them into four minutes of kick-ass, fuck-off amazing fucking showreel. Preferably by Tuesday.

I don't know what music I am going to use. I don't know which effects I can use.

I don't know where the fuck to begin.

Shit

Don't worry - I've been going through my iTunes library so you don't have to.
(Each answer is the first that appears in the search results.)

The word 'bloody' appears because of:
Kevin Bloody Wilson

The word 'asshole' appears because of:
Er, correction. The word asshole doesn't appear.

The word 'shit' appears because of:
Marilyn Manson - "This Is The New Shit"

The word 'fuck' appears because of:
Dave Guetta - "The World is Mine (Fuck Me I'm Famous Remix)"

The word 'cunt' appears because of:
Derek and Clive - "You Stupid Cunt"

The word motherfucker appears because of:
Beck - "Mutherfucker."

Sorry for the disgusting language but I have no choice. Whinging about work is a bit like talking about the gym; after a while the stories all become the same.

Though today I did three things:

1/ I wrote the e-mail to my colleagues announcing my departure.
2/ I wrote the e-mail to my boss telling him that I'm quitting
3/ I wrote the letter to the HR department demanding redundancy

The only thing I need now is another job to go to, so that I can send the e-mails out.

Is it just me or is everything shit?

Like totally important

Did you know that peanut butter can be used as a substitute for shaving cream?

It's true because I read it on Wikipedia.

The bloody bastard washing machine has broken which means that unless the landlord comes to fix it tout suite, I am going to be wearing an aussieBum vest and leather trousers to work.

The bottom of my feet are slippery from the athletes foot spray. Not because I have the fungus chewing on the soles of my feet but because I am scared I may get it.

Guess what? Don't worry, I'll tell you...

I was doing a trawl on Facebook for people who worked for Virgin Atlantic. For research purposes you understand, and do you know that what I found shocked me!

There are trolley dollies who are straight! What!?

That's like finding out that there are gays in the Hells Angels.

Don't get me wrong - I am not the kind of person to make sweeping generalisations ever but I thought that all male air stewards were gay? I mean hello!

I see they're bringing Caligula back but this time it's going to be (roll of drums...) uncut.

Shitty movies that were purely designed to titillate and nothing else are the best. Basic Instinct doesn't fall into that category because it was actually fucking brilliant. Showgirls does.

I think there's a group on Facebook called "Everything I know in life, I learned from Showgirls". How fucking true is that?

Like how many times do you find yourself using the line "you can't touch me but I can touch you. I'd really love to touch you."

Or "if you wanna last longer than a week you gotta give me a blow-job." Cinematic gold.

I've thought up a list of totally crap movies with the only redeeming quality being that there is some form of hot male mess in them:

Two Moon Junction
Remember Richard Tyson? Hello! 80s hunk-o-spunk rocks.

Crash
Elias Koteas is blue-collar psychotic fitness. Plus a naked James Spader if that floats your er...

Wild Thing(?!)
The movie where you see Kevin Bacon naked in the shower. Totally hot.

The Pillow Book
OMFG. Naked Ewan McGregor in like the whole film. I remember seeing this at the cinema and it really wound me up, to the point where I was cross-legged most of the time, so that I wouldn't embarrass myself in front of friends.

I can't think of anymore and I need to go to bed.

Playing it straight

What happens is that girls go with their gay brothers to pride parties like ones in Soho and Brighton and have a great time. And they tell their straight friends "it's brilliant, because it's like a funfair for adults."

But all the straight boys don't really wanna go to gay pride parties because they would be set upon by greedy homosexuals. So what they do is have the pride party but without the gays.

Which is what South West Four is.

Thousands of people get together on Clapham Common, there are tents and dancing and everyone has a fabulous day and all the boys can take their shirts off and hug all the other boys while the girls sit on the grass and drink beer.
It is gay pride for straight people.



















There were around 10 of us in The A-Team, me being the only bender and we were mostly in the trance tent.

Someone had a silly cow balloon that they loved but didn't hold onto it properly and the poor moo floated all the way up to the ceiling.

And although I was with mostly South Africans, I was NOT with the people who were waving the bloody flag.

And I guess here's one more for the road...

What an utter God.

And what a day - I can't wait for next year.

A cut below

So like how open are you about telling someone if you're cut or uncut?

We were in the office today, three gays (urgh, spit), and two were talking about their willies. The one asked me if I was cut and I was like "er..." and before I could anything say he was like "ohmygod, you have a hang-up".

I said I wasn't going to tell them because they'd just accused me of having hang-ups but hmm...

I'm like, well you can find out if you really want but I'm not going to say. Is that a hang-up?

