Monday, 1 June 2009

Monday, 01 June 09

I wake up and it is such a beautiful day so I decide that on this day I am going to do as little as possible which means work simply cannot happen. So I tell work to shove it.

I realise that I am naked from the waist down and that my clothes are strewn all over the bedroom floor. I didn't realise I came in so late?!

I am drinking a lot of Evian water. I am so light on gas nowadays that a glass of wine induces a hangover. In the old days I would neck a glass of wine in between the swigs of Jack Daniels.

Old age can really blunt one.

I have carted the laundry basket to the kitchen where I will attempt the task of putting the clothes in the machine and turning it on.

I have downloaded Groove Armada's song "At the River" to accompany me for this task but listening to it has me confused.

About 32 seconds into the tune there are some lilting sampled electronic sounds. I am convinced that these sounds are sampled from the soundtrack to Cannibal Holocaust.

Cannibal Holocaust is that horrific film where people have sex in front of children and some other people chop off a turtle's head. Not quite chill-out choonz really.

I search the internet and can't find any definitive answer to this. Thus I have been side-tracked from doing the washing.

Of my three piles; colours, blacks and whites, the whites are now immersed in water and going around in circles inside the Bosch's tummy.

There is loud talking down the road, so loud that I can hear it over Groove Amanda. What the hell is going on?

At the window I realise I need my camera...

Why is there a pack of extremely fit guys hanging around outside.

Don't they have work? Have they just got in from Fire?

And hello! to the one in beige yawning. I don't know what is make of what is happening outside so I pull myself from the window and weep a little weep inside that I am not in their cool We're So Fucking Hot group.

At the gym where I am doing a full-body thrash and Chris is there helping someone else achieve their dream of the body beautiful.

Chris and the Person Who He's Helping seem to be having a very subdued session. This intrigues me.

Chris comes to ask how I'm getting on. I tell him good.

"But listen, you and that guy earlier - you were treating him like a kid. Howcome it's "Destroy Bob" when I have a session with you which hurts for days but with other people it's all genteel and calm."

"That's because you swear, spit and call me a cunt while panting and trying to lift the weights."

I tell Chris that that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me and I think I mean it.

We learn that is sick. My heart breaks a little because I want to make him chicken soup.

In Sainsbury's shopping.

Why has the police helicopter been circling our neighborhood for the last 30 minutes?

This immediately makes me feel like Ray Liotta playing Harry Hill in Goodfellas, where he starts to get paranoid (from too muck cocaine) that he's being followed when in fact, he really is being followed.

I am with er - someone who doesn't have a name. Let's call him Paul. I don't think there's anyone called Paul around here.

Anyway, I have known Paul for years and years. This is an extremely useful thing because Paul lives about 5 minutes' walk down the road.

Paul is my age and works in the theatre. The ridiculous / small-town / London-and-her-gays-live-in-a-fucking-village thing is that you probably know Paul too.

Anyway. We meet once in a while to discuss the ongoing diplomatic crisis in Uganda. Sometime this issue needs to be discussed and it's always pleasure when Paul and I can meet up to hold discussions.

Discussions are taking place and the phone rings.

Not only does Paul stop to answer it but then proceeds to have a conversation with the person on the other end. And that person turns out to be his fucking mother!

"No Mum, got a friend here so let's talk quickly..."

What. the. fuck?!

I tell Paul it's going to be very difficult to try and re-start our discussions and so I leave.

A text arrives.

"Soz for that. First time I've spoken to mum in days. As you probably heard I've been away. Please keep in touch so we can meet again soon."

Er. I hate people who use the term soz.

I also, from recent experience, have come to distrust anyone who uses the phrase "let's keep in touch". When a gay says it, it seems to mean the exact opposite.


The suitcase has come out. In 48 hours I will be in the sky, bound for Johannesburg.

A time later I will be on another plane bound for Cape Town.

I did tell you about my party didn't I? You are coming, aren't you? There will be loads of hot boys from Cape Town for your pleasure.

The packing starts.

I am listening to the XXL Bear Pride 7 CD that I was given at a BBQ yesterday. In particular I am listening to my tune of the moment...


This song* reminds me of yesterday afternoon, we were sat on a terrace in a house in Maida Vale.

Since I don't really care to use a camera at these events, I can happily rip them off a friend's Facebook page...

In this first picture we see Bobby and someone else standing in the corner in the kitchen. No one can really tell what was going on in this picture...

Though I would like to point your attention to the limited edition Marc Jacobs signature T-shirt, a blend of the gay and union flags, as worn by Bobby in the corner. Thank you.

One of the boys at this gathering is a sportsman who is very good at swimming. He is about 6'4 and blonde. We will call him Jonathan.

Dressed in black he has Good Arms.

Jonathan and I are talking and we agree that, of all the people at this gathering, we would most like to take each other's clothes off.

And the T-shirt I was wearing wasn't even a tight one. Cowabunga.

* = The song is called The Sound of Disco and I dunno who it's by because every search gives me a different answer. The original bass comes from Sandy B - Make the World Go Around.

I'm going to bed.

In total, today has been a Good Day. Though I still cannot believe that Paul not only answered the phone but then proceeded to have a conversation with his mother.

That's a first.

Oh yeah, and earlier on I referred to them as Groove Amanda instead of Armada. That was a joke. Did you get it?