believe is it wake time up . clock alarm I can't (re-arrange and place as necessary)
On the Jubilee Line on the way to gym and it's fucking pande-fucking-monium. The carriage is shaking from side to side and heaving forward under the weight of the chaos. Look!
Okay, maybe I'm over-selling the Jubilee Line experience just a little.
and the morning passes, gym comes and goes, the train comes and goes and I am on it. And then I am not and it's work and I'm at my desk and people walk past and it's all a blur like when people smudge Vaseline on the cupboard mirror so that when they catch a glance of themselves wanking on the bed, they can imagine the reflection is of someone else...
The new Gay Times magazine wings its way into the office which is always a cause for "a little wee in the panties*".
* = not my words, a colleague's.
[Editorial Aside (And cue the cynicism...)
Doncha love how the Gay Times - a magazine which one assumes proudly serves and reflects the gay community - has dropped the word 'gay' from its name? It's now GT.
Perhaps this is because it wants to appear more mainstream? Or maybe because we're all now post-modern fabulous and no-one really cares whether it was called Gay Times or Suckey-Cockey or Put Your Big Hot Throbbing Nine (okay, we get it...)
Because in the olden days all the homos were falling over themselves to be labelled gay but now not so much. So let's move on. And besides GT is like G&T. And all the homos love pissing it up, so that's okay then.
Thumbing through the latest Gas Turbine and well, well, well... what have we here then?!
Ping! Time for some bitchy gossip...
So at the gym there's this guy who basically - well, I'm not going to make assumptions because I haven't actually spoken to him. But that's not for want of trying.
I've smiled and said hello and Liam's tried to say something but nothing. He just walks around in a white vest and conspicuously ignores everyone.
I mean it's a gym for god's sake. You help people, you offer advice and ask them to spot you so that you can look up their shorts and you sniff the bench where they've left a sweaty patch. It's normal.
Except for this guy. Clearly all of this and everyone else is so. utterly. beneath. him.
So you can imagine when I turn to page 60-odd of the latest GigaTonne... A feature on guys who seem to fancy how they look without a top on. And who do we see!?
"I have a good body because I work out at gym and spend all weekend dancing in clubs until Monday morning."
(Mail me everything you know any of the guys in that feature so we can share The Knowledge. Especially stuff like "I slept with so-and-so who has a trick pelvis and can suck the reflection off a mirror."
foxycoxy@me DOT com)
Oh yeah, speaking of The Knowledge. Remember last week we were talking about Katie Price's book launch and the man who appeared who was Mary Poppins - practically perfect in every way. He's here...
I said to you - what the fuck do you know? You told me quite a lot. Like that he's from Wales and his name is Peter and...
Do you really want more?!
I think we're all over it now. He's too perfect. Too modelly. We want a bit of rough and madness... So honestly, in your heart-of-hearts, would you take our plucky Peter from Wales or this...
Come on.... Honestly.
You have the choice to be locked up in a log cabin for a week in the remote Scottish highlands and you could only take one, who would you choose?
Oh. Gay Times was renamed GT back in 2007. Well, that shows how cutting edge we are here at Am Not Blog towers.
(Ohmygod - "Am Not Blog Towers"!? That was so parochial will some please fucken kill me with a yellow Ikea Smegma. Like yesterday already.)
Watching more television and it's not often I do this. Something called "Deal or No Deal" is on. Have you watched it?
It doesn't quite have the 'oh-my-good-goddam-fucking-fuck' intensity of Project Runway USA, in fact it's a just a guy getting other people to open a bunch of shoeboxes.
There's an old phone on a table and sometimes it rings and Noel Edmonds (the host of this gameshow) pretends to talk to someone called The Banker although it could be Kermit-the-fucking-Frog.
Um. Oh dear. Some old guy just lost out on winning £250,000. This "Make Me A Deal, Dummy" show is hectic.
Oh god, I think I've been sucked in.
Did you know that Celine Dion's song "All By Myself" borrows very heavily from Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto #2 in C minor? So much so that if you look in the sleeve notes, Rach is credited.
Oh yeah, speaking of classics and The Proms and stuff... Would anyone like me to take them on a date to the Royal Albert Hall.
The program is here.
You choose the concert, I'll get the tickets. (Seriously)
Maybe I was a little harsh earlier on the ice-queen who goes to our gym.
Okay, fair enough. I apologise.
I'm really really sorry, I apologise unreservedly.
I offer a complete and utter retraction.
The imputation was totally without basis in fact, and was in no way fair comment, and was motivated purely by malice, and I deeply regret any distress that my comments may have caused you, or your family, and I hereby undertake not to repeat any such slander at any time in the future.
Oh shit, I said I was going to show you the best Gaydar test in the whole wide world. Bollocks. Okay, maybe tomorrow.
Can I say something - and you're not allowed to ask but today I was talking to someone and we were laughing and sharing a story and - this was earlier this evening... and can I tell you that - er.
To: You Know Who You Are...
I really really really really really really really really like you. In fact I am counting the days until I am standing next to you again. Tonight I will hug the pillow and pretend it's you.
Schmaltz. Me? I don't do mushy-lovey shit, don't be fucking ridiculous. I don't know what you've been reading to get that idea?!
I've over-used the "!?" combination today. Tomorrow less will be more.