And the other thing is; how open are you to admitting that you're passive or bottom or top or active?

Like the one gay was saying that his worst is when he's getting it and the guy goes slow and then suddenly goes fast. (This really is not me) but I was like, 'I don't wanna know that.'

Maybe I am a terrible prude.

The funny thing is how people attach stereotypes. Tall, lanky guys apparently have massive willies and are all top whereas big muscle-men are usually "power bottoms" who're not very well hung.

The anthropological reasoning is that big musclemen have made themselves all big 'n buff to counter the fact that things aren't too impressive down there.

But that's not the gossip. As everyone knows, Hard-On is a club night in London where men get together and ...it's all like sex and leather and stuff. I don't know anything about this.

However, what I do know that is on the website is a club picture of someone who works in our office!

He hasn't got his hand up another man's bottom and he isn't dancing on stage with a raging erection but nonetheless. He must know it's there, the website has like adult checks etc and he obviously doesn't mind.

At least it's a good benchmark should I ever want to get into porn or anything.

God we're starved of good gossip.

Monday 18/08/08

And this day is Sunday and on this day I find myself on a train which is hurtling towards Tottenham Court Road tube station.

The red in the carriage is like the blood in my veins, that powers me to every sorrow imaginable. And inside I cry but on the outside I am strong. This is just an illusion.

And for this tube journey I am wearing a purple Puma cap, black Pringle top, dark blue _____ jeans, purple aussieBum underwear, black socks and white Nike trainers.

And I get off the train and walk in the direction that everyone else is walking in because that's what they do. And every step I take is another step and the bone-crushing feeling of nothing overcomes me. And I swipe my Oyster card.

I am then at Old Compton Street where the clouds are covering about 92.5% of the sky. Then a text arrives and this text says that everyone is in a queue in Soho Square. And since I have nothing better to do I take the steps necessary to get to this square where everyone is.

And as I make my way through the crowds of people I feel the pain. And this pain can only be described as ________. And then I see _____ who says ____ and ________ but ______.

But then I am standing and this guy walks up to me. And this guy is there and then he stands next to me and suddenly there is a picture. And as Marky Mark says "To bring forth the rhythm and the rhyme, I'm a get mine so get yours."

And then this happens in front of the camera.

And then I walk away and get to this place called Soho Square where I see

Titwanked

I am going to let you imagine a situation.

So you went to the local gay pride march and had fun and decided to go out and suddenly it's Monday morning. You're with a couple who you know from work and two other guys who seem lovely enough.

You don't see them as close friends but you've had great fun nonetheless.

They say: What?! No, you can't go home.
You are unsure of what to say.

It's 6am, south London. This is what you see before you.

What the fuck do you do? Great (a)moral questions of our time, bitches.

What the fuck do you do?

1/ Go home, boil the kettle and take a hot up of cocoa to bed with you.
2/ Unleash hell.

I can't believe I was fucking shit up on a Monday morning at 9am in Fire. Now that I'm 30 I can behave like a fucking degenerate.

While you were getting up to go to work and straightening your tie, I was on the dancefloor without a top on.

While you were picking up a copy of the Metro I was dancing at 140 beats per minute.

When you heard "please mind the gap between the train and the platform", I was bopping with some dude who tried to put his hand down my pants.

A few hours later, while you were looking over some crappy important work memos, I was sat opposite you on the tube.

You were stressed that it was a Monday morning and that you were on your way to work, to face a long week.

I was off my face.

I am fucked, broken, destroyed.

It's time for bed and I'm screwed. I love you.

Pole vaults

South Africa are doing so badly at the Olympics that I can't even be bothered to watch when I see a South African taking part.

No-one from the team has won a single bloody medal.

I haven't even cared to find out if there are any hotties in Team SA because they're all doing so badly. Even Togo and Tajikistan are doing better.

I heard, and it must be true, that the Olympics is basically one big shag-fest, once an athletes' individual events are over.

It stands to reason.

You're a straight male gymnast (as if), you're pretty hyped having just won silver and you're at the bar with the American women's volleyball team...

Get this fact: "At the games in Sydney the organisers’ original order of 70,000 condoms for the Olympic Village went so fast that they had to order 20,000 more.
Even with the replenishment, the supply was exhausted three days before the end of the competition schedule."

So, who the fuck are you rooting for? I have found three piles of hot Olympic mess.

First it's Benoit, some French dude who won silver in the gymanstics...

Then there's some Italian stallion called Andrea who won a medal in the Greco Roman wrestling.

And finally Ryan Lochte, an American swimmer.

And listen, we can't ogle over hot Olympic man-flesh without the following...

