West Hampstead tube station...
Look at what is on La Ligne De La Centrale... this is the best thing that could happen on a Monday morning...
Arms the size of a 14 year old rugby player's thighs.
Where the hell do these people hide and why is he on the Tube at 6am? Is he doing the walk of shame or is he going to work, a job that requires him to lay railway track with his hands and eat bulldozers?
I. Want. Now.
Here's some gossip about someone you don't know.
So Anton was at a work party on Saturday and drank so much red wine that he could barely stand up and colleagues had to call a cab to help him home.
But Anton was in no fit state to travel by car and proceeded to vomit all over the cab.
The cab driver stopped to get Anton out but Anton stumbled onto the pavement smashing his face. So Anton is lying in the road paralytic and covered in red wine vomit and blood.
This isn't the kind of service that Addison Lee are accustomed to...
So someone else from work is called to collect Anton who can't stand up and he spends the night on their couch because he can't tell anyone where he lives because he's so drunk.
In the morning he wakes up and asks this colleague "ohmygod - I think I drank too much, I hope I didn't embarrass myself..."
Well that intern didn't last long. Poor fucker.
We need a new one and facilities management need to get pronto with a wheel-barrow to fetch the old one. Before the mice start to nibble.
Corpses in the office are such a pain to have to constantly step over!
Enough of all this crass talk. What we need is some fucking culture.
Ohmygod, this is just what we need...
Ladies & Gentleman, an occasional series of...
Bobby's Book Club.
(Please note: This differs from the other BBC - Bobby's Broadcasting Club)
Sapphire is a go-getter, beautiful and drives a cherry-red Mini. She also lives in a penthouse in Brighton which has a lift that goes all the way to the top.
Sapphire's current boyfriend is called Jay and she arrives home to find Jay slouched on the couch. There's some exchange about going jogging on the seafront but Sapphire decides to give Jay a blow-job instead (page 2).
Jay apparently looks like Wentworth Miller, has abs of steel and to reciprocate Sapphire's extraordinary blow-job, Jay does some "mind-blowing oral work" on Sapphire.
Jay is a personal trainer, not a dentist.
(Are you following this? The hero lives in Brighton, drives a Mini and has a personal trainer for a boyfriend who looks like Wentworth Miller, er...)
Anyway. Sapphire decides to ditch Jay for the evening and go for a night out with her girlfriends. The girlfriends are Jasmine, known as Jizz, and Sam - rhymes with man.
Jizz has ultra blonde hair, while Sam has a disastrous love-life and yo yo diets.
(For Jizz and Sam read: future slutty bridesmaid and future ugly bridesmaid. It's clear that, if there's a wedding, one of them will end up giving the best man a blow job against the washing machine. Who it'll be is 50/50)
Anyway, Sapphire, Jizz (it's actually Jazz) and Sam are out drinking vodka tonics.
"Oh, Sapphire, you're such a bitch treating Jay like that..." etc. "Listen, did you see on Facebook about this school reunion - your ex-husband is going to be there...?"
Right - so how much have you been paying attention in the back?
Sapphire's ex-husband. Is he:
1/ a successful estate agent who actually wears good aftershave and an expensive suit
2/ a club owner in Ibiza
3/ a personal trainer who knows Jay and also has abs of steal.
The BBC continues tomorrow...
After this morning's Incredible Hulk on the Tube this morning, are we going to have a hat-trick on the way home Le Ligne De La Centrale?
Right. I guess that's a no then...
In the gym with Liam and Liam has decided to play Kieran but that's okay because Kieran's straight and I make a joke that they're just buggering about on the jungle gym (the cross-bars) while me and Chris are doing the big boy stuff on the bench-press.
Secretly I know that they would both rather play heavy-weight heavy-weight with Chris and me but instead they chose to play skippy-skippy with each other.
Do you know that I find the bench-press the most scary of all the exercises in the gym?
I remember once seeing someone at the then Health & Racquet Club in Claremont (when it was still in Cavendish Square)* doing benches and for some reason he lost control of the bar and the weight fell forward landing across on his chest.
Ohgod. I can't think about it. I'll never forget seeing it. And he couldn't scream because his lung collapsed.
(Feel faint again...)
* = please note the intricacy of the details I've provided so that as not to leave you in any doubt as to the extent that the image still sticks with me.
Liam and I are having protein shake although my post gym glow is brighter than Liam's. Obviously.
We both see him. Tanned within a a nanosecond of skin cancer, juiced to the point where his skin looks like its stretched leather on a snare drum and in an aussieBum tank top with an ethnic tattoo on one shoulder.
"God, that's so hideous."
"He's probably more insecure about the way he looks than just about every other person here."
"There's more to life than making yourself look good for the pictures on your Gaydar profile."
"Fun is more than just post-clubbing bareback group sex with your current boyfriend, his ex and a creme brulee torch."
"Why don't you ever answer your bloody phone?"
"I was having sex?"
"A man who is not my boyfriend."
"Oh, I'm just in the kitchen grilling chicken."
It's bed time. 23:14 is my new curfew.
Tomorrow is another day. Obviously.