Ping pong! Awake...
Excuse me bitches...
Who is able to keep the plank between two elevated surfaces for the entire build-up of "Heartbreak Make A Dancer..."?
(FYI: I think "Heartbreak" could be on its way to becoming my song for 2009. I'm just saying.)
I know how much you love it, so I will say nothing...
My friend Jemimah, who joined us all on the morning of London Pride, has taken some amazing photos. I tell the J-Thang that I'm going to nick her pics and show them off to the world.
I think they're brilliant...
I am investigating the latest trends in music. You know me - I love a good swinging beat combo.
Sometimes I wish I was a DJ - so that I could play my favourite tunes for the masses.
I realise that I need to rephrase that. I actually did once DJ.
And here's another chapter in the history of "Bobby's Wayward Past That He's Spent Years Trying to Forget But Embraces Now Because Fuck It, I'm Old and Who Cares"...
So I was on the radio playing music and therefore I used to be paid to DJ at clubs.
Not like doof doof dance clubs, more like commercial clubs where the Radio Edit of Madonna would segue into the Radio Edit of Fat Boy Slim.
On a Wednesday night I played at a completely straight club in a suburb of Cape Town called Claremont. The barmen at this club were totally hot. They served topless.
The club still exists although under a different name.
Anyway, one of the barmen started talking to me. He was super hot. Over the next few weeks we chatted and chatted.
As always happens in club-world, you're there at 6am, after everyone has gone home, having a shot at the bar with the barman who's cashing up etc.
One thing led to another and Mr Barman and I decided that because we were just blokes alone with each other and, because there was no-one else around, it would be appropriate for us to er... find relief in each other's company.
Nothing serious of course, he had a girlfriend and I wasn't gay.
Except I loved it. And evidently so did he.
So it's Wednesday night a few weeks later and I'm DJ'ing and Mr Barman's at the bar. He sees me, I see him.
There are looks and nods and he comes to bring me a drink and we talk.
At the time the biggest songs were tunes like:
1/ Cher: Believe
2/ Cornershop: Brimfull of Asha (Norman Cook remix)
3/ Ultra Nate: Found a Cure (Full Intention Radio Edit)
I don't know how it happened and I am going to cut a long story short but basically Mr Barman and I end up in a toilet stall together with our pants around our ankles.
Except he was supposed to be behind the bar and I was supposed to be DJ'ing.
So you can imagine how I feel when Cher's "Believe" suddenly comes to an end.
Like literally, I am standing in the toilet stall and the song's finished. And my jeans are pulled down as far as possible. And there's a queue outside the toilet door.
I remember the moment like it was yesterday. Shouting fuck and not finding it funny and just darting. And miraculously leaping over people into the DJ box.
While we were busy it seems that God had queued up Bob Sinclair's "Gym Tonic" on CD player 2.
I brought an entire club to a standstill because I was having a wank in the loo with the barman. Fuck.
"2..3..4...5...6..7..8.. and back back back back" is how the Bob Sinclair song starts.
I never saw the barman again. I continued to DJ for another few weeks although in the end I decided it up. It wasn't the same really.
I drop an e-mail to a friend about Amy Winehouse.
And check out the sponsored link in the GMail message.
Listen, it's Monday. What do you wank?
I mean, 'want?'
Oh. Tomorrow will be a beautiful day. I feel I need to chuck a sickie.