They just make me giggle because it's so childish to turn Olympic glory into smutty homoerotica. Love it!







And finally, yes, I know what you're wanting.

Here's more of the beautiful Benoit Caranobe.



Hands off bitches, he's mine.

I am the ninja of mundane

Bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla

Everything I want to say, I've said before.
Every goal I've tried to achieve is one that I've set before.
Sometimes I just can't be bothered. Sometimes I just cannot give a shit.

It's like you nearly kill yourself at the gym and then you look in the mirror and you look worse than when you first went in.

Fat ugly ugly fat ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly ugly fat fat fat fat ugly ugly.

Sometimes I venture into the repeating waters and become engulfed in a sea of utter indifference.
Sometimes I venture into the repeating waters and become engulfed in a sea of utter indifference.
Sometimes I venture into the repeating waters and become engulfed in a sea of utter indifference.
Sometimes I venture into the repeating waters and become engulfed in a sea of utter indifference.

Life at this petty pace that creeps
Day to day.
Thinking that your life is full of sound and fury
When in fact
Your life is nothing.

Those e-mails need responding to.
That bin needs emptying.
The washing needs doing.

Fuck it all.

Tomorrow I need to wake up.
Tomorrow I need to wake up and get into a car.
Tomorrow I need to wake up and get into a car that will take me to Heathrow
Tomorrow I need to wake up and get into a car that will take me to Heathrow to catch a flight

At Heathrow I will board a plane for Edinburgh
A plane for Edinburgh.
Zoom voosh. Arm doors and cross-check.
I have not packed. Fuck that.
Fuck this fuck that.

I will wake up early tomorrow to pack.
Like fuck I will.

Fuck kcuf fuck kcuf fuck kcuf Fuck kcuf fuck kcuf fuck kcuf
Fuck kcuf fuck kcuf fuck kcuf Fuck kcuf fuck kcuf fuck kcuf

Will you please wake me up when the mundane is over?

Just. Innit.

This is not some pretentious word play. Nor is this some attempt at poetry.
This is because I just can't even be bothered to formulate sentences.
Ctrl + paste is far easier.
Ctrl + paste is far easier.
Ctrl + paste is far easier.
Ctrl + paste is far easier.

Do you know what this is?

This is choosing to wank when you should be getting ready for work.
This is choosing to type personal e-mails when you should be finishing that important report.
This is browsing eBay when you should be turning off the PC to cook dinner.
This is blathering on when you have nothing to say.

This is all just shit.

And so the calm waters of disinterest gather and rise. I don't move as they continue up. Lapping at my mouth I am too calm to care. And then I begin to choke.

The dude is fit Pt 2

Sunday

Wake up without a hangover. Bloody hell, that Chateau Margeaux stuff from the party the night before is good shit.

Go to gym. While there The Fittest Guy In The World Entire World asks me to help spot him. This absolutely turns this day into the best ever.

I am flattered and honoured to do so. Ohmygod. He is the hottest guy I have ever been near, ever. Anyway.

I notice a London W a s p s logo on his shorts which means I have to leave the gym immediately to get home and visit their website.

Google is a bastard because everything you write immediately becomes searchable - hence the spaces I am about to put into all these words - but go to the official L o n d o n W a s p s website.

You'll see a tab at the top in yellow for " R u g b y ". Let it open and choose P e o p l e.

Go to the " F i r s t X V " and choose the team for the 2004/5 season - the scroll down menu is in the top right of the picture.

He's on the bottom row, second from the right. His first name starts with " J a m " and his surname ends with " l w o o d."

Not only that but do a Google search for him. There's a YouTube video and some topless shots, it's via " L A M u s c l e ".

He is so hot that he has actually put me off my food.

And it seems from the video that he can actually string a sentence together which means I'm sure he won't mind if the gays slobber over him.

What. A. Fittie.

The dude is fit Pt 1

I know that you're interested and because I know that you care.

Friday
Long day at work ends with a bottle of champagne in the edit suite because we've finished another massive project.

Susie, my co-conspirator, has a party to go to which I am invited to but instead I go home.

Getting off the tube I still have The Taste so I go into the Costcutters to buy a Stella which I sip while walking home.

I get in, sit down on my bed and think "I'll just lie my head down here for a moment and rest my eyes." I wake up at 4am.

Saturday
I go to the gym. I go to the fancy dress party dressed as a personal trainer. The theme is 'p'. Thanks for your suggestions.

I end up talking to a woman who I think is interested in me.

She's a widower, she's absolutely fabulous and I lust after her clutch bag which has a small skull mounted on it, encrusted with black crystals.

Her late husband was a businessman in France and he was also a billionaire. We sit laughing and drinking Chateau Margaux.

I promise to take her to Fire, she promises that next time I go to Paris I can use their apartments. Deal.

Now quite drunk, I call it quits and decide to get the Tube home. I stagger on at Tottenham Court Road.

I sit on the Tube thinking how fun it would be to be a billionaire. Whatever.

To continue reading about Sunday at the gym, click here

Thursday sober

Tonight is the first Thursday, for as long as I can remember, that I am sober. So let's drink to that!

(Usually Thursdays are quite stressful which is why I usually like to unwind with a vat of wine. For some reason tonight I passed...)

So I went and hung around with naked people all morning and it wasn't actually as bad as I thought. Remember, I told you about it yesterday?

There were a few moments were I was trying hard to look at everything but (or butt) however, in the end we escaped unharmed.

As I predicted, most of the people were very much over 60 years old. Have you ever stood in a room full of near-naked wannabe pensioners? Mucho non-sexy.

I only have one observation. When men reach a certain age their crotch becomes like an overgrown jungle. When woman reach that age it becomes like a desolate hinterland. As a guide, you know you're that age when the grey ones start to appear.

Okay, so yes I looked briefly.

I also couldn't help it when one of the guys dropped his glasses and bent over, back towards me, to pick them up.

And when I say bent over, he bent all the way over with his legs straight. Like right over to the other side.

Boy, did the sight hit me right between the eyes, nearly knocked me out. It was like being winked at by the hairiest Santa Claus in the Harvey Nichols Christmas grotto.

And it's not only when they start to go grey. Another sign that the hill is here and you're nearly at the top is when your shoulders start to get hairy. Anyone willing to own up to hairy shoulders?

On Saturday night I have a party and the theme is "P".

There is nothing more irritating in the whole fucking world than fucking fancy fucking dress parties. Especially when the person who proposed the fucking fancy fucking dress idea is not going to fucking be there. (Do you get the sense that I am against this?)

I thought of going as a person, dressed up as myself. I thought of Posh Spice - in drag with big sunglasses, oranges down my chest and a load of boutique shopping bags.

But then it hit me, no fucking way. I am going as Personal Trainer / PE Teacher. This means I can just wear my gym kit. Easy-peasy.

If anyone has another idea, p-p-p-p-p-p-lease speak! And don't say poof because I've thought of that. And I thought about going as a paedophile too (trench coat with lots of sweeties...)

Doncha fucking hate fancy dress? Fuck.

Oh yeah, and I spotted this in Private Eye. It made me smile.

Cum dump

I am slightly embarrassed that I am even sticking this up in the first place...

There aren't many standards around here but even I think that this Bobbycast falls well below what's generally acceptable.

There is supposed to be a Bobbycast here but I can't embed audio clips without them immediately causing the bandwith on the hosting site to shoot off the scale - and then you can't access the file.
Does anyone know how servers and free hosting sites work? Please, please e-mail me... amnotblog AT gmail.com

Still though, at least listening to it is slightly more interesting than having to read through endless boring words and split infinitives.

That's all really.

Do you know, I was standing on the platform at Bond Street today, and as the train was coming into the station I thought to myself; what would happen if I just ran and jumped in front of it?

Would I be able to hang onto the front of it or would I fall underneath and die? I also wondered what would happen if I just leant forward and pushed someone else under it.

I guess it's so weird in London because everyone is so distant towards each other. No-one takes any notice or cares about anyone else.

I've seen people collapse on the pavement in Oxford Street and others nearly walk over them, because their body's lying in the way.

But for all that distance it's actually really easy to reach out and just change someone's life completely.

The positive side is that tomorrow lunchtime, at the Subway counter, you could meet the man of your dreams. Or someone could accidently push you down a flight of stairs and you could break your neck.

One of my greatest fears is losing a limb. I have a terrible fear of it - so much so that I can't read JM Coetzee's book Slow Man because it's about just that.

Mental shit you can get over - physical stuff must be absolutely awful. There's a guy in the office who has alopecia and all his hair has fallen out.

Fuck knows why I mention this. I guess it's because maybe sometimes you have to lie down and think "thank goodness, I have two legs, two arms, eyes to see, ears to hear, a nose to smell and a mouth to taste and kiss.

Thank goodness I have a body that works well and can experience taste, touch etc."

Oh, and one last thing.

On a gay personals site, what do you think when you see the following (for example):

"Spitroast me and, LOVE boys pissing... stretch my ass to use me as your cum-dump slut boy - ANY COCKS WELCOME - bareback and fists welcome"

Do you think:

a/ Doesn't that person have a little more self esteem and any sense of self worth?
b/ Sounds horny to me
c/ Bobby you're a